I turn and give Livingston a dazzling smile. “Quite well. And you?”
His eyes narrow a fraction as he looks between Beau and me. I don’t know why. Beau’s engaged in a conversation with Étienne. The minute Beau’s done, I will ask if he wouldn’t mind switching places with me.
I know the question and the white-hot awareness of him won’t abate until there’s space between us.
I’ve run out of time, though, when the wall sconces become dimmed. Around us, voices fade, and in unison, heads turn to the stage, waiting for the film to begin. Somewhere in the theater somebody coughs. Another clears their throat.
The blank wall swallowing the stage suddenly fills with light. With every film I’ve seen, there’s never been a steadiness, but that simply adds to the experience. The picture always appears to be moving even though it’s not. I try to notice every single detail before the scene changes, even down to the opening credits.
A backdrop that appears is the shadow of a boat with numerous people sitting inside and the outline of mountains in the back. I begin to read the first subtitles. Baby Souls, Kings of the Future, bearer—
“An interestin’ rumor has found its way to me.”
Gritting my teeth, I keep my focus forward. Livingston is simply attempting to get a rise out of me.
“Do you care to know?”
Briefly, my eyes close. He’s not going to quit until I reply. “Not particularly.”
There’s a pause, then Livingston whispers, “Very well. I’ll tell you anyway. I’ve heard the bettin’ books around town have made a game of your bachelors. A lot of people have become highly invested in your future husband.”
Eyes wide, I turn toward Livingston. “You cannot be serious.”
“When have I lied about a bet?”
“When you’re losin’,” I whisper.
Livingston shakes his head as the corner of his mouth lifts. “Believe me on this.”
I don’t reply and return my gaze to the film, but I’m thinking about his words. There are bets being placed on my future husband. I shouldn’t be shocked. Yet I am.
“Do you want to know who is in the runnin’ to win?” Livingston persists.
More than anything. “No, I do not.”
“Sure?”
“Positive.”
I attempt to read the subtitles and try to immerse myself in the film. How much have I missed? We’re well past the boat scene; now the scene’s one of a brick wall with trash cans that are filled to the brim. The ground is covered in debris. It’s a stark comparison to the first scene.
“You’re all dolled up tonight,” Livingston says into my ear.
There’s no possible way I can follow the film sitting next to Livingston. Not with him interrupting me every few minutes. The worst part is he’s doing it to drive me mad. And it’s working. I’m not going to let that show. Absolutely not. Beau is here, and I’m going to be the very picture of a Southern belle.
He shifts closer. “Is this attire all for Beau?”
Abruptly, I turn to him, my eyes ablaze. “It’s impolite to speak durin’ a movie,” I hiss.
Keeping his eyes on mine, he holds his palm between our bodies. “Then let us write.”
My eyes flick between his splayed fingers that leads to his palm and then back to his face. “You’ve gone mad,” I whisper.
The rules of the write hand game are very simple and clear. One person will ask a question, and the other will answer by writing on the person’s hand who asked the question. They will have three tries to guess what the answer is before the turn moves to the next. It’s been years since I’ve played this. The last time was at Belgrave when I was nine. Livingston’s parents hosted a party, and it was the first event Momma stepped out from mourning for. Miles and I still hadn’t properly come to terms with the loss of Daddy, and unfortunately, we fought constantly. Momma made sure we were separated during that dinner by placing Livingston between us. I wanted to let my brother know how I felt. Keeping us apart wouldn’t stop me, so I enlisted the help of Livingston. Maybe he took pity on me for the loss of Daddy because he agreed, and beneath the table, held his palm out to me and said, “Of course I will help you.”
If I remember correctly, I never said thank you to him for being on my side that night and delivering all my messages.
Livingston shrugs. “Take your pick,” he whispers back.
Sighing, I look to my right. Beau is transfixed by the movie. My eyes veer to Livingston’s date, Rosalie. She, too, is absorbed in the movie. I had the same intentions, but I’d given up hope of keeping up with the subtitles and understanding the plot. Maybe another time.
“All right,” I reluctantly agree, knowing that sometime at a later date, I will make Livingston pay.
Even in the darkness of the theater, I can see Livingston’s wicked grin. It causes my stomach to flip. He rests his arm on the armrest and holds his hand out, palm up. I stare at his hand as though it’s a trap. Ready to latch onto my hand and not let go.
“Your dress, it’s new … correct?” he whispers.
I presumed we would discuss tonight’s events. Not what I’m wearing. I take another deep breath. Reaching my index finger out, I lightly drag my nail against his skin, YES.
A small shiver rocks through me as I write the three-letter word. It feels indecent to be doing this in public. But this is a mere dare. A simple game. And we’ve been doing these for years. What’s one more time?
“Did Beau notice?”
“It’s my turn to ask a question,” I whisper.
“I made amendments to the rules because you don’t want to talk,” Livingston whispers back. “Now, did Beau notice?”
At the mention of my escort, I sneak another glance at Beau. He seems unbothered by Livingston’s unprompted dare. My arm aligns with Livingston’s as I write NO.
The wicked grin that was fixed on Livingston’s face when we began this game begins to fade. The light from the screen plays across the angles of his face, showcasing his sharp cheekbones, and the perfect angle of his nose. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, no man should be this handsome. Black brows slanted low over his light eyes, and his focus is devoted on his hand where my fingers still linger. Immediately, I snatch my hand back and place it on my lap.
“Do you think Beau is your bachelor?”
With that question, I pause. For one, it’s impossible to write I AM UNCERTAIN, and two, I’m beginning to believe it’s impractical to think one date can decide your fate with a person.
There has to be more time, more conversation.
“You’re not answerin’,” Livingston whispers into my ear.
“This is absurd. Let’s watch the movie!” I hiss even though I make no attempt to move away from him.
Don’t look at him. Do not look at him!
Mentally, I give myself a pat on the back for keeping my eyes trained forward. Out of the corner of my right eye, I spot Serene leaning forward, pointedly looking back and forth between Livingston and me.
I shove at Livingston’s arm. “We’re bein’ watched.”
Without delay, Livingston sits up straight. The two of us move our arms from the armrests. My hands fall into my lap, and my fingers become laced. Together, we stare serenely at the screen, as though we were two enraptured moviegoers and nothing else. In all honesty, I couldn’t tell you what was occurring in the film for all the money in the world.