I seized his arm, which surprised him.

"I wish when you said that, you really meant it. Linden."

He blinked and relaxed his shoulders. Then he looked down, ashamedly. I thought, before looking up at me again.

"I do. I'm sorry. I do," he said. I smiled.

"Thank you, Linden," I replied, and he nodded and walked more slowly away from me, looking suddenly years older.

I stepped outside. Thatcher, wearing a gold sports jacket, black slacks, a black shirt, and a black tie, looked up at me and whistled. Then he turned to Mother, laughed, and shook his head.

"Grace, the hens will be cackling about this for a month."

"As long as they don't lay any eggs on my front steps," Mother said. and Thatcher laughed again.

He held out his arm.

"Mrs. Future Thatcher Eaton." he said in an exaggerated southern accent. "may I escort you?"

Why, Mr. Eaton. I thought you'd never ask," I said. and Mother laughed harder than either of us.

On such a wonderful, happy note, how could anything bring back the clouds of despair? I thought.

7

Tea with Bunny

.

Everything Thatcher did that night seemed

designed to flaunt our relationship before Palm Beach society. He'd reserved a table that put us in the front so that we would be constantly on display, and when we entered, he made sure to pause to introduce me as his fiancee to anyone and everyone he knew. I was already wearing the ring. He had presented it to me again as soon as we were in his Rolls.

"I'm giving it back to you a lot sooner than you expected. I know." he said as he took my hand and slipped it over my finger.

"Yes."

He kissed me.

"That's the way it will be from now on. Willow.

You give me a task and I'll get it done. Your happiness is my happiness," he told me. I know it was only my imagination, but my hand felt heavier, especially after he began to introduce me as his fiancee. Whenever I shook hands with anyone. I watched the way his or her eyes and the eyes of those around us were drawn to the glittering diamond. By the time we reached our table, the whole place was chattering about us. I caught bits and pieces of phrases: "...never thought Thatcher Eaton would get serious about anyone... it can't be true... Grace Montgomery's daughter?"

People who hadn't been in the "receiving line" made their way to our table to be introduced and to hear Thatcher say "my fiancee," as if the ring itself were no guarantee or proof of anything. It had to come from his lips as well.

One woman who looked about my mother's age but dressed as if she were my age surprised me by seizing my hand and holding it up so the ring was clearly visible to anyone nearby. Then she blurted, "Do you realize what you have done? You have lassoed the wildest stallion on the beach!"

"Really?" I said, sounding as unimpressed as I could manage as I retrieved my hand. I looked at Thatcher. "He's so polite and civilized when he is with me. I never would have known it."

He roared, and the woman, who'd been introduced as Muffy Anderson, dropped her jaw so quickly it looked like it had unhinged. Her escort. a thin, small. dapper man. held a frozen smile. I thought they made a most unlikely couple. She looked like she could absorb him with a mere embrace, especially if he was drawn into the valley between her two bulging breasts.

"Who was that?" I asked Thatcher as soon as they left our table.

"Muffy? She's the widow of Lowell Anderson, who patented and manufactured a plastic wine battle cap that sold like hotcakes throughout western Europe. Her escort is just some Palm Beach walker, another Kirby Scott," he said through the corner of his mouth.

I wanted to hear more about his meeting with Kirby Scott, but I knew almost from the moment we had arrived at Ta-Boo that we wouldn't have much time to talk seriously at the restaurant. There was a constant parade of Thatcher's friends and

acquaintances marching to and by our table. Before the evening ended, a woman who looked like she had just come from a costume ball, wearing a jeweled cowboy hat, a beaded blouse, a pink quilted skirt, and a pair of what looked like alligator boots, came charging into the restaurant with a young man at her side who carried an impressive-looking camera. She made her way directly to our table. We were just having our dessert.

Tags: V.C. Andrews De Beers Horror
Source: readsnovelonline.net