by Calia Read
I grip my bed sheets and pull them over my head like I’m a fucking nine-year-old and not a grown ass woman.
I hear the telltale sign of the hinges groaning in protest as the window opens. There’s movement as if someone is slipping inside. My heart is pounding so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t burst out of my chest and run out of the room like I should be doing.
Why am I hiding under the covers? As if that’s going to stop the murderer. They’ll creep toward me with their machete, see my hiding form, and say, “Oops. My bad. I didn’t know you were sleeping!”
Very slowly, my fingers curl around the hem of the sheet. Dragging it down my face, I stare in the direction of the window. It’s open with the curtain billowing from the breeze. Frowning, I look to my left, then right, and see a large male figure looming over me. Before I can scream, a hand covers my mouth.
“It’s me, Serene.” My body freezes the second he speaks. Rapidly, I blink him into focus. “I’ll let go if you promise not to scream. Deal?”
My answer is to bite him on the palm as hard as I can.
He snatches his hand away, then sits on the edge of the bed. But not before he gives me a tentative glance as if I’m a wild animal that will attack at any second. “You bit me.”
“I think you deserved it. Some women might think breaking and entering in the middle of the night is swoon-worthy, but this is creepy as hell. Straight up Edward Cullen shit.”
He frowns and leans in, moving his hand over my body before it lands on the mattress. “Who is Edward Cullen? Is he a man from your time?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “No, Étienne, he’s a character from a book who breaks into the heroine’s room and watches her sleep. I’ll repeat: breaking and entering.”
“Nonsense. I’m not breakin’ in. This home has been in my family for years. Technically, I’m just checkin’ to make sure my ex-wife is doin’ okay.” He says the word ex-wife and anger flares in his eyes.
“What did you want me to say?”
“Anything but that.”
He doesn’t remove his hand from the mattress, and his thigh presses against my own. I’m so hyperaware of every shift of his body, the tempo of my heart, and the tingles sweeping through my veins, it feels as though I’m seconds away from passing out or spontaneously combusting. In the darkness of the night, I have to fight the urge to wrap myself around him.
He’s engaged to someone else, I remind myself. The very thought makes my hands curl into fists. Is it possible to hate and love someone at the same time?
There’s a riot of emotions spinning inside me right now, and none of them make sense.
“Go home, Étienne.”
“I can’t.” He leans in closer, causing his arm resting on the bed to brush against my breasts. I suck in a sharp breath. “Don’t you get that? Ever since I dropped you off, it’s been destroyin’ me that you’re here with Livingston. And tonight, I couldn’t sleep. I had to see you.” His body shifts. And just like that, he goes from sitting up to lying on me. His weight is resting on his elbows, but I can still feel every solid inch of him, causing me to fight back a moan. Is he trying to kill me?
My fingers dig into the sheets so tightly I’m surprised my nails haven’t ripped the material.
“I had to see you,” he repeats, and I swear his voice goes down an octave. “I had to see you with my own eyes. I had to touch you because I was afraid time was gonna take you away.”
Tentatively, he lifts a hand. It hovers near my neck before the tips of his fingers trail the material of my nightgown. I swallow and try my best not to react even though every nerve is tingling in anticipation for his next move. His eyes never leave mine as his large, calloused hands touch my skin, drift over my collarbone, and curl around the back of my neck.
“Tu m’as manqué, Serene.”
The words flow from his tongue so smoothly; if his touch didn’t entice me, then his words surely would. It’s getting harder to breathe. I want to curl my hands around his muscular biceps and bring his lips to mine.
Something close to a moan slips from my lips, causing Étienne to sink further into me. Against my hip, I can feel how hard he is. Warmth shoots straight through me as Étienne leans in.
Our noses brush and our lips are a hair’s breadth apart. “Tell me to kiss you,” Étienne says although it comes out as a plea.
There’s nothing I want more in this world than for him to kiss me. I’ve thought about it countless times. I’ve gone to bed dreaming about it. But there’s a small problem that was never there before. I freeze up and place a hand against the solid wall of his chest. Against my palm, I can feel the rapid beating of his heart.
“Are you still engaged?” I whisper.
There’s a long, torturous pause on Étienne’s part. “Yes.”
“Then get off me.”
He closes his eyes, mutters a curse, and rolls to his side.
You little fool! He wants you. And you want him, my heart whispers.
It was agony asking him to get off me—like ripping the skin off my body agony—but I know it’s for the best. If I can’t be his first option, then I’m certainly not going to settle as his second choice.
My head turns to the side as I study his profile. So many thoughts rush through my head, but the one thing I keep thinking is why? Why did he ask Scarlett to marry him, and why doesn’t he call off the engagement?
He’s mine. And I’m his.
Deep down, I know that our kind of love is impossible to find. Yet he’s willing to let it slip away, all because he’s afraid I’m going to leave again?
“Please stop starin’ unless you want me on top of you again.”
Quickly, I look away. I swallow loudly. I asked Étienne to get off me, yet the minute our hands brush against each other’s, there’s enough heat between our fingertips to start a fire.
The two of us say nothing, and the silence becomes unbearable. Outside, I can hear the hoots of an owl. Étienne left the window cracked open, and the curtains lift in the air before they softly settle into their original positions.
“My brother hasn’t tried anything on you, has he?”
I snort. “You’re kidding, right? Livingston is like a Chocolate lab. He’s a lot of fun to play with, but when you’re finished, he’s off playing with someone else while you discovered he ruined your sofa.”
The bed vibrates with Étienne’s laughter. “I will take that as a no.”
A small smirk creeps onto my face. “Livingston can charm the dress off any woman in Charleston, but I think of him as a brother.”
“You’re probably the only woman who’s ever been immune to his charms.”
I shrug. I can feel my heart softening toward him, and that can’t happen.
Stay strong, Serene, my mind chants. Engaged. Engaged. Engaged.
The reminder is like a bucket of cold water being dumped over my head. I squeeze my eyes shut.
In a lot of ways, I should’ve seen this coming. Did I honestly expect him to spend the rest of his days waiting for me?
He waited for two years, my heart whispers.
That’s a cop-out, my mind counters.
While my heart and mind go to war with each other, I glance at the very person they’re fighting over. “I hate your hair like that.”
Étienne sighs heavily, his sculpted chest lifting in the process. “So do I.”
I go back to staring at the ceiling. We lie there like two people about to face their death sentences. “Did she encourage you to cut it?” I finally ask.
He’s silent for a few seconds, then, “She thought cuttin’ my hair and shavin’ my whiskers would make me look like a refined gentleman.”
I can’t help but give an unladylike snort because nothing Étienne does will make him look like a “refined gentleman.” The fact he even listened to her demands cuts like a knife. Étienne is stubborn to a fault. What happened to the man I loved?
“I like it better long,” I blurt. �
��I like you better untamed. I like you better as Étienne.”
I hear the rustling of sheets as Étienne looks my way. Goose bumps break out across my skin. “I’ll grow it out.”
Sighing, I roll away from him. “Do whatever you want, Étienne. I don’t care.”
Immediately, I feel the heat of his body. “Yes, you do.”
A shudder wracks through my body. God, I’ve missed feeling him next to me. His chest presses against my back, and our legs are bent, so we align perfectly. Near the slope of my butt, I can feel how hard he is and try to distract myself from how turned on it makes me.
His hand bands around my stomach and brings me flush against him. Any closer and we’ll be one.
“Étienne, no. You’re engaged.”
“I know, but that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped wantin’ you, or that I’ve stopped lovin’ you.”
“We can’t do that stuff anymore.”
Almost reflexively, his hand tightens around my waist before it loosens and slowly slides across my stomach and back to his side. He moves away, and instantly, I feel the absence of his body. I want to tell him to come back to me, but that would negate everything I just said.
I shift onto my back, clutching the sheets against my chest. “Everything has changed in my time,” I finally say, trying to change the subject.
The bed shifts as Étienne faces me. “What do you mean?”
“It’s all changed. I know it shouldn’t come as a surprise because I shot my great-great-grandfather, but when I did that, I thought I was severing my lineage. I thought I would die too.”
“You didn’t, though.”
I wiggle my fingers in the air. “Here I am. In the flesh and blood.” My hands drop heavily to my sides. “When I came back to my time, Will didn’t know who I was.”
“I presume that means there’s no engagement?”
“Oh no, there is. I’m just hoping that one day he’ll wake up and remember who I am,” I say dryly.
Étienne snorts derisively. I ignore him and continue. “If that wasn’t crazy enough, I discovered my best friend was dating him. And my business, Past Repeat? It no longer exists.” And from there, I tell him everything that’s been weighing on my heart. Everything that I’ve uncovered since I came back to my own time.
Étienne quietly listens, never once interrupting. Like our past conversations, the minutes tick by, but for me, it feels like seconds. For me, it feels as though nothing has changed between us until I turn and look at his profile. Then the truth slams into me, making me flinch slightly. I watch as he narrows his eyes as he looks up at the ceiling. Like the first time I came here, he’s trying to figure out a way for me to go back. That’s Étienne. A problem solver.
“I need to speak with Asa immediately.”
“What? Why?”
Rolling toward him, I prop the weight of my chin on my palm. “Because he’s the one who was writing to Emmeline. He’s the one who told her that she was in danger. I need to figure out what danger she was in.”
“I don’t disagree with you.”
“Great! Then we’ll go see him tomorrow.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
“Why not?” I ask, my voice going up a notch.
“Because Asa is traveling.”
“For how long?”
Étienne shrugs before he laces his fingers together and tucks his hands behind his head. “He left a few days ago. I know the first stop is New York, then Boston, and New Orleans.”
“That’s a lot of traveling,” I say faintly.
Étienne’s looks at me. “He’s going to be gone for over a month.”
Less than twenty-four hours into this era and I’ve already got a snag in my plans. “I can’t wait that long. I need to speak to Asa now.”
“I’m sorry, Serene. I don’t know what to tell you.”
I’m not waiting here for a month. That’s not an option. Quickly, I sit up and think about what else I can do. Twisting around, I look at Étienne. “Then I’ll go to Chicago and find Emmeline.”
At that, Étienne sits straight. “Have you gone mad?”
“No. Asa’s not around, so I’m going to the second-best source. My great-great-grandma.”
“Do you know where she lives?”
I hesitate. “Not exactly.”
“Do you realize that will be several days’ worth of traveling to get to Chicago?”
“Yes.” That’s a lie. I didn’t realize that. I love history and everything the past has to offer, but I’m of the present. I’m used to ordering anything I want with the touch of my finger, and booking a flight within a matter of minutes, and getting to my destination in hours—especially if it’s Stateside—not days.
“Let’s say you do find Emmeline. What are you gonna say to her?”
Once again, I hesitate. “I haven’t thought that far,” I confess.
“You remember how long it took for you to convince me that you time traveled? Could you imagine how hard it would be to persuade someone else?”
I don’t have to imagine. I tried twice, with Will and Liz, to tell them what happened to me and got shot down...twice.
My fingers trace the design on the comforter, but in the dark, that’s a difficult task. In the end, I continuously spell out WHY.
Why is this process happening all over again? Why did Étienne have to be engaged to someone else? Why do I have to love someone who I’m destined to never be with?
“Maybe I won’t tell her I time traveled. Maybe I’ll tell her that I’m good friends with Asa, and that she’s in danger.”
“And she’ll ask you how you know that. Better yet, she’ll demand you leave her alone.” Étienne scoots closer until our shoulders touch. “What would you do if someone came up to you claimin’ that you were in danger but gave you no proof?”
Glancing at him from the corner of my eye, I exhale loudly. “I’d think they were crazy.”
“Precisely. You need to think this entire situation over carefully. But deep down, I think you know the wisest choice is to wait until Asa comes back.”
“I can’t do that.”
“It’s your best option.”
“Well, can you at least send him a telegram or something to let him know it’s urgent?”
Étienne hesitates for a moment before he nods. “Yes, I can do that.”
Although we didn’t exactly reach the solution I wanted—far from it—I am one step closer to getting into contact with Asa. “Thank you,” I say.
Étienne says nothing in reply, and an awkward silence settles around us. So much has changed. I still love him with everything I have, but when I look at him, I see a hollow man with weary eyes and lips set in a permanent scowl.
Time has made us its playthings, and there is no way to escape its clutches. We merely have to hold on and hope it doesn’t destroy us.
I clear my throat because the silence is insufferable. “Nat told me that you searched for Old Serene, and there’s no trace of her.”
“No trace,” he confirms.
“So you two were never married?” I ask.
“As far as I know, no. Marriage license was not a requirement until July 1911.”
Shit. There goes my plan of going to the county courthouse and searching for the certificate.
“I heard you hired a private investigator.”
Étienne’s brows slant low as he looks at me. “How much did my sister tell you?”
“The better question is what did she not tell me?” I gently tease.
At that, a half-smirk appears, and I see a small dimple appear on his left cheek. “I’m sure she told you the information the private investigator came back with.”
“She did. It makes no sense. How could she disappear like that?”
“Serene, I’ve learned that it’s best not to try to make sense of this situation. It will only drive you mad.”
I look down at the bed and nod. “I suppose you’re right.”
We sit th
ere, shoulder to shoulder. I don’t want Étienne to leave, but I know he needs to. I’m confident the same thought is running through his mind. But there’s a question I have to ask even though I know the answer is going to gut me.
Clearing my throat, I look down at the bedspread. “Do you and your fiancée have a date set for the wedding?”
The silence that wedges itself between us goes beyond uncomfortable. I’m starting to believe Étienne’s never going to answer when he finally replies. “Scarlett wants to marry in the summer.”
My heart beats at a steady rhythm, but tonight, I can feel the cut Étienne delivered with his words. Blood oozes from the wound. The pain is too much to take. I place a hand over my heart. “That’s nice,” I finally manage.
“I suppose so. She has her heart set on August. I haven’t agreed to a date yet.”
After a few minutes of silence, he scoots to the side of the bed and firmly plants his feet on the floor. I watch him with blank eyes as he walks toward the door instead of the window.
Before he turns the knob, he looks at me. “I love you, Serene,” he says before he slips out the room.
I fall back against the pillows and dig the heels of my palms into my eyelids, trying to push back the tears, but it’s futile. “You’re killing me, Étienne,” I whisper into the silence of the room.
There are three knocks on my door. “Serene? Are you still in there?”
I stare at my reflection as I reply. “No, I fell out the window, and you’re talking to my ghostly apparition.”
There’s a pause, then, “It’s been quite a while since I’ve lived with Nat, so I’m not well versed with women and their dressin’ routines, but do you know how much longer you will be?”
“If I had it my way, about seven more hours,” I mutter.
Yet I can’t avoid this. Because as hurt as I am by Étienne, as badly as I want to bash Scarlett’s head against a wall, my heart is aching to see one place.
Belgrave.
I want to see it standing proud and tall with the low country as the backdrop. I want to look at the live oaks and Spanish moss trees lining the mile-long driveway.
