As I look around at the multitude of people, it occurs to me it’s been quite a long time since I’ve had a relaxing and enjoyable night. But the minute I see the familiar faces, and their eyes focused on me and my date, I immediately regret this night out. Expecting news of my bachelor ball not to spread across town would be delusional of me. The second I stepped foot out of my home with one of the bachelors, people started wondering, and since then, all eyes and ears have been on me and becoming more than bothersome.
Serene, on the other hand, is uninterested at everyone watching us and holds her head high. She’s wearing a pale blue long-sleeved gown, with a high neckline, gold lace insertions, and a sash of the same color directly above her burgeoning stomach that she makes no attempt to cover. Confinement while pregnant is something Serene loathes. One of her hands freely rests on her stomach. Whether it’s subconscious or on purpose doesn’t matter to me. Serene is the same whether in public or in private.
“My God, it’s hot in here,” she mutters under her breath and begins to cool herself with her fan. “I don’t know if I’ll make it through the entire show.”
“If I have to sit through this, then so shall you,” Étienne says beside her.
Serene gently nudges him and turns to me. “I heard this silent movie is based on a book. Have you ever read anything by Jean Webster?”
“I haven’t,” I answer.
I can’t remember the last time I sat down to read. Most likely before the war occurred. For my sixteenth birthday, Livingston gave me a book, The Shepherd of the Hills by Harold Bell Wright.
His inscription inside was:
I haven’t decided which will be more damaging in your hands, your bow and arrow or this book.
I do know these words contained within haven’t left me with a scar...yet.
Happy Birthday, le savauge.
I read the novel numerous times and still have it on my shelf. As the memory plays in my mind, a faint smile appears on my lips. Immediately, I mentally chastise myself. This isn’t the time to become nostalgic or think of Livingston.
We take our seats in the first mezzanine, and as I smooth the material of my dress around my legs, I look around the spacious theater. The chandeliers are dimly lit in the auditorium as people walk the narrow aisles and begin to take their seats.
Directly in front of the stage is the small orchestra, preparing for the film by checking their instruments. The stage is empty, and the curtains are pulled back, revealing a bare wall for the silent film to show on. I feel a sense of anticipation knowing I’ll see the actors, read the titles, and hear the beautiful music. I don’t go to the theater enough.
Beside me, Beau clears his throat. “Y-you lo-ok lovely.”
Turning to him, I smile. “Thank you.”
He smiles back, and his features transform from handsome to breathtaking. But he manages to keep a sincerity in his eyes that I don’t know if I’ve ever seen in a man before. “D-dare I say y-yo-ou a-are the p-prettiest woman here.”
“Not everyone has taken their seats. Don’t speak too soon,” I tease.
“I-I stand by my w-words.”
My smile widens. How can I give a wisecrack to that? “What did you think of the first bachelor event at Belgrave?”
“I’m g-grateful to be o-one of the fifteen men standin’.”
“I’m grateful you are too.”
“A-although I must confess I’m a-apprehensive to see what will be required of us next to win your hand.”
I lean toward him and lower my voice to a conspiring whisper. “Not even I know that.”
I notice when Beau becomes more comfortable in a conversation, his stutter significantly fades, but not entirely. Which I wouldn’t want. I rather like how he talks. And perhaps, as the night continues and we talk some more, I’ll discover there’s more I like.
“Well, well, well …” Serene murmurs under her breath.
I look toward the focus of her attention and see none other than Livingston Lacroix. My heart drops to my stomach. What is he doing here? I can’t count on one hand the number of times he’s been to the theater. If there’s no liquor in sight, there’s no Livingston.
“Good evenin’, everybody,” Livingston greets.
At once, his eyes meet mine. I try not to flinch at the direct contact, and the intensity I see swirling in his hazel irises. His focus switches to Beau who had begun speaking to Étienne before Livingston walked up.
Livingston’s eyes narrow, and his lips draw into a thin line. My word, what could he have against Beau? No one has a bad word to say about him.
Beau’s remarkably shy and merely dips his head. I sit there, arms crossed, trying to figure out what Livingston is doing here.
“Hello, Livingston,” Serene says.
Étienne leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, and chimes in. “This is an unexpected surprise.”
“Why? I happen to love the theater.”
“You’ve never been here. Not once. Ever. In your entire life,” Étienne replies, his tone glib.
“Yes, but I’ve been to a theater,” Livingston points out.
The four of us stare at him expectantly. It takes him a moment before he looks to his left and realizes a woman is standing beside him and has been for the entire exchange. In all honesty, I didn’t know she was with him. I thought she was merely waiting to be seated. I watch her carefully and notice how Livingston places a hand on her back. Who is she to him?
“Please forgive me. Everyone, this is Rosalie.”
I’ve never seen Rosalie before, thus proving my theory Livingston’s had to branch out to other towns to find women. I look her up and down one more time. She’s nothing like the moaning cow he was with weeks ago. I suppose that’s a step in the right direction, but I still don’t care for her.
“Hello,” she greets in a breathy voice that makes you question whether it’s real or a well-practiced action done in front of her mirror.
“I hope the four of you don’t mind if we sit here?” Livingston asks. He looks at everyone but me.
“N-not at all,” Beau says.
Much to my chagrin, I watch Livingston and his date occupy the two empty seats to my left. I expect Rosalie to sit beside me, but instead, it’s Livingston. I try not to let my shock show.
The intention of tonight was to get to know Beau. He seemed like an upstanding gentleman. Serene says he’s shy, but if a topic of conversation arises that he’s passionate about, he turns into a different person. Étienne told me he enjoys reading. It was something we had in common.
Last night as I fell asleep, I envisioned us speaking of our favorite stories and the numerous lives we lived through our most cherished characters. Maybe, just maybe, we would share a mutual love for the same story. I wouldn’t have to meet any of the other bachelors because Beau would be it.
It was a fanciful fantasy that would never come into existence. Especially with Livingston next to me.
As if he can sense me thinking of him, he glances at me as he makes himself comfortable. I can feel those hazels on me a mile away. “How are you, le savauge?”
I bite down on my tongue to keep from saying something harsh in front of Beau. He’s so quiet and calm, and I want him to have a good first impression of me and not see me explode on Livingston. Not yet at least. That’s always bound to happen.