one thing you can do to stop us from marrying each
other!"
He stood there, pale faced and quivering all
over, and then he said in a hoarse whisper, "Yes there
is. I could tell him about us . . . he wouldn't want you
then." "You wouldn't tell him that. You're much too
honorable, and besides, he already knows."
For long, long moments we glared at each other
. . . and then he ran from the room, slamming the door
so hard behind him it put a long crack in the ceiling
plaster.
Only Carrie accompanied Paul and me to The
Plantation House. "It's too bad Chris doesn't feel well.
I hope he doesn't have the flu. . . . Everyone else does.
'
I didn't say anything, just sat and listened to
Carrie chatter on and on about how much she loved
Christmas and the way it made everything ordinary
look so pretty.
Paul slipped a two-carat diamond ring on my
finger while a huge fire crackled the Yule log, and soft
music played. I did my best to make it a joyous
occasion, laughing, smiling, exchanging long,
romantic looks while we sipped champagne and
toasted each other and our long and happy future
together. I danced with him under the giant crystal
chandeliers and kept my eyes closed, picturing Chris
home alone, sulking in his room and hating me. "We're going to be so happy, Paul," I whispered, standing on the toes of my high-heeled silver slippers. Yes, this was the way our life together would be. Easy. Sweet. Effortless. Just like the lilting, old-fashioned waltz we danced to. Because when you truly loved there were no problems that love couldn't
overcome.
Me. . . and my ideas.