by Calia Read
I’m steps away from Nat’s room when I hear her shrieking about how she can’t find stockings. Frowning, I pause in front of the door and listen to her rant, which is something I’ve never heard my sweet Nat do.
I hesitate before I knock on the door.
“Go away, Étienne!” she hollers.
“It’s me, Serene.”
Within seconds, the door swings open. Nat stands on the other side still wearing her nightgown, a pale blue silk chiffon and lace dressing gown.
“Oh, there you are,” she breathes and hugs me tightly before she grabs my hand and pulls me into the room. Her dark hair hangs around her shoulders as she looks at me with scared eyes. “Everything is a disaster.”
Placing my shoes on the floor, I hold up a hand. “Just take a deep breath and start from the beginning. What is going on?”
She follows my instructions, and when she exhales, she finally gets a good look at me. “What are you wearing?”
Glancing down, I toy with the material of Étienne’s dress shirt. “Uhh...”
Nat leans in and smirks. “Did you stay with my brother?”
I nudge her arm. “No, no, no…” But my words drift away like tufts of smoke because now that I think about it, did Étienne sleep in the bed with me?
“He slept in your old room,” Nat supplies. “I saw him walkin’ in there late last night.”
“Oh.” I should be relieved that he did the honorable thing, but a small, twisted part of me is disappointed.
“You’re not going to say anything to Scarlett, are you?”
Nat crosses her arms, a gleam sparkles in her eyes. “She’s my best friend, so I should. However, you’ll forever be my sister so no. But you know, she was very curious to know what happened between you and Nicholas when you two disappeared last night.”
“What happened was I got shitfaced.”
“I’m assuming ‘shitfaced’ is another way of saying intoxicated?”
I point a finger at her. “Bingo.”
“You shouldn’t trouble yourself. Last night was a celebration. Most people at the dinner party had too much to drink.”
“I know, I know.” I rub my temples, wishing right now that I had some Tylenol to combat this killer headache. This was going to be a long, long day and discussing Étienne, and thinking what happened last night only intensifies the excruciating pain building in my skull. I open my eyes and paste on a fake smile.
“Enough about me. Tell me why everything is a disaster.”
Nat takes a deep breath and shoots her wedding gown a resentful look. “I can’t find my stockings and my beautiful silk and leather shoes that I purchased months ago at Peter Robinson when I was visiting England.”
Nat sinks her fingers through her hair and closes her eyes before she opens her eyes. “They’ve been in my closet. I’ve been savin’ them for today.”
Reaching out, I give her arm a soothing pat. “It’s okay. We’re going to find your stockings and shoes, okay?”
Nat breathes deeply before she nods. She walks toward her wedding gown. The wire hanger is hooked around the top of the closet door, and the sixteen-foot train is spread across a chair placed against the door so the material doesn’t touch the floor.
Her dressing gown billows around as she moves. She stops in front of the dress and fingers the silky material. I notice the way her hands shake.
“It’s a beautiful dress.”
“It is,” she agrees before she drops the sleeve and walks to her vanity. She stares at her reflection and picks up a limp strand. “My hair is horrendous. I should’ve gotten the Nestle permanent wave that Scarlett suggested.”
“What the hell is that?”
With her hands on her hips, she gives me a look that says, “Really?”
“Serene, there’s no time to tell you about a hairstyle I should have gotten so my hair doesn’t look like this on my weddin’ day!”
Quickly, I move toward her, wrapping an arm around her. “It’s just nerves. Today is your day, and everything is going to be perfect. Your hair is going to be perfect. Your dress is going to be perfect. Everything is going to be fine.”
She looks at me, her big eyes glassy. “Do you think so?”
I smile. “Absolutely. The perks of having two protective older brothers is while they may swarm around you too much, they’re going to make sure everything goes off without a hitch today.”
Nat stares down at the ground, soaking in my words. She places a hand on her chest and takes another deep breath. “You’re right. You’re right. Everything will be okay.”
Right when I think I’ve gotten her to calm down, I lower my hands, exhale, and make myself comfortable on her bed. Nat begins to hum a tune as she moves items around on her vanity. She stops and then moans, “Oh no,” before she frantically starts shoving products around. “Oh, no,” she repeats over and over as she hurries to the door and rips it open.
“Étienne!” she screams as if she’s been stabbed. “I can’t find my Les Secret des Dieux!”
There’s a small pause. “How do I fit into this equation, Nathalie?”
“I need it!”
Another pause. “I’ll have a servant look for it,” he replies, his voice showing his exhaustion.
Nat slams the door shut and looks around the room. The maids in the room refuse to make eye contact with her, probably because they’re afraid she’s either going to start yelling at them or send them on some crazy mission.
I sit up and watch the ordinarily sweet Nat go all Girl, Interrupted. This is bridezilla on a whole new level. “I know I’m going to regret this later, but what is Les Secret des Dieux?” I ask, butchering the last words.
Nat shoots me an annoyed look. “It’s a bottle of perfume from France. I ran out, and Étienne assured me that it would be here by the time of my wedding day, but it’s not.”
“I’m sure he has people downstairs looking for it,” I say, taking up Étienne’s defense.
“It’s silent downstairs. Étienne’s probably in his office.” She walks out of the room, muttering, “I hafta do everything around here myself.”
Once she’s gone, I fall back against the pillows and place an arm across my eyes while I listen to Nat yell at Étienne downstairs.
“Jesus help us all,” I say, repeating Livingston’s words from yesterday.
The shoes and stockings were found. Nathalie’s bridesmaids all showed up, Scarlett included.
It takes five cars to get everyone to the church. The gowns that Nat picked out for her bridesmaids are beautiful, but sitting in a car is damn near impossible. My breasts look like they’re going to spill out of the top, and there are so many ruffles, coupled with Nat’s dress and train, it’s a sea of silk and lace. I did as Nat requested and had my hair put up in a low bun with tendrils loose around my ears.
As we approach Charleston, Nat grips my hand tighter. I glance at her, but she keeps her eyes fixed straight ahead.
She’s wound tighter than a top, and I don’t know what I can say to console her, so I say nothing. I just keep my hand in hers for as long as she needs.
Once we enter Charleston, the trees lining the road create shadows across the interior of the car. The driver is taking his time, yet the homes seem to be passing by in a blur. I swear Nat’s nerves seem to be transferring to me. My palms are beginning to feel sweaty, and my heart is starting to race, and this isn’t even my wedding.
When we turn onto Meeting Street, I see the church up ahead. Instinctively, I squeeze Nat’s hand. The driver slows down and parks the car near the curb.
I give Nat a bright smile. “Are you ready?”
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” she confesses in her soft Charlestonian accent.
“That’s totally normal,” I say confidently even though I have no idea. I’ve never been married. I was married to Étienne in 1912, but that technically wasn’t to me. I don’t know the nerves that accompany a bride as they walk down the aisle. I can only imagine.
<
br /> All I can do right now is nod my head and agree with everything Nat’s saying while offering words of encouragement here and there. Because in truth, all she really wants to do is unload all the emotions she’s feeling, and that’s something I do understand.
“You got this,” I whisper before I release her hand.
I step out of the car, feet first, and gratefully take the proffered hand of the driver. With his help, I heft myself out of the car and smooth out the front of my gown before I peek my head back into the car. Nat is staring straight ahead. She looks like a little girl playing dress up with her mother’s wedding gown.
“Nat?” I say. “You ready?”
She jolts at the sound of her name and rapidly nods before she scoots to where I was previously sitting. She accepts the driver’s hand while I help her with her dress. Once she’s out of the car, I take her in. I was worried the silk satin would wrinkle from sitting in the car, but it didn’t. The lace sleeves are loose around her arms and buttoned around each wrist. A high collar tickles the edges of her jawline. Lace embroidery is sewn across the chest and bisected with a cummerbund with small bows on the back before the embroidery continues to the right, down the straight skirt, sweeping toward the hem. It’s beautiful, but the shock value is the train. It’s attached at the shoulders with cameos. In vertical lines, laurel leaves the color of ivory decorate and outline the train.
Once I make sure the train billows behind her, I hurry to Nat’s side, cupping her elbow. “Just breathe.”
Much to my dismay, Scarlett walks up to Nat’s right. I try not to let my distaste show. Now is not the time to allow my feelings to get in the way. This is Nat’s day.
Nat grips her flowers between her hands so tightly her knuckles are turning white. “I need help with my veil. My bodice is so restrictin’ I can barely move.”
Scarlett and I lock eyes. There’s a palpable tension between the two of us. But we both love Nat.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “Scarlett and I will help.”
Together, we drape the fourteen-foot two-tier Cathedral veil across the silky satin of her train and then gently lift the first tier over her face. Silently, we make sure the lace is smoothed out and the hem is not uneven in any areas.
I step back and smile at our handiwork. Nat stares at me with pure fear in her eyes. “You look beautiful,” I assure her.
She exhales and straightens her shoulders.
More of the wedding party begins to arrive. Oliver, the priest, and the one hundred and fifty guests are already inside waiting.
All that’s needed is the bride.
Walking down the sidewalk, Étienne is next to Livingston. My heart lurches at the sight of him. His broad shoulders strain against the material of his black tailcoat. The satin faced lapels gleam in the sun. His trousers have black stripes of silk, and a white waistcoat is beneath his jacket, tailored for his muscular body. Like me, he looked worse for wear this morning, revealing that he probably didn’t get much sleep last night. But he’s cleaned up since I saw him last.
His hair was combed back, and he was freshly shaved, revealing the strong line of his jaw, and the hollow indentations near his mouth make his cheekbones more pronounced. Like the rest of the men, he was wearing a top hat but kept nudging the brim off his forehead to wipe the sheen of sweat with the back of his hand.
Étienne’s energy is savage, and his appearance has always matched that, but he can quickly transform into a refined gentleman. My favorite will always be the untamable Étienne because it’s the real him. This one, the one that Scarlett is all but drooling over and the rest of the ladies are staring at isn’t Étienne Lacroix. It’s a parody of who he is. Our eyes connect, and I see a mutual understanding there. He’s doing this for his sister and his sister only. Come tomorrow, he’ll be back to his usual self.
Livingston stands beside him, utterly confident in his attire. The juxtaposition between the two brothers couldn’t be more evident at this moment. I watch as Étienne tugs at his white tie every few minutes. He glances around at the people with a look of agitation, and if he could growl at them, I’m betting he would. But the truth is Étienne was uncomfortable. Uncomfortable with his clothing, his surroundings, with letting go of his little sister. All of it. The urge to walk up to him, hug him, and take him back to Belgrave where he belongs is so strong my hands start to shake. I swallow and look at Nat. She’s too busy brushing away the invisible lint on her dress to catch me staring at Étienne, but Scarlett did. Boldly, I stare back at her until she looks away first.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Nat as I walk toward Livingston and Étienne.
Étienne arches a brow as I approach. I hold up a hand, stopping them both in their tracks, and lean in. “Everyone is inside and ready, and Nat looks like she’s ready to either throw up or pass out.” I glance at Étienne meaningfully. “Go to her.”
He nods, and as he walks away, he touches my bicep, his fingers trailing down my arm. Behind me, I can hear him tell his sister that he’s never seen a more beautiful bride, and then he teases her that her train must weight a ton and it’s a miracle she hasn’t tipped over yet.
Looking over my shoulder, I watch as Nat loops her arm through his and leans against him, smiling. No one has spoken of the underlying tension in the Lacroix family today, but it’s easy to see the glaring absence of their parents and brother is the cause.
Once again, seeing Étienne become the protective older brother to Nat chips away pieces of my anger.
Livingston clears his throat. I face him and find him looking at me thoughtfully.
“What?”
He shrugs. “Nothin’.”
“I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong.”
“I’m not thinkin’ a thing.”
“I just think Étienne is being a sweet older brother.”
“Yes because Étienne is known for bein’ very sweet.” He puts air quotes around the last word. “What else do you think Étienne is?”
“Well, I’m not sure. But I know you’re being a complete pain in my ass right now.”
He drapes an arm around my shoulder. “That’s par for the course, Serene. Par for the course.”
“Go torture the bridesmaid you’re escorting.”
He looks around as the people linger on the sidewalk. “That’s a splendid idea. Where is Rainey?”
“Probably hiding from you.”
“If you must know, I’m the one who should be hidin’. She stabbed me when we were kids.”
“What?”
Bending down, he lifts his left dress pants leg and reveals a jagged scar on the back of his leg.
My brows practically rise to my hairline. “Damn.”
He nods and stands to his full height. “Used her brother’s bow and arrow.”
“Why?”
Livingston tucks his hands into his pocket and rocks back onto his heels. “She wanted to play with Étienne and me and her brother. I told her she needed to stay inside and play with her silly dolls. Instead, she walked back to her house, grabbed her brother’s bow and arrow, climbed a tree, and waited to shoot at me.”
“God, I love her already.”
“I must say, she has terrible aim.”
“That, or she felt pity for you,” I observe.
He snorts. “Please. It was a bad shot. I don’t know why Nat paired us together. We have never gotten along,” he says, yet he continues to scan the crowd with an eagle eye for the girl who shot him with a bow and arrow.
Interesting.
“Ah, there she is.” Livingston smiles at me. “If you’ll excuse me. I need to say hello to my ex-murderer.”
I watch as he walks down the street toward a tall brunette. She’s lithe like a ballerina with perfect posture and a striking profile. Her hair was pulled up in a style that’s popular for this era. When she sees Livingston, her brown eyes flash with anger. I see her roll her eyes and try not to smile. I can’t believe it. I’m actually witnessing a
woman who’s immune to Livingston’s charms.
When they begin to speak, I’m tempted to step closer and snoop on their conversation because this is beyond fascinating, but Nicholas steps in my way.
He gives me a charming smile, a dimple appearing in his left cheek, and gestures toward the church entrance. “Everyone is beginning to line up.”
Twisting around, I see that he’s right. The bridesmaids look elegant in their matching gowns as they hook their arms through the groomsmen’s. As Nicholas and I take our place, I can feel Étienne’s eyes on us the whole time.
The wedding is a string of scripture, words from the priest, vows delivered by Nat and Oliver, then more scripture and words. It drones on for so long I begin to look at the guests sitting in the pews with envy.
After what feels like hours, the priest pronounces them man and wife. Oliver is escorting his new bride down the aisle, and everyone is clapping. All I can think about is stepping outside to get some fresh air, drop this bouquet, and hopefully sit down. One by one, the bridesmaids follow the newlyweds with their designated groomsman. I think Nicholas is anxious to remove himself from the church because once we’re outside the double doors, he stands beside me for a few seconds and then disappears. Soon the rest of the wedding party filters out. Then the guests as Oliver and Nat thank everyone for coming. As more and more people crowd the entrance, I feel myself being inadvertently pushed backward. I don’t mind. Near the church walls, it’s quieter. My shoulder blades brush against a solid wall, but it certainly isn’t the church. It’s warm, male, and wafts an aftershave that’s synonymous with Étienne.
“In my dreams, you’re the woman I marry,” he says against my ear.
My eyes involuntarily close, and I find myself leaning against him. There are so many people around, cheering as Nat and Oliver walk down the front steps, that no one notices us.
Unable to stop myself, I seek his hand, and our fingers become intertwined. “Only in your dreams, right?” I ask quietly.
A deep shuddering breath escapes him. He doesn’t reply.
Étienne abandons my hand only to grip my waist and pull me even closer until I feel every inch of him. “You’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
