This reception is the opposite of mine and Oliver’s.
Oh, and the most important contrast? Livingston and Rainey are irrevocably and deeply in love with one another.
During dinner, they sit close to one another, talking to each other as though there’s no one else in the room. This is a time to celebrate their love and what they’re building together. If that isn’t the furthest from Oliver and me, then I don’t know what is.
“Il y a des chambres à coucher pour ça,” Étienne murmurs to me.
“Tu oublies facilement ton passé, et ton vécu avec Serene,” I reply.
“We have never been quite so… lustful in public,” Étienne answers.
Turning my attention to the bride and groom, I lift a shoulder. “I think we’ll have to agree to disagree on that, but I think it’s quite sweet how they’re behavin’.”
About this time, Serene leans toward us. “Is he being all weird about Livingston and Rainey’s PDA?”
“PDA?” I repeat.
“You know…” Serene says, her words fading as she stares at me meaningfully.
“I’m afraid I do not.”
“Public display of affection,” Serene patiently provides. She points to Étienne. “He can’t help that he’s shy when it comes to affection.”
At once, Étienne protests, although his face turns red. “I am not shy. That is ridiculous.”
I observe him for several seconds. “You know, I’ve never thought about it that way. You are shy.”
Étienne merely shakes his head, not bothering to deny it. He thinks I don’t notice, but beneath the table, I see his hand curve around her knee, before it rests on her thigh.
The two of them are so comfortable and at ease with their love. I want that for myself so badly my heart aches for it.
I pick up my champagne glass and take a long drink.
“He’s been staring at you the whole time,” Serene whispers in my ear.
I lower my glass and stare into the contents. Serene doesn’t need to say who ‘he’ is for my heart to begin pounding. “Don’t be absurd,” I mutter.
“He is,” she insists. “And if he stares any more, I think Étienne might snap him in two.” I take another drink while Serene laughs. “You can make that face all you want, Nat, but you know I’m right.”
Placing my drink on the table I look to my sister-in-law. “You know why I appear confused and hurt? It’s because I am,” I openly confess before I shake my head. “I don’t understand him, Serene.”
“I know.”
“How could he marry her?” I ask, my voice bordering on desperate. “How?”
Serene looks at me with pity. “I wish I knew.” She hesitates, her gaze moving between me and my drink. “Say, Nathalie… how many drinks have you had?”
I frown and try to count in my head, but it’s far too much work. So I just shrug.
Serene laughs. “Keep it up, and you’re going to get shit-faced tonight.”
My nose wrinkles because the term shit-faced sounds familiar. And then I realize why. Serene has said that once before. The day of my wedding to Oliver. That day I was a bundle of nerves; I thought I was going to be sick. Everyone kept telling me it was normal. Every bride-to-be got jittery. But I think, deep down, I knew I was doing the wrong thing. I knew Oliver wasn’t the man for me, but it was far too late to back out then.
I’ve regretted the decision ever since.
I swirl the wine glass and watch the colored liquid spin in my glass. “I would be dishonest if I said the thought hadn’t passed through my head once or twice. Does it truly matter? Look around us, everyone else is well beyond their third glass of champagne. Even Étienne seems to be enjoyin’ himself.”
The two of us turn toward the topic of our conversation. Étienne is speaking to the guest on the other side of him loudly. Very, very loudly. It’s rare that Étienne drinks in excess, but when he does, this is how it begins. He always maintains his composure, but it’s as though he forgets he’s indoors and shouts his thoughts. And soon, he’ll become amicable and good-natured. A foxed Étienne is quite entertaining.
Serene shakes her head before she turns back to me. “Nothing good will come out of drinking your sorrows away.”
I arch a brow. “You got ‘shit-faced’ at my reception,” I point out.
“You’re right, I did.”
“Do you regret it?”
Serene doesn’t immediately answer, which has me leaning in. Finally, after several seconds, she looks at me and smiles. Her eyes are filled with distant memories from the past. “No. I don’t suppose I do,” she says softly.
Serene turns to speak with the guest next to her. I take that opportunity to look across the table.
“I must say, it’s so lovely to see you again, Nathalie,” Rainey’s momma says from across the table.
Her cheeks are rosy and there’s a small sparkle in her eye. It’s apparent Mrs. Pleasonton is well into her fourth or fifth glass of champagne because she’s speaking to me as though this is the first time she’s seen me today. Hell, since I’ve been back in Charleston.
I smile back. “It’s lovely to see you.”
Earnestly, she leans forward. “I was thinkin’, dear; we must find you someone.” The champagne makes Mrs. Pleasonton’s tongue bolder than normal. Everyone sitting at the table laughs.
“Momma, should she have a bachelor ball of her own?” Rainey asks.
“I can host it!” Serene chimes in.
“No, no…” With laughter, I wave their words away. “I’m fine.”
My gaze clashes with Asa’s. My heart becomes lodged in my throat, and my grip on the glass tightens as I fight to maintain my composure. His gaze his downright feral as though he wants to devour me. I can feel his jealousy as if it’s mine. It’s hot and acrid, making every breath a chore. The longer we look at one another, the stormier those eyes become. He’s staring at me as though I was the one who made the suggestion of finding a husband. Beside him, Juliet places her hand on his arm and pulls his attention away.
At once, I look away and exhale a shaky breath. I toss back the rest of my drink in the most unladylike of ways.
I made it through the wedding. I can manage a simple dinner, but it’s going to be with the help of alcohol and lots of it.
“Is that little Nathalie Lacroix?”
I turn to see one of Livingston’s longtime friends approaching. “Hello Conrad.”
It’s strange to have someone call me by my maiden name. It’s been quite some time, but I miss the sound of it. I was never meant to be a Claiborne.
Conrad leans against the chair next to me, altogether disregarding one of Rainey’s distant relatives sitting there. They look over their shoulder at him before they shake their head and turn back around. Conrad takes a long drink of the amber liquid in his hands, as if it’s water.
“You look positively stunnin’.”
I accept his compliment with a smile and give him my full attention. “Why thank you.”
“And don’t I look handsome?” he asks with mock hurt.