“I know that. I’ll continue to drive you mad.”
“God, I hope so.”
He kisses me for a second time. And while Serene tells Étienne she knew the whole time we would be together, we kiss. While Étienne talks about how quickly the guests can begin to leave his home, we kiss.
And when the guests consider whether Livingston was a bachelor the entire time, we kiss.
Throughout the years, we have found ourselves at war with one another, but with love, we found peace.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Rainey
“That’s it. I’m finished.”
I barely spare Livingston a glance. “You’ve said that several times. Keep goin’.”
My fiancé spreads his fingers and then loosely shakes his hand before he reluctantly picks up his pen and continues to write out an address on a cream-colored envelope.
Fiancé.
I have a fiancé. It’s been almost two months since the bachelor ball. I keep expecting all this to be a dream. That I’ll wake up at any moment with Livingston ripped from me, and the two of us bickering at one another. He hasn’t left my side once, but we bicker frequently. And I prefer it that way. If it was any different, I’d be concerned.
“The invitations need to be mailed by tomorrow mornin’. We’ve postponed this for as long as possible.”
Livingston grunts. “We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”
“No, we wouldn’t because we have to answer to not only Serene but also Momma.”
Livingston’s eyes marginally widen before he hastily finishes writing the address and then moves to the next name on the guest list. If I knew those two ladies would’ve been the best motivation, I would’ve started with that at the beginning.
He’s making significant progress when he stops and inspects the list. “Who’s all invited?”
“My momma is Leonore Pleasonton, so everyone.”
“Of course.”
“And because Leonore Pleasonton’s daughter is marryin’ a Lacroix, she will treat this as a royal weddin’.”
Livingston lifts a brow. “A royal weddin’ she has only three months to plan?”
“Momma could plan it in three weeks if she had to.”
“I don’t lack faith in her.”
I continue to address the invites but stop when I get to Nathalie’s name. I hold the envelope between both hands and sigh “But did I tell you I’ve spoken to Nat recently?
“At least one of us has,” Livingston mutters under his breath.
I give him a pointed look and shift in my seat toward him. “She will be here for the weddin’.”
Livingston lifts his head and points his pen at me. “Ah, but how long will she stay afterward?”
“That I can’t answer.”
“For the life of me, I can’t fathom why she doesn’t come back to Belgrave for good.” Livingston’s frustration is palpable, but I understand. Time has passed since Oliver’s passing, and Nat continues to evade the discussion of coming home. I know she isn’t happy at Brignac House. I saw with my own two eyes, and I’m certain it hasn’t gotten better for her.
“I question why she remains there, too. But I think what’s keepin’ her there is a someone from her past.”
Livingston slowly blinks at me. He doesn’t have the slightest idea who I’m talking about.
“Asa,” I supply. “She doesn’t want to come back to Charleston and see Asa.”
It takes Livingston several seconds before his eyes light up with understanding. “Oh, yes. Asa.” He shakes his head. “Christ. She still has that childhood crush on him?”
“Is it considered a childhood crush when you’re no longer a child and very much an adult?”
“She’s a widow now,” he mutters.
“And so now her heart is black and passion is dead?”
At my sarcasm, Livingston lifts a brow and smirks. “Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, if she came home, she’d discover that things have changed.”
“Not everythin’,” I say quietly.
Many things I’m certain of, and one of them is Nathalie’s love for Asa Calhoun.
“You’re right,” Livingston says as he stands. He walks over to his desk and moves aside papers to reveal the plans for our home.
“More progress?”
“More progress,” he confirms and moves back to me. He lays the prints out in front of me and, in-rapid fire, begins to describe how he envisioned the structure of the home, windows here, columns there, a spiral staircase in the foyer. I nod with a small smile. He’s so excited that his mouth can’t keep up with his imagination.
I gave him my input here and there, and he makes the proper changes, but my one request I refused to budge on was a library. Give me a library, and I will be content for life. A builder has been chosen, and progress would soon be made on the land Livingston purchased months ago across from Belgrave.
As for the Lacroix home, it was in a trust for Étienne, Livingston, and Nathalie and had been that way since the death of their parents. The three of them could rent the home out, use it for storage, and place every terrifying picture of their ancestors against the walls. Options were endless. One thing was not: the home could never leave the Lacroix family.
The same couldn’t be said for my childhood home.
Debts may have been paid, but that didn’t mean Momma and I were free from debt forever. Between the two of us, there was no income, and the upkeep of our family home was too great. Momma didn’t put up a great fight. The one thing she tried to resist was my dowry going anywhere outside the family. Her argument was I didn’t get married in sixty days, but I found a suitable husband in sixty days. And now she was in legal proceedings, fighting tooth and nail to keep the money.
She had no energy left in her to fight to keep the house. Honestly, I think she knew it was time to let go of it, and I think she also wanted a new beginning. Although there were good memories in my childhood home, there was no possible way of escaping the past when it was all around you.
The money from the sale of the house (and furniture) would go toward her next home. Although finding one that met her standards would be interesting.
By that time, Livingston and I would be married, and if all went well, our house would be partially built, and Livingston could see some of his dreams come true. He still struggles with nightmares from the war, but it isn’t quite as acute as before. I know his job at Étienne’s company helps tremendously. It pulls him out of the dark shelter he had slowly built for himself. He was never going to be the old Livingston. He saw too much in France. But he was making progress, and there were moments when he would mention what he experienced almost as though it was a fleeting thought. I never prodded too much. It was his choice to tell me what he wanted to.
Out of all the positive changes in my life, there is one thing I still can’t figure out. Who paid off my family’s debts? To this day, Livingston asserts it wasn’t him, and he had zero involvement. I’ve tried to find out, but whoever it was took great care in making sure their identity was kept a secret. They don’t want to be found. At some point, I had to ask myself what was more important to me, finding them or holding onto this new life I have. Because, in essence, that’s what I have with these debts paid.