Before the kiss, something came over Livingston. Something I’ve never seen before. He became a different person. Almost as though a curtain was draped over his eyes he was no longer filled with self-assured hubris, but became a bedraggled, frightened man. I didn’t know what to make of it, and I still don’t.
Did something occur last night to make him act this way? Is that why he didn’t disturb me while I was with Duncan? During my dinner, a part of me held a candle of hope that he would burst into the restaurant with an absurd explanation for being there. Rather than being mollified by his absence, I wondered where he was. Was he with one of his admirers? Because of that, I could barely hold a conversation with Duncan. By the time he escorted me to my door and wished me a good night, I realized that Livingston didn’t have to be present to still win.
I was irritated when I first saw him walk through the ballroom doors. Irritated that he was beginning to consume so much space in my head. As the day wore on, I realized something wasn’t right with him. There was a moment before he kissed me when the pain, frustration, and torment broke free in his eyes. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and protect him from the world.
I have flaws. I have deep-seated pain residing in my soul that will never abate. Who am I to prod into Livingston’s life? Who am I to demand he cut open a vein and tell me everything he saw while at war?
The truth is, it will never happen.
I’ve always remained steadfast in the belief that you cannot change someone or mend their pain. But you can be a solid support for them. If Livingston needs me, I will forget everything and be there.
Sometimes I think my blind devotion to Livingston stems back to our families. Yes, that must be it. I feel an obligation to make sure he’s emotionally stable. And we’ve experienced so much heartache together. Heartache that most people can’t comprehend. I knew Livingston hasn’t been himself since the war, but I didn’t know he was fighting with his demons this bad.
Especially with Nat in Savannah. They’ve always had a close relationship, and with her absence, who can he confide in?
“Rainey, I want your opinion.”
Halting mid-step, I backtrack—not before I give the front door a longing expression—and stop in front of the sitting parlor doorway. I find a very pregnant Serene standing in the middle of the room with all past Livingston and Lacroix relatives around her.
It’s a family reunion of the past.
Serene waves me impatiently into the room. “Come, come.”
Hesitantly, I step inside. I was all too ready to flee Belgrave as quickly as possible after my kiss with Livingston, but it was clear Serene was having none of that. I examine the paintings with mild interest. I have my own somber ancestor paintings staring down at me each time I step inside my home. They judge me for being twenty-eight and unattached. I’m failing my family. Bills are not being paid. The home will go into disrepair. Momma will have to sell the house.
How were you the catalyst, though? You cannot fix what you don’t know.
I know now, though. And time is of the essence. There are moments I cannot get out of my own way.
“What are your thoughts on these paintings?” Serene asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“What are my thoughts?” I repeat.
She nods, her gaze volleying between each stoic face.
“I … uh, I think they are all upstandin’ men who–”
She whirls around. “Oh, I don’t need that whole song and dance about their character,” Serene cuts in. “I want to know how they look. Don’t bullshit me, either.”
“Oh.” I’m a bit taken aback by her request. “Well, to be honest. The paintings are a bit … intimidatin’.”
She throws her hand in the air and smiles victoriously. “Thank you!”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because at least one has got to go. I told Étienne his great-great-grandpa”—she points to the pock faced man with a shock of white hair and green eyes that almost seem to be peering into my soul—“looks so serious he resembles a North Korean dictator. Alex says he scares her. Honestly, she’s not too far off the mark.” Serene continues to stare at the paintings thoughtfully. “The dining room is comfortable. And the rest of the home is haunted by angry relatives.”
“For most Southern families, that’s how it is,” I say with a smile.
“Fair enough. I just want the least terrifying ancestors on the wall.”
As children, Miles and I would scurry from room to room as fast as possible, pretending our ancestors were beasts chasing us. If we were able to make it to our room without being chastised by our Momma or Nanny, then we defeated the beasts. It made us feel victorious and helped with our fear.
Sighing, Serene shakes her head. “I’ll make the decision soon enough.” With her mind momentarily appeased about the paintings, she looks at me with a little gleam in her eye. “Are you off so soon? It seems as though you just got here.”
Even though Livingston hid me from Serene’s line of sight, I know she saw what happened between us. She’s a smart woman. And she wasn’t going to talk to me without bringing the topic up. But I cannot explain it and don’t want to attempt to.
Looking at my linked fingers, I exhale a deep breath before I lift my head. “I apologize for what you walked in on,” I say suddenly.
Serene waves her hand in the air. “No apology needed. I’m the one who barged on in.”
I nod, feeling uncertain of what I should say next. “T-that’s … I mean, it’s never happened before.”
“Of course,” she replies gently.
By this point, my eyes are wide and my voice is imploring. “It was a mistake.”
I need those words to be spoken into existence for my sake and no one else’s. Because someone can kiss you, but that doesn’t mean you have to respond. And I reacted in a way to Livingston that resembled all the women who have ever fell for him. He’s a beautiful man. A beautiful man with a devastating smile … who kisses remarkably well.
That is it.
Serene smiles at my words. “Certainly didn’t appear that way. I mean, Livingston was going to town, and you weren’t stopping him.”
Serene’s blunt words can at times be too refreshing, confusing, or embarrassing. Today, I’m embarrassed because it doesn’t take a genius to piece together what she’s referring to. I say nothing and simply look at her.
Tilting her head to the side, she reaches out and clutches my arms. “Oh, Rainey. I know that look.”
Jutting my chin, I step back. I brush a hand across my skirt and clear my throat. “Everythin’ is fine.”
“Of course it is. You just gave your heart to a Lacroix man.”
With those words said, my head jerks up, and my heart skips a beat. Breathing becomes difficult. I swallow several times, trying to phrase my words the right way, but my tongue feels far too big for my mouth.
What is wrong with me?
Serene winks. “You can relax. I won’t tell a soul. But it’s time you bust out the heavy artillery.”
The day I fall for a Lacroix man is the moment I become a successful debutante, and I want to say just that, but I’m more curious to know what Serene is referring to.