Scarlett had left the Grand Hotel. Finding her again wouldn't take long, but the entire affair had caught Rhett off guard. His letter had backfired - he had anticipated that Scarlett would return swiftly, brimming with rightful indignation. Or, and it was a very bitter thought, driven by anxiety for Ashley. He probably had no right to harbor such hatred for that gentleman, but if a saint like Melly couldn't work her miracle on him, then it was time to admit that he would never change.
Rhett loved Scarlett; he would love her till his dying day. That was another unalterable fact about himself he had accepted a couple of months after their first tumultuous encounter. Every day since then - whether in her presence or her absence - only solidified the truth that no other woman would ever matter. However, Rhett was no man to let fate dictate his destiny. He had learned to play his hand well, to make the most out of life's cards. And when winning was out of reach, he knew when to gracefully bow out.
Turning Scarlett away after he left their home hadn't been a struggle. Every time they crossed paths, he could see the same lost child in her adorable eyes. And he knew damn well he couldn't trust his heart to those reckless, little hands. Scarlett could be more destructive when she meant well than when she meant harm; it was her curse. He still didn't regret his decision. And despite her well-being not being his primary concern, he wasn't a saint, he genuinely believed that she would be better off without him. He honestly did.
However...
However, the peace he had yearned for, in Scarlett's absence wasn't as fulfilling as he had hoped. Restlessness gnawed at him, his gentlemanly facade — always just a facade — began slipping more frequently. Those familiar faces, streets, and old routines he had sought refuge in were no longer sufficient. No matter how old he felt after Bonnie's death, he still had life left on him. Perhaps America was no longer enough.
He chuckled at the notion, drunk. He tried to keep it discreet — for Belle's sake. Lately, he found himself getting drunk more often, and Belle insisted in keeping him nearby, out of concern. Scarlett would have hated that arrangement, but she had no say anymore. Not now that they were divorced.
Raising an eyebrow, Rhett shifted his position on Belle's chaise longue. It was quite comfortable, even if the pillows were a tad too soft for his taste. The divorce had been the first sign. He had expected Scarlett to resist it, and he was ready to play along with the farce of a fake marriage if that's what she wanted. Yet, she had returned his freedom to him. Not long after, she had left — perhaps influenced by his own remarks about London and Paris. He had suspected it was another one of her ploys to lure him back, her transparent manipulations. To his surprise, her absence had no end in sight, and now she seemed committed to severing all ties between them.
Rhett let out a sigh; he needed a smoke. After dressing, he headed outside and started walking. The night was still warm, through October was creeping in. His body craved movement, but he had to be careful not to catch a chill, or stumble on his own intoxicated feet and break his head as the old fool he was. The streets were deserted; even the less respectable of his friends had likely found their way to a bed by now.
He should know better. He should leave Scarlett be. Her actions and affairs were no longer his concern.
Yet, that damn photograph haunted him. It wasn't the fact she was dancing and smiling - Scarlett adored dancing. She could have danced at her own funeral, even with the devil himself if challenged. It was the depth in her eyes, the maturity in her entire demeanor, that had shaken him to the core. He had left Scarlett under the impression she would never grow up, and that he lacked the patience or time to teach her. But what if he had been wrong? The letter had been a test the old Scarlett would have failed, but the calm, logical response of this new Scarlett was baffling.
And exciting.
He shook his head, dispelling the thought. He was being obstinate. Returning to Scarlett, after all he had said and done, was illogical. He could find solace in other arms as he had done before. He was too old for more dramatic affairs. Who knew, the moment Scarlett laid eyes on him, she might revert to her old ways and pine for Ashley again.
He laughed, the sound echoing through the street at that ungodly hour. But Rhett Butler didn't care. He was no gentleman, he had no manners or morals - he was a buccaneer, an opportunist, a blockade runner. He was intrigued by the Scarlett in that photograph; he wanted to make her acquaintance. And if that was meant to destroy him, or her, so be it. He felt alive once more.