The Reigning and the Rule Page 9

  The two are like night and day. Serene is tall and nothing but curves with fiery hair. Her tone is caustic, yet she has a witticism about her, balancing the two out.

  Scarlett is small and lithe. Her dark hair conforms to the style of this era and is never out of place. There’s not a freckle on her pale skin. It’s warm today; however, she’s wearing a violet walking suit, the black lapels match the belt around her waist and the buttons curving around the shoulders and trailing down to the hem. My conversations with Scarlett have always been brief. She’s very shy and timid and always agreeable to everything I say.

  She is quite possibly every man’s dream. Do I desire her as I do Serene? No. Do I love her? No. I know a handful of couples who are married and not in love. It’s not uncommon. However, Scarlett and I get along, and that’s more than some couples can say.

  “Étienne?” Scarlett prods.

  I blink her into focus. “Forgive me. What did you say?”

  “Is what this woman saying true?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Serene cross her arms and cock her head to the side. She’s backed me into a corner, and we both know it. I breathe through my nose and give Scarlett a blunt nod. “Yes. It is true.”

  Serene smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. They’re void of any emotions. If I know her well, and I’m sure I do, she’s heartbroken. But showing pain is a sign of weakness. Instead, she takes a few steps away from Scarlett and me, keeping her smile fixated on her face the whole time. “It seems like you two have an awful lot to talk about, so I’ll leave you to it.”

  Turning, I watch as she heads toward the open gates. “Serene, where are you going?”

  “To Livingston’s home!” she hollers.

  “Do you know where he lives?”

  At that, she pauses. The two of us both know the underlying meaning of my words. Serene knows that Livingston lives in Charleston, but she doesn’t know where. Unless she feels like aimlessly wandering around the city, I’m her only hope.

  Slowly, she turns around. I can’t help but notice that her hands are curled into fists. “I suppose I don’t.”

  “Then let me take you. All right?”

  She wants to say no. She wants to scream out every curse word she knows because she’s the most prideful woman I’ve ever met. In the end, she breathes deep through her nose. “Fine.” She glances at Scarlett. “I hope that’s okay with you.”

  Scarlett’s brows are puckered and have been since she walked up on Serene and me. I know I have a lot of explaining to do, but the story of Serene and me is not one that you can place commas, periods, and quotations on and say “the end.” Because if our love extends past the boundaries of times, then it certainly extends past words. Right now, I have none for Scarlett that will give Serene and me justice.

  Scarlett reluctantly nods. The three of us begin the trek toward the main square. Serene walks several steps ahead of us, turning around every so often for confirmation on where to turn.

  “Étienne, this is highly unorthodox,” Scarlett whispers.

  Serene’s shoulders stiffen. She doesn’t turn around, yet I know she’s listening and waiting to hear what I have to say.

  “I understand your frustration, and I apologize. This situation must be handled delicately. Serene and I have a long history together, and it’s impossible to untangle it in the span of one conversation.”

  Scarlett sighs. “I truly am confused, though. I’ve known you and your family for years, and you’ve never mentioned being married. I’ve never seen this woman before.”

  A morsel of truth Scarlett would never believe? She has met Serene. The problem is, she doesn’t remember. A lot of people don’t.

  My mouth opens and closes several times before I settle on three words. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  The world wouldn’t understand.

  The only two people in this world who understand are Serene and me. And I might have lost her permanently.

  There were a million ways I envisioned seeing Étienne again.

  Yet none of them involved another woman. In not one of my fantasies was he engaged. I always pictured our reunion as me running toward him, not away from him. The two of us kissing, not yelling at one another. My heart would be bursting with contentment, not shattering into thousands of pieces.

  Yes, I pictured thousands of scenarios. But never this.

  As we drive down the cobblestone road, I keep replaying the moment I arrived back in Charleston and saw Étienne across the street. He didn’t notice me at first, so I took advantage of the moment and soaked him in. I was so happy to see him I didn’t notice the woman hanging onto his arm. Not only that, but I was also shocked by how much his appearance had changed. His long hair was gone. It was short around the sides with some length on top. And his five o’ clock stubble that he always battled and usually gave up on was gone. He was cleanly shaven.

  He was a whole new man, and I didn’t know what to think, let alone how to feel about it.

  But his sharp features and scowl hadn’t gone away, causing my lips to kick up in a small grin. And it was then, as he tilted his head down to look at someone, I noticed the woman. She had cold black hair. Petite and ridiculously short compared to him. It was hard to make out her features, but I could tell she was pretty, and when she smiled at Étienne and batted her lashes, I knew she used her looks to get what she wanted in life.

  As they spoke to each other, I watched as the sunlight glinted off the massive rock on her left ring finger. My first thought was that I had it all wrong. Maybe she was a close friend of the family. However, the longer I watched them, the more familiar her face became, and it finally hit me where I recognized her from. She was the girl with Nat on the day I time traveled back to Étienne the second time. I remember her holding a white lace parasol. That day, she slowly spun the umbrella as she curiously stared at me.

  As she looked up at Étienne adoringly, my heart sank as I came to the realization that I didn’t have it wrong at all. Étienne was engaged to her.

  Seconds later, he noticed me.

  The car ride is unbearably awkward, but I have no desire to strike up a conversation with this girl. And if I talk to Étienne, there’s going to be a lot of “fuck” and “yous” in my sentences. My hands are tucked beneath my thighs because I want to punch him so badly. I want him to feel just a small morsel of the agony I’m feeling right now. His “fiancée” gave me the front seat. Since we’ve been in the car, I’ve felt her staring at the back of my head. I wish she had that stupid fucking parasol with her now because I would beat her with it, and then when I was finished with her, I would beat Étienne with it because he’s far from innocent. The engagement ring didn’t magically float onto her finger.

  While visions of beating the crap out of Étienne dance in my head, the car comes to a stop in front of a three-story tan stucco home with navy shutters encasing the windows. I hop out right away and head toward the navy door with white pillars and elaborate capitals and cornices surrounding the doorway. To my left, a six-foot brick wall starting from the door travels along the sidewalk with ivy growing over it, hinting at a beautiful garden on the other side.

  I have no idea if this is Livingston’s home, but I want to get away from Étienne. I hear Étienne swear beneath his breath, jump from the driver’s side, and hurry around the car.

  “How do you know this is Livingston’s house?” he hollers.

  “I guess I’ll find out when I knock on the front door, dumbass,” I shout back as I open the door, step into a beautiful yard, and stomp across the front yard.

  His hand clamps down on my bicep. “Serene, we need to talk.”

  I shrug him off and face him. “No, we don’t. You have a fiancée who’s looking at us right now. Do you know how awkward it was walking back to your car as she none too quietly said, ‘This is highly unorthodox, Étienne’?” I say, making my voice high pitch. He doesn’t reply and just watches me. “You go to her.” I hitch my thumb towa
rd what I hope is Livingston’s home. “And I’ll go inside.”

  Étienne drags both hands down his face. “You don’t understand.”

  “And I don’t want to understand. Do you understand that?”

  With his hands on his hips, Étienne stares me down. Wordlessly, he nods. “Are you gonna stay here forever?”

  I take his words as confirmation that this home is Livingston’s and begin to walk backward, my eyes fixed on Étienne. “Until I can find a way home, yes.”

  I see the hurt in his eyes. But it’s hard for me to feel empathy for him when he’s the one to cause me the pain in the first place.

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Of course, I do! Why would I stay here and watch you with her?” I throw my hands up in the air. “I’m going home, Étienne. Things have obviously changed for you.”

  I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he stares at me sharply. He rubs the back of his neck before he looks left, then right, and stalks toward me.

  I hold my ground even though I want to take several steps back. Étienne stops in front of me. His chest brushes against mine, but he doesn’t reach out for me. I suppress a shiver and look up at him.

  “Nothin’ has changed for me. I still love you.”

  As the seconds tick by, my heart absorbs what he’s saying. I feel as if I’ve waited a lifetime for him to say those three words, but that doesn’t make everything okay. The fact of the matter is he’s still engaged to someone. And that someone isn’t me.

  A shaky breath escapes my lips. “Well, you have an interesting way of showing it.”

  Abruptly, I turn and leave. Thankfully, Étienne doesn’t follow me.

  “You cannot ward me off forever,” he calls.

  “Go away, Étienne!” I shout and head toward the front door. I feel his eyes burn holes into my back with every step I take. My heart resists as if there’s an invisible rope around it, and the other side is tied around Étienne’s wrist. Wherever he goes, my heart wants to follow. I close my eyes and fight the urge to turn around and run back to him.

  He’s engaged, my mind whispers. Don’t you dare crawl back to him!

  Like Asa Calhoun’s house, Livingston’s is a Charleston single house, meaning the narrow side runs along the street, and the longer side is angled away from the road. The interesting part for me has always been that the door is on the extended portion of the house. I head toward the front door and try not to be sidetracked by the garden that effortlessly blends in with the portico to my right, leading to the front door. My heels click on the brick pathway. Three Corinthians support the weight of the porch, or as the Lacroixs call it, a piazza, on the second story. As I head toward the front door, I hear a car door slam. Flinching slightly, I listen as Étienne drives away before I exhale loudly.

  With the four windows and French doors to my left, I feel as if anyone inside can see me. Suddenly, I become nervous, which is ridiculous, considering Livingston feels like a brother. He won’t turn me away, and I know time would have its hands full in changing his playboy lifestyle. He hasn’t changed. But, then again, I thought Étienne would never change, either.

  I curl my fingers around the door knocker, rap it against the wooden frame three times, and wait.

  Feeling anxious and overwhelmed, I cross my arms and stare down at my heels, tapping them against the bricks over and over until I hear someone approach.

  My head shoots up as the door opens to a man I’ve never seen before wearing gray trousers and a black morning coat over a gray vest and black tie. White gloves cover his hands, almost matching the salt sprinkled through his thinning dark hair. He has a hawkish nose that gives him a pretentious air.

  Before he can say a word, I speak. “Is Livingston home?”

  He looks me up and down. It’s impossible for him to hide the disdain from his eyes. He thinks I’m one of Livingston’s conquests.

  Gross.

  “Yes, ma’am. Who is askin’?”

  “Tell him it’s Serene Lacroix.”

  The butler frowns but dips his head in acknowledgment. “Yes, ma’am.” He closes the door.

  Impatiently, I tap my foot and look around. My body tingles with restless energy. I want to go home, yet I’m dying to see Belgrave. More importantly, I need to figure out why I time traveled. I know it has something to do with the letters I discovered between Emmeline and Asa. I just need to find one of them and find out what the hell is going on.

  A minuscule part of me is disappointed that I didn’t come back for Étienne. But I have no reason to believe he is. The letters didn’t mention him, and I have found no trace of the picture with him, Livingston, Asa, and Edward to prove otherwise.

  Only a few seconds pass before the door is ripped open and I see Livingston. His clothes are disheveled: vest unbuttoned, white shirt half untucked, and the sleeves missing their cufflinks, causing them to hang loosely around his wrists. His pants were halfway buttoned up, and his hair that’s typically styled is standing up every which way.

  I can’t tell if he had the best sex of his life or got incredibly plastered last night. Knowing him, it was probably both.

  He stands there with his mouth hanging open, blinking rapidly as if I’m a ghost. He rubs his eyes and shakes his head.

  “Livingston,” I say slowly. “It’s me. Serene. Do you remember me?”

  “Charles,” he calls. “Precisely how much did I drink last night?”

  The butler, who’s standing against the wall resembling a queen’s guard with his serious face and erect posture, clears his throat. “Enough to make you crop sick, Mr. Lacroix, but not enough to cause you to have delusions.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” he says faintly.

  “Can I have a hug?” I ask wearily.

  He holds out his arms. “Of course. For a moment, I was uncertain if you were real or not.”

  I step into his embrace and close my eyes when I feel his arms wrap around my back and squeeze slightly. It’s a brotherly embrace. One that Ian would’ve given me before everything changed.

  I take a step back before I burst into tears.

  “I can’t believe it,” he says.

  Nervously, I laugh. “Neither can I.”

  He peeks his head outside and looks around. “Has Étienne seen you?”

  “Yes. I made him drop me off. He was running errands with his fiancée.”

  Livingston winces and rubs his temples.

  “I told him I’m staying here until I find a way back home.” I watch Livingston cautiously. “I hope that’s okay with you.”

  “Of course, of course.” He opens the door and sweeps his hand forward. “Come inside. The sunlight is makin’ my head feel as though it’s gonna crack open.”

  “Rough night last night?”

  “Oh, no. I had an exceptional night. It’s the mornin’ that’s rough.”

  I smirk as he escorts me to the sitting parlor in the front of the house. For a moment, I forget about my anger with Étienne and stare at the room in awe. The place is decorated to the nines. No detail has gone unnoticed. The golden gilded detailing serves as a sharp contrast to the elaborate ivory wall paneling. The room is decorated in pastel colors. A Persian rug lies in the middle of the room with the furniture surrounding it. Heavy drapes in an ivory damask are tied in the middle, allowing what little light to creep through on the sides.

  Livingston drops into the nearest available seat and rubs both hands down his face before he takes me in and smirks. “Well, well, well...I never thought I’d see your beautiful face again.”

  I walk toward the windows facing the road, push the curtains to the side, and watch a Model T drive down the cobblestone road. “Ditto.”

  “How did you find out about Scarlett?” he asks.

  Involuntarily, my eyes close at her name. “I saw them together on the street.”

  “It’s been two years. Just so you know.”

  I whirl around. “I know it’s been two years,” I rush out. “I g
et it. Why does everyone keep telling me that it’s been two years?”

  Livingston arches a brow and sits up, his elbows balanced on his knees. “Because it’s critical information.”

  “It’s a cop-out,” I mutter, but the words fall flat. I fall back onto the couch and close my eyes.

  Two years.

  Seven hundred and thirty days that Étienne waited for me. I like to think I’d wait an eternity for him and then some, but would I really?

  Can I honestly be angry with him for trying to pick up the pieces of his life and move on?

  The answer is an irrevocable yes. In my mind, I thought we were on the same page that nothing would tear our love apart, not even time. I just automatically assumed he would wait.

  That’s what you get for assuming, I think to myself. Expect the worst. Yet hope for the best. How many times do you need to go over this, Serene?

  It’s true, though. If I would’ve expected the worst, I wouldn’t be experiencing the heartache I am now. All I keep thinking is, what happened? What made him propose to this Scarlett woman? Better yet, what happened to Old Serene?

  One of my worst fears was that once I left, Old Serene would fill my role. But it seems as though that never happened to begin with.

  I lift my head and look at Livingston, ready to ask all my questions when he speaks up first. “There’s going to be an engagement party at Belgrave tomorrow.”

  Suddenly, I sit up straight. “I’m not going over there,” I say before Livingston can finish his sentence. I’d rather have a colonic in front of a group of strangers than go to Étienne’s engagement party. Besides, I have more pressing matters like trying to find Asa and figuring out what he meant when he said Emmeline was in danger.

  “You haven’t given me a chance to explain who it’s for,” Livingston says.

  “Don’t care. Not going to happen,” I reply, shaking my head stubbornly.

  “You have to go.”