by Calia Read
I am playing a dangerous game right now, knowing damn well my heart is on the line.
It came as no surprise that after Nathalie’s wedding rehearsal, a dinner party would be held at Belgrave.
I was counting down the hours until I could walk through those doors. I would find the first tray of champagne and down each glass in record time; I would need all the liquid courage to ignore what happened between Étienne and me during my dress fitting mere days ago and to reward myself for getting through this rehearsal. It wasn’t seeing Nat so happy that was the challenging part. It was knowing Étienne would be with his fiancée. To pretend they wouldn’t be here together is delusional, so I came armed in what women in this era had as their best arsenal: clothing.
Madame Bourgeois had a Jeanne Paquin evening gown delivered to Livingston’s house that afternoon. It was a black evening dress with an intricate white bodice with cold shoulder sheer white sleeves that hung loosely to my elbows. On the hanger, it was beautiful.
On my body, it was perfection and molded to my curves in just the right ways. A white lace started from the straps and teased the top of the thick, high-waisted black silk belt. It made me look impossibly small and made eyes look toward the glimpse of cleavage and the vast expanse of skin exposed around my neck.
Because it’s impossible to control the heat of the curling iron, and I don’t feel like losing chunks of my hair, I tell the maid I’ll do my own hair. I settle on a loose French braid that starts at the crown of my head and drapes over one shoulder. I pull unruly strands around my temple and ears and loosen the select pieces of the braid.
When I’m done, I look at my handiwork in the vanity mirror. “You can do this,” I whisper to my reflection and instantly feel a sense of déjà vu. Two years ago, in this era, I said the same words as I tried to go back to my time. Now I’m saying them as I prepare to see the man I love at Saint Michael’s Church on the corner of Broad and Meeting Street.
I take a moment to appreciate the building. The structure is covered in white stucco. Facing the street is a two-story portico and Tuscan columns that are almost as impressive as the Corinthian columns at Belgrave.
I’m in shock that I’m standing in front of one of the most iconic images of Charleston.
Standing in front of the open doorways is Nat, going on a tirade about how the bridal party should line up properly. Scarlett is her trusty sidekick and follows her, nodding every so often when deemed necessary. I don’t want to be near Étienne’s fiancée, so I’m maintaining a healthy distance from her.
Standing a few steps away from me is Étienne. We haven’t spoken today. In fact, we haven’t talked in days. I know he’s avoiding me too because when Nat comes around, there are no messages from Étienne. Livingston has none either. Étienne’s giving me what I want—space. Rather than be relieved, I’m concerned, giving the door lingering looks and waiting for Étienne to burst through.
I know I need to say something sooner than later, though I don’t think Nat’s rehearsal dinner is the appropriate place. Time’s running out, and I’ve waited plenty long for Asa to reply. I need answers. When the wedding is over, I plan on getting them.
Quietly, I watch as he speaks to Scarlett’s parents, his future in-laws. My blood boils at the thought.
Don’t think about it, I tell myself. You’re going to work yourself up all over again.
Étienne moves to Oliver and his family. Nat introduced me to Matilda and Robert the minute I arrived at the church. It was so brief it was impossible for me to garner my own opinion of them. They seemed nice.
Étienne slowly moves from Oliver’s parents and makes his rounds with the wedding party. No one is immune to his Southern charm. Yet every few minutes, I can feel his gaze creep my way, and the minute it does, I quickly avert my eyes. Standing on the street corner near a palmetto are Livingston and Nicholas. I make my way over to them.
Nicholas takes a drag of his cigarette and tugs at the collar of his shirt. “It’s too hot to be standing out here.”
“It’s winter here in Charleston,” Livingston observes.
“This isn’t winter,” Nicholas grumbles. He brings his cigarette back to his lips and inhales with irritation. “In the wintertime, I’m not sweating.”
“You will be in the South.”
“I’m going back to New York.”
“When do you plan on leaving?” I ask.
Smoke trails out of Nicholas’s mouth as he looks at me from beneath his lashes. Scarlett drives me crazy, but her brother does not. He’s the exact opposite of her. Interesting, daring, and a bit dangerous. More than that, he’s like a piece of forbidden fruit. Every time I come close to touching him, I can feel Étienne’s haunches rise, and it makes me want to get to know Nicholas even more. It doesn’t hurt that he’s good looking too.
He shrugs. “I’m not certain. Sometimes, I think I’ll stay until Scarlett and Étienne get married this summer, but I don’t know if I can survive this place much longer,” he teases.
My smile is carved out of wax. Like a robot, I nod my head, but inside it feels as if my heart is leaking into my gut. Scarlett and Étienne getting married this summer. Scarlett and Étienne this summer...
My mind focuses on that sentence until it becomes a litany. Doesn’t matter how much time passes by, it still feels like a sick joke.
“Will you be staying in Charleston much longer?” Nicholas asks.
I blink him back into focus, grateful for the distraction. My gaze momentarily meets Livingston. His eyes widen imperceptibly. “No, I don’t believe I will,” I finally reply. “Charleston holds nothing for me anymore.”
Steps away, I see Étienne’s shoulders tense up.
Nicholas takes one last drag of his cigarette before he drops it to the ground and flattens it onto the concrete with the heel of his shoe. He meets my gaze. “Perhaps you can find your place in New York.”
Livingston’s eyes volley back and forth between us. He doesn’t say a word. I smirk at Nicholas. “Perhaps.”
“Everyone, it’s five past six. Why are you all standin’ out here like potted plants?” Nat all but shrieks. She claps her hands like we’re errant children who won’t stop playing at recess and begins to gesture wildly for us to move indoors.
Slowly, the wedding party begins to pair up with their designated partner.
Étienne stands with Nat by his side, quietly talking with her while her arm is looped through his. In spite of the hurt I have simmering for his upcoming wedding, it’s put on hold, knowing he’s walking his sister down the aisle. He’s taken the burden of being her father figure very seriously—at times, almost too seriously—but his love for Nat runs deep. It’s evident in the way he pats her hand, and the smallest hint of a smile appears on his lips. Since I’ve been here, there hasn’t been a lot of laughter, and I haven’t seen Étienne smile, and I miss it. God, do I miss it.
“Jesus help us all,” Livingston mutters as he walks past me and toward his designated bridesmaid as Nat begins to call out orders.
Immediately, Livingston smiles at the bridesmaid. I can’t see her, just the back of her slim neck and her dark hair. I wait for her to turn away and blush. Within seconds, she does turn away, but it’s only to roll her eyes. I’ve always joked that Livingston could charm the veil off a nun if you gave him a chance. But clearly, he couldn’t charm this mysterious girl.
Between Livingston and me is Oliver’s cousin. I can’t remember her name. Escorting her is a cousin of the Lacroix family. Then there’s Scarlett and her groomsman. She keeps wistfully glancing over her shoulder and looking at Étienne. I think her greatest wish in life is to be his Siamese twin.
Nicholas stands beside me, his shoulder brushing against mine as I try to peer into the church and get a better look at what’s going on.
“I’ve known Nat for quite some time, and she’s always been very docile and sweet. I’ve never seen this side of her,” Nicholas observes.
“Oh.” I wave a hand in the air. “Don’
t worry. She’s just being a bridezilla.”
Nicholas lifts a brow. “Bridezilla?”
I give him my attention. “Yeah. You know, she’s had her wedding day planned out since she was a little girl, and now she wants to see it go off without a hitch. Therefore, creating the beast that is Nat the Bridezilla.”
Nicholas’s lips unfurl into a wide smile before he bursts out laughing, causing a few heads to turn our way. One of them being Étienne. He’s a head taller than everyone else, so almost immediately, his eyes connect with mine. His brows are furrowed as he looks me in the eye. I hold his gaze for a second longer before I cross my arms and turn toward Nicholas.
“You have a blunt way of speaking,” he says.
“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or an insult.”
“Believe me, it’s a compliment.”
“Why, thank you. It’s one of my many charms.”
“No, you’re not supposed to be there!” Nat tells Scarlett and her groomsman. “You two are behind Serene and Nicholas.”
Dutifully, Nicholas and I switch spots with his sister and her escort. We wait as Nat continues to micromanage everyone. At the rate we’re going, we’ll be here all night.
“What kind of alcohol do you think they’ll have at the party tonight?” I say to Nicholas.
He turns to me and smirks. “I’m not sure. Having a bad day?”
I meet his gaze. “You could say that.”
“I thought Nathalie was one of your closet friends?”
“She is. I’m having a bad day for different reasons.”
“Ah. I see.” Nicholas looks forward.
Thankfully, the line slowly starts to move toward the open doors. The church pews are in sight. As everyone moves down the aisle, they make sure to keep their steps slow and measured; behind us is a dictator not afraid to bark at us if we screw up. It takes minutes for the couples to walk down and take our spots at the front of the church. Then it’s Étienne and Nat’s turn. Solemnly, he stares forward. Although his gaze keeps sneaking my way every so often. They reach the front of the church, and Étienne steps back.
The rest of the rehearsal is a blur and goes a lot faster than the actual ceremony. Soon Oliver and Nat are walking down the aisle, followed by the rest of us.
As I curl my arm around Nicholas’s arm, I can feel Étienne’s shrewd gaze on me. His gaze keeps veering between my hand linked through Nicholas’s arm and my face. My hand subtly drifts up Nicholas’s arm, spreading my fingers until they curl around his bicep.
Nicholas arches a brow at me. He doesn’t say a word, but he does pull my arm closer to his body. Étienne watches the whole thing. He looks close to ripping Nicholas apart.
I make eye contact with Étienne and nudge my head in the direction of Scarlett. He lost his possession of me the second he placed the engagement ring on her finger.
“For what it’s worth, I’m a novice at drinking,” Nicholas says into my ear.
I look at Nicholas from the corner of my eye. “Is that so?”
He nods.
My smile spreads. “I think we’ll have a fun night then.”
“Is there a reason my sister’s fiancé keeps shooting daggers my way?”
“It’s Étienne. He shoots daggers at everyone,” I say out of the corner of my mouth.
“True. But I could’ve sworn he seemed to enjoy my presence half of the time before you came to Charleston. Now he snarls when I walk into the room.”
I shrug and continue to stare forward. “Ignore Étienne.”
I’m not positive who I say that more for. Myself or him. Because trying to ignore Étienne is akin to ignoring a hurricane—dangerous and next to impossible.
Livingston offers to drive me to Belgrave, but in the end, I decide to go with Nicholas. I hold my hand out the window and splay my fingers, enjoying the way it feels to have the air touch my skin. I take the opportunity to enjoy the brief reprieve of wearing my heels, so I tuck my feet beneath me and watch the marsh views, symbolic of the Lowcountry. I love the way the cordgrass dominates areas of the murky waters. The smooth grass turns a light brown during the winter. The sun is beginning to set, casting the sky a shade of burnt orange.
Excitement courses through me as I watch the scenery. Doesn’t matter how many times I see this view, it never gets old.
“You’ve certainly made yourself comfortable,” Nicholas says.
Twisting toward him, I tuck errant strands of my hair behind my ears and smile at him. I realize he’s looking down at my heels and shrug. “I’m sure we have a long night ahead of us. I’m simply giving my feet a break.”
Judging by the cars parked around the circular drive, we’re one of the last of the wedding party to arrive. Hopefully, everyone is getting ready to sit at the dinner table, and Nicholas and I can slip into our seats undetected. Doubtful, but one can dream.
Nicholas parks near the water fountain and hurries around the car to open my door. My heart hammers wildly in my chest as we walk toward Belgrave because standing on the porch, leaning against one of the massive pillars is Étienne.
“Evenin’,” he says although his tone is anything but pleasant.
“Hello, Étienne,” Nichols greets.
“You two are late.”
“Didn’t know you were timing us,” I comment as Nicholas and I walk up the steps.
Étienne looks my way. “Didn’t know you would be so late.”
“It’s your sister’s rehearsal dinner. I think you have more important things to worry about than where Nicholas and I are.”
He crosses his massive arms and cocks his head to the side. “You and Nicholas? So the two of you are a pair?”
“Tonight we are.” We stop on the porch, and I glance at Nicholas. “Does that sound about right?”
At first, Nicholas seems uncertain how to answer. His gaze flicks back and forth between Étienne and me. He clears his throat and finally replies. “Considering Nathalie paired us up in the wedding, I say it does.”
Étienne gives Nicholas a withering look and walks toward us. I brace myself for the moment I have to step in front of Étienne and stop him from lunging at Nicholas. Étienne stops merely steps away. Although anger is radiating from his body, all of it is directed at Nicholas.
Nicholas is oblivious to the animosity coming from Étienne and smiles. “Are you going to let us inside, or are we banned for being late?”
Étienne stares him down for a few seconds before he finally steps back. Nicholas regales me with a story from his childhood in New York. I smile and nod along, but the whole time, I’m acutely aware of Étienne hot on my heels burning a hole in the back of my head.
Ben opens the door before we have a chance to even knock. The chandelier lights up the foyer. Echoes of voices bounce off the high ceilings. I lean in closer to hear what Nicholas is saying when I feel fingertips brushing against the side of my waist. I jump, momentarily startled, look to my left, and find Étienne walking past me.
“My, you’re awfully jumpy,” Nicholas says. “Perhaps you should show me how much of a novice at drinking you truly are.”
A servant greets us with a tray of champagne. I grab two: one for myself and the other for Nicholas.
“Cheers. To shitty days.” I tap my glass against his and down my entire drink.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Nicholas murmurs. “The night is still young.”
“Indeed, it is.”
Was the night still young after six glasses of champagne and a glass of some whiskey that Nicholas snuck for me? No. But is it better? Absolutely.
My body feels light and free, almost as if I can float to the ceiling. I just need to lift my arms to the sides. Scarlett doesn’t bother me too much. And neither does Étienne.
Nothing bothers me anymore.
I don’t care. I don’t care! I’m a good catch, and if Étienne is stupid enough to let me go, that’s his problem. Leaning back in my chair, I lift my empty wine glass and nudge Nicholas. “There’s
a problem with my drink.”
He leans in, his shoulder pressing into my chest. I grab onto his arm for balance. “What?” he asks, his brows furrowed.
I tip my empty glass upside down and shake it. “It’s empty,” I whisper.
The two of us look at each other and burst out laughing.
“Serene,” Scarlett says, her quiet voice somehow managing to carry across the table, “your hair is quite...unique tonight.”
My laughter fades a bit, but my smile doesn’t as I rest my elbows on the table and look at Nicholas’s sister. She’s sitting near Étienne. A simmer of jealousy bubbles inside me, but my mind lingers on the feeling for just a moment and then moves onto something else.
I’ve learned that in the South, it’s very easy to mix up a compliment with an insult. Especially with women. With their soft drawls and slow smiles, they kill you with kindness. It’s only when you’re bleeding out that you realize what has happened. Scarlett’s words come out sugary sweet, but what she really meant with her words was, “Serene, your hair looks ridiculous.”
Scarlett’s smile is as fake as a three-dollar bill as she waits for my reply. Something tells me she’s learned a thing or two since she’s been here. Étienne was talking to a fellow guest to his right, suddenly grows austere and shoots Scarlett a sharp look.
Nathalie stares back and forth between us with alarm in her eyes. Livingston drapes an arm around his chair and grins before he smiles at Nicholas and points at me. “Pay close attention, my friend. This will be brusque and swift.”
My smile never dims as I tilt my head to the side and focus my attention on Scarlett. “Thank you so much.”
“Did your maid do that specific style?” She flings a hand in the air toward my direction.
“No, I did.”
Scarlett takes a small sip of her wine and nods. “Interesting.”
“Not really.” I lift my hands in the air and wiggle my fingers. “God gave me these bad boys for a reason. I’d be happy to teach you how to braid your hair this way. You never know, it might come in handy when you decided to stop dressing in the junior miss section and mosey on over to the women’s gowns.”
