Just one Night. One perfect Night. One flawless Night. That's all he'd prayed for.
In the grand scheme of things, Rhett thought, as he looked up into the star studded, summer night sky, was it too much to ask?
It could have been It. The night had started out well, unfolding like a dream. Young and bursting with promise. The sound of laughter and music had filled the big hall, as the nimble dancers, dressed in glittering sequins and rustling skirts with jeweled feather clips had flashed their legs alluringly; smiles and claps mingling with the rich aroma of stuffed lobster and buttery imperial crab.
He had looked into her sea green eyes and felt her joy. It had washed over him, radiant and carefree and unrestrained. He had felt it cleanse his heart, like a soothing gentle kiss, that scrubbed away the irrational jealousy and bitterness that had vilely taken root and that he'd allowed to spread like cancer, over the years. He had watched her play, observing her childlike excitement, at the simple pleasures that his money could buy, and he had reveled in it. It was exhilarating, to savor her pleasure and her delight at the music and gaiety and exquisite cuisine that he could regale her with. Her flashing dimples and her sparkling green eyes were his salvation. An addiction.
"Yes, just this one Night", he had begged his resisting heart.
On this one night, he would throw caution to the wind. He would strip himself off his shield of cynical disbelief and his layers of deprecating sarcasm. He would bask in the euphoria of her glittering green eyes and warm his cold and lonely heart in their fiery glow. He would throw himself into their green depths and willingly drown in them.
"On this one night", he'd thought, looking across at the woman seated across him, he would find his peace. Just this once, he would forget who he was and who he knew her to be. And yes, for this one night, he would forget…. the blonde specter that lurked between them.
It was on this night, that for the first time in his life, Rhett Butler had gazed into the eyes of a woman and felt but just one emotion and one only – Love.
This night had meant to be perfect. This night had meant to be made for him. Only for him and him alone. He had willed it to be true. For he had pleaded with Night and had begged the darkness.
He'd remembered coming back to the hotel; coming back to the finest room and best life that money could buy. He remembered how she'd looked, as she hung onto his arm, her eyes glazed with wine and pleasure; her scent, a heady mix of desire and want as it surrounded him, clouding his mind. He remembered with a lurching heart, the feel of her heart against his and her soft breath against his neck when he'd picked her up in his arms and held her close.
It had been the lavish décor and the glittering chandeliers with their sparkling cut glass diamonds; the shining crystal vases; the thick lush brocades and colorful rugs that had brought out the twinkle in her eyes and the dimple in her cheeks. But for him, happiness and joy and contentment and gratification were all but just one word. One name. One vision. He was a simple man to please. And tonight, he'd hoped, his heart bursting with love, would be a simple night, for he'd meant it to be a night of true love.
His face wore no mask, his eyes unshuttered, he'd gone to her with his heart on his sleeve. And she? She had looked at him, her face like summer sunshine and with jewels in her dark hair, had come to him as herself.
It had been this same night, on this very night which had cloaked them both in its velvety darkness, when, Scarlett, standing on tiptoe, had reached for him and linking her arms across his neck, had gently touched her lips to his. He remembered the ecstasy of that kiss; the purity of it piercing his heart and lifting his soul. And then, when he'd held her in his arms, and his mustache grazed against her neck, she had pressed against him with an urgency that had burned into his skin. The sultry night air, that had wafted in through the open windows had carried her desire to his lips with a soft touch.
He remembered the feel of her soft black hair as he wrapped it around his neck, breathing her in and inhaling her essence. He remembered the rapture of her embrace, the thrill of every kiss that she returned with passion as intense, as heady and flavorful as the champagne she'd had that night. He remembered the feel of her smooth soft skin flowing like whipped silk under his callused hands; the shocked gasp, so painfully sweet in his ears when his lips had gently traced the outline of her mouth, her sweet breath burning his tongue. He remembered the way her arms had tightened around his neck when he had gathered her gently and carried her to the bed. He had worshiped her; had cloaked his heart in her unrestrained responses and bathed his wounds in her burning desire. She had given herself to him, this night. And only him. This night had been for him and him alone. In all his nights in hell, this was one solitary night, standing out like a lone star in a stormy sky. It beckoned to him like heaven and he willingly immersed himself in it. Like her glass of favorite champagne, it had been one simple sparkling miracle that he'd desperately tried to bottle in the magic of the night.
Yes! He had thirsted for such a night; craved for it in his dreams and nightmares alike. A night of exhilaration. Of complete possession, without the lurking shadow of obsession and infatuation; of raging jealousy sheathed in niggling insecurity that constantly plagued and clawed at his heart like a savage beast. It had always been so in his every union with her; had marred his nights with bitterness tinged with envy and hatred. But not this night. This night, it had been different. This night was a night of bliss and finally…a night of peace. This night had brought him to his knees.
Until he had heard her sigh.
Until that moment.
Lying in his arms, in the streaming moonlight, her face rosy with lingering ardor, her body, shimmering with sated desire she had turned her face to the window and sighed.
And it changed everything.
At first, it had sounded so soft, that sigh. Like a slight spring breeze in the middle of a hot day. So soft and musical, it had teased him, gently nipping at the edges of his consciousness. For one moment in eternity, the night had seemed strangely quiet as his heart stopped beating. Then the darkness of the night had come rushing in, like a ravenous beast with its fangs bared, and had viciously ripped into the fabric of his world. With that one sigh, just like that, the night had changed.
Insane rage and jealousy had beaten a familiar path, a path of unbidden angst and searing pain into an unguarded heart. Twisted thoughts and vicious scenes played itself out in the deathly quiet night as painful memories burned and scorched themselves into the fiber of his consciousness. That soft sound, so innocent, almost chaste in its ubiquity, cut ruthlessly through the silent night with the precision of a deadly blade. Edged with the sharp venom of jealousy, it rode the night like a dark fury, slicing his heart into a million bleeding bits, each piece flaming anew with renewed agony, even as he awoke, choking and gasping for air and breathing his name into a silent curse. Ashley Wilkes! Every sigh, every breath that came out of her in nights such as this, spelled that name! Spelled it into the jeering darkness and raked it into bold derisive letters like a vulgar stain that dissolved into desperate loneliness and blended it into a poison that consumed him and burned him in their wake.
One unsullied night, that's all he had asked.
He had lain in the darkness with his heart bleeding beside her, not moving a muscle. The gentle breathing of that sigh into a night such as this, could have been a canon shot aimed at his chest, for all that it mattered. His bleeding heart would have never known the difference.
As he lay in the wreckage of his dreams, he searched in the shadows and found Night, his eyes imploring and moist with heartbreak. And Night, her eyes veiled in darkness, bared her teeth and laughed.
Sitting up, bent and beaten, his head in his trembling hands, he had looked at his sleeping wife. She looked like a dream. She had felt like a dream. But he saw her now, his eyes glistening and wet from a pain too familiar and too intimate, for what she was. A devastatingly beautiful nightmare. His nightmare.
He had awoken then, his despair and anguish once again secured within the prison of his battered heart and with the shutters of hatred and envy firmly in place, he had quietly dressed himself and walked out into the deserted street.
That night, Rhett Butler walked alone. No gun or holster accompanied him, no trappings of fine linen and thundering horses echoed his presence. Neither did wicked humor spring forth from the twist of his lips nor did any stride confident and proud crown his step. He walked alone with the lonely steps of a man defeated. A lonely man with a broken heart and a broken soul.
Night, dressed in her black garb of rejection, smiled gleefully and gathering up her dark skirts ran after the man with the empty heart.
…
Alone in her bed, wrapped in dreamy contentment, Scarlett turned her soft flushed face into the streaming moonlight from the window. With sleep heavy on her eyes, she reached out her arms and feeling the spreading emptiness around her, she wrapped it around herself like a blanket of soft trailing kisses of the one in her dreams. The she sighed again and said his name, just once ….."Rhett".