Her slipper-clad feet grazed the ground as she stepped from the wagon, her pale green cotton skirts rustling behind her like a fluttering, falling leaf. The descent lifted the brim of her straw sunbonnet which sat jauntily atop her head, the velvet green ribbon tied into an ostentatious bow right under her pointed chin. As usual, those around her marveled at her beauty, though her lashes never batted, and her smile was as much as politeness dictated. Their belle, for she was certainly belonging to the county, was changed though inexplicably so. The country had remained languorous, so how could she change?
"Welcome to Twelve Oaks," India smiled, though Scarlett could spot the insincerity from a mile away.
"Good day, India. I just love that frock you're wearing."
Her teeth clenched and bit back a retort. "You too, Scarlett."
A few steps forward, she felt her throat tighten, bereft of breath, as she spotted two lanky men, leaning carelessly on the pillar of Twelve Oaks and so blissfully unaware of the misfortune that would befall them. The mere sight of them nearly made her burst into tears, after the many numb, aimless months, and she could not wipe away the torn, ink-smeared casualty list from her mind. Killed in action, it had said. Killed in action, but now alive, with no logic or purpose, and despite their boyish smiles and playful antics, they were ghosts too. No matter where she looked she found corpses of the South.
Fastening her pace, her slipper-clad feet clacked up the entryway and into the main hall, ignoring the liveliness and joviality of the crowd to scour for a quiet place, though quite unlike her, seemed most appealing to escape the reminiscence, the reminders of the irretrievable past, irretrievable people.
But, before she could, a voice called out and she spotted Cathleen Calvert on the staircase, beckoning her over with a waving hand. Reluctantly, she followed.
"Cathleen, how are you?"
"Same as any other day. You know it isn't very exciting out here in the country. That's why I was so envious when I heard you were going to Charleston—how fun that must've been!"
Vindictive fathers and poor family relations were hardly fun.
Falsely she smiled, and replied, "Yes, it was a nice respite from the county. Much more to see and do."
As she spoke, Scarlett noticed her friend's wandering eyes, fixated on some figure behind her with great interest, and Cathleen pulled her closer by the arm, her gloved hands clutching her elbow. Out of courtesy, she turned, though with much apathy, and gazed listlessly at the staged splendor below her, invoking a melancholy she wished remained buried.
"Speaking of Charleston," she began, with excitement that slightly brought her out of her daze, wondering who it was that demanded such attention. "Maybe you've met the visitor everyone has been fawning over? He's from there but is visiting from West Point. Right there, the gentleman at the bottom of the stairs. Do you know him?"
Cathleen drew closer to the banister, with her arm in tow, and at last, Scarlett got a glimpse of the handsome stranger that somehow charmed the entire county. Though, to Scarlett, he was hardly a stranger at all.
"Yes," she breathed out, as his head turned in their direction. "I know him."
A large smile crossed his face, recognizing her in an instant, and excusing himself briefly from his conversation, he made his way jauntily up the stairs, with a vitality that encouraged her to remember her own, a contagious liveliness that made her slip away from her friend's grasp and walk towards him, meeting him at the middle landing. The arrogant, over-the-top bow that greeted her made her laugh, an act that made her dizzy, like a gulp of air after being underwater for so long.
"Rhett, what are you doing here?" she asked in awe.
"My acquaintance from West Point has some kin here. A barbecue in Clayton County, he said. For some reason, I found myself curious."
"Did you really? Why?"
Taking in her face, devoid of guile, he laughed softly. "Would it please you if I said I came here because of you?"
Stunned, Scarlett could only look down as Cathleen rushed to her side and tugged at her sleeve, taking the opportunity to study the man up close.
"Won't you introduce me to your friend, Scarlett?"
"Rhett, this is my friend Cathleen Calvert. Cathleen, this is Rhett Butler. I met him through my aunts who are good friends of his mother."
In proper fashion, Rhett briefly kissed her hand, moving with a purposeful charm expected of a man of good breeding and she wondered just who he was trying to impress.
"Do you belong to the Butlers of Charleston? I've heard many good things."
Scarlett watched anxiously at the exchange—poor Cathleen for choosing family as the first subject! And the man was perverse, smiling wickedly, a ridiculous answer ready at the tip of his tongue. Pleading him silently with her eyes, she gave a phony little laugh, and answered:
"Yes, that is his kin. All lovely people, I assure you. Now, Cathleen, I believe I left my fan with Suellen, and it is awfully hot in here. Would you be a dear and retrieve it for me?"
"But Scarlett, I am not yet done speaking to—"
"Mr. Butler is not planning to leave any time soon," she hissed, "I am sure I can occupy him while you are gone."
Processing her words, Cathleen's eyes went wide as she surveyed the two in front of her. Now that she looked carefully, she saw the coveting gaze of Mr. Butler towards her dear friend and remembered how they approached one another just moments prior, baffled how she had not noticed before. A pretty picture they made and something about him told her that he was not just another beau, another flirtation.
Just wait until the rest of the county finds out—surely, it would cause an uproar.
She smirked. "Good day, Mr. Butler. It seems Scarlett desperately needs that fan."
Inconspicuous as they were, and notorious as Scarlett was for her trifling, curious eyes were drawn to the paved path by the Twelve Oaks garden, waiting with bated breath to meet the man that had arrested her complete and utter attention. No crumbs were left for her collection of neglected beaus, thus enraged over months of flirtations only to lose to a stranger in one single day!
Though news traveled quickly, and gossip was a powerful thing, catalyzed only by the grandiose reputations of its subject. It was not difficult to put two and two together, for the man hailed from Charleston and the county's memory was fresh of Scarlett's absence, off she was on the explanation of visiting kin on her mother's side—aunts who held close ties to one Eleanor Butler. Many miles from home, the word still spread of his difficult disposition and unruly ways, an obstacle easily overcome, they presumed, by their tempestuous Scarlett.
Indeed, the two youths were, dare they say, quite a good match.
"Scarlett, how is it that I feel more the villain here than I do back home?"
She laughed, glancing around to see a fair share of displeased faces. "You're a stranger to them, that's all."
"Now, don't be coy, I know a bit of your reputation here. Since I've arrived, I've met several men looking forward to eating barbeque with you, and those same men are giving me stares only fit when behind the end of a pistol."
"Well then, they will have to wait a little longer, won't they?"
"Oh?" He raised a brow. "What plans do you have for me?"
"There'll be dancing later. Music. I just want to do something fun—I haven't had much of it since I left Charleston."
It was a thoughtless comment, meant to never leave the confines of her mind, yet in his presence, everything somehow slipped despite her shunning vulnerability in the face. Wishing he'd forget it, she continued to stroll, though much to her consternation, he stopped in his leisure and stared silently as she walked ahead.
"I've heard you've been reserved lately. Are you finally tired of the show? The Southern belle theatrics?"
Surely, she was mistaken, but he almost seemed eager.
Turning around, she glared. "No, I just gained a lot more sense."
"Is it that nightmare you told me about? Does it still bother you?"
"No," she muttered but knew her lies were futile.
"Ah, so we are getting somewhere. Don't think I haven't noticed how differently you act here. It's as if you know something everyone else doesn't. What's with all the wistfulness? I'm sure it's not because you've been missing me."
"Missing you! Well, aren't you so smart, it seems you have my mind all figured out!" she spat and began to storm away before he grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her back.
"I am not arguing, Scarlett. I just want to know."
"You wouldn't understand."
"Then make me," he whispered his hand gliding to her fingers, brushing against them softly. Her downcast eyes observed her hand in his own with warm approval, and she glanced at his face, her defenses wavering, knowing if she were to divulge her turmoil to anyone, it would be him.
"I suppose you're right, it's the…nightmare. It pesters me. Just look at these people, Rhett. They seem grand now, but it could all fall apart so quickly and not one person would know what to do with themselves then. I've learned a thing or two from this and it's that the world has much larger problems than what propriety demands."
He looked at her thoughtfully, then his eyes roamed about the crowds of people, blissful and content with their elevated, carefree stature in life.
"I certainly don't disagree, there are a few things that I can see will cost us in the unforeseeable future, but you seem so sure the South will fall, and hard. Why is that?"
I lived it, she wished to say but kept her mouth shut.
"I'm not sure, a fortune teller—Mammy Jincy, recently she's been putting ideas in my head," she lied smoothly.
"And you believe her?"
"Well, maybe I should not," she humored, wishing to not talk of the misery any longer. "She has said some other interesting things that don't agree with me either. One time she said I would marry a gentleman with jet black hair and a long mustache."
"Is this your way of telling me to grow some facial hair?"
She smirked and, in a blatant, yet playful diversion, quipped, "No, because as a matter of fact, I don't like gentlemen with black hair."
He chuckled softly and drew close, his breath tickling her ear. "Really? I could not tell from our last encounter. From what I remember, you seemed quite fond of dark-haired gentlemen."
Blushing, she let out a huff and continued walking, her chin raised as if she had not heard his insinuation, despite his quiet laughter. While she quickened her pace, he did not, much to her disappointment, and she listened acutely to the soft footfalls that lay only moments behind her. So invested she was in studying his footsteps, she did not see the couple that waved at her from a short distance away.
"Scarlett dear, I have been looking all over for you!"
"Melanie!" she exclaimed and awkwardly returned the girl's eager embrace. "I was just strolling—" she glanced back at Rhett who approached at a relaxed pace, though eyes keen with interest. "—with a friend."
"Oh, I'm afraid we haven't met before, sir," she smiled and as if it were common knowledge that everyone but she was privy to, Rhett seemed to adopt instantaneous respect for her past rival, bearing that same expression as he regarded his mother. Noticeably, however, his gaze switched over to the man behind her and did not linger long, finding the gentleman to be quite unimpressive.
Had he known the man to be his competition, he would have not believed it.
"This is Rhett Butler, he is from Charleston. Rhett, this is Melanie Hamilton and Ashley Wilkes."
"Welcome to Twelve Oaks, Mr. Butler," said Ashley solemnly. "How did you become acquainted with our Scarlett?"
"Quite involuntarily. She appeared one day, and it seems I was unable to ignore her—Charleston is usually so uneventful, you see."
"Ah, Scarlett is hard to resist when she is so full of life," he replied, with a fond, almost regretful look on his face, though little did it do to move her heart.
Rhett lifted a brow, eyeing the hand perched delicately in the crook of the man's elbow, wondering if Ms. Hamilton was aware of her beau's baser interests. His inquiry was quickly met, for Melly was just as enthralled with Scarlett's liveliness, the couple living vivaciously through her gaiety.
"She was always the belle of the county. Many do not have her energy, but Mr. Butler it seems you have no trouble keeping up with that. I am glad Scarlett has made another friend so much like her."
Feeling uncharacteristically modest, the belle in question lowered her eyes to the ground and pondered these words. Her and Rhett—alike? At face value, she fervently disagreed, for he was mean and callous while she was not. Though, this Rhett, the one who stood proudly beside her, there she could see the mirror qualities and wondered how much of this man still lived in the one she had met those years ago, before the war.
"At times, it is I who keeps up with him," she replied honestly.
He clicked his tongue. "Yes, but that is so far and few between."
"Hardly," she huffed, then groaned as she spotted the flocks of people heading back inside. "Oh, now look at the time. I barely did a thing and they want us to take naps!"
"Yes, but it's only for a moment, then you get to dance, Scarlett!" Melanie exclaimed and lent out a shy hand. "Shall we go?"
Glancing toward Rhett, she hesitated. "One moment," she muttered, unable to stop the words leaving her lips.
"Of course," Melanie smiled brightly, full of understanding as she silently rooted for the pair, and allowed Ashley to whisk her away. She impatiently watched them walk along the path until an irritating laugh came from the man behind her.
"What is it now?"
"Nothing, just that you seem eager to be alone with me. How can I blame you when the last time we found ourselves alone, we quite enjoyed ourselves..."
"Oh, you brute. I was not suggesting that."
"Shall we recreate it anyway?" he teased, pulling her closer by the wrist.
"Certainly not! Someone will see us."
Her face flushed beet red as he let out a roar of laughter. "Is that the part that troubles you?"
"No! It's indecent, and I don't know why I did not go with Melly!"
"I suppose it's because you find my company much more desirable? That you have no wish to retire as a proper lady should? Why don't we sneak out somewhere? The library perhaps?"
"You're wicked. I shall do no such thing."
"Really? Well, have fun napping, though I'm not sure you'll be doing much of it," he prodded, and began to rudely walk ahead as if she did not exist! Stubbornly, she stayed in place, wishing to not prove him right, though the farther he reached with no pause in his step, she faltered and fidgeted with much agitation.
Oh, damn him!
"Rhett!" she called out. "Don't bother picking up a novel, I shan't read it!"
Picking up her skirts, she scurried past him and ascended the stairs, too proud to look back, though not too proud to sleuth down those same steps the moment scores of ladies succumbed to sleep. Running down those steps, she felt a wave of deja vu–the bated breath and feverish excitement reminding her of the remnant of her life that was consumed by Ashley Wilkes but never accompanied with such clarity of self, such unabashedness of character. There was no need for sweet, practiced smiles and artificial delicacy for a man such as Rhett Butler, and with her knowledge now, the loss of airs had never felt so refreshing.
Entering the threshold, she peeked into the room and found him there, eyes shut in rest, and unbeknownst to him, sitting on the sofa on which they first met many eons ago. On his lap, was a green-hued tome, with gold lettering inscribed on the cover. Grinning mischievously, she slid onto the cushion beside him and lifted the book from its perch.
"I thought I told you I shan't read a thing?" she joked and he stirred, his relaxed features returning to their usual alertness. Seeing her face, he chuckled and plucked the novel back from her hands, tossing it to the side.
"It was just something to pass the time because someone took an awfully long time to arrive. Humor me, exactly how many feet did you trample on to get here?"
She stuck out her tongue. "Fiddle-dee-dee! Had that happened, you'd still be terribly lonely."
"What perception, Miss O'Hara. How kind of you to join me. Now we are well and truly alone…"
His insinuation was not lost on her and when he wrapped his arm around her waist, she giggled nervously, her bright eyes refusing to meet his own. Though, of course, he would not have that, and one gentle finger lifted her chin upward, his thumb grazing her jaw as if it were porcelain. While the naughtiness of it all thrilled her, the excitement was tempered slightly by the tenderness of his caress, a gesture filled with affection so overwhelming, so foreign.
"Scarlett… you do like me, do you not?"
She had heard those words before, but in his embrace, she quickly forgot.
"Yes," she murmured, slackening in his arms that willed the words from her lips and leaned in, her eyes fluttering shut, missing his ardent gaze, fueled by her affirmation. The warmth cocooned her from all her troubles, banishing all her misery to a mere imperceptible moment in her mind and, despite this unprecedented comfort, bore a sense of incompletion that she desperately wished to fill.
Alas, she grazed that feeling, as his lips gently met her own, her contented sigh humming against his mouth. It was like a buzz in her head, the overindulgence of wine, and she fervently sipped from the chalice, throwing all caution to the wind. When he parted her lips and truly kissed her, it was as if she lost all her senses, nearly surrendering to whatever it was that comes next. Unconsciously, she lowered her body towards the sofa, and with her, he went, chasing the pleasure so delectably offered to him–a pleasure which he had only read in ribald novels or whispered in barracks and barrooms. When the buttons of his coat pressed into her body, she clung to him tighter, until she was sure they seared into her skin, and gasped as his hand grazed her in places Charlie had dared not to touch.
Had this been his intention at their first meeting?
She blushed at the thought.
With that sensual touch, his mouth soon followed its trail, leaving her writhing in her place, and she nearly let out a cry–
—until the door clicked and swung open, and Rhett's hand swiftly came upon her mouth before she could let out one sinful noise. Pressed against the cushions, she wondered how a man as large as Rhett could be concealed–but quickly remembered the instance of their first meeting. As the shock led to mortification, Scarlett closed her eyes, and prayed that God would bestow upon her some mercy, that these damned intruders would do their business and leave, so the two of them could go on and resume their–
"Ashley, I could have sworn he walked in here!"
The girl's mouth gaped open under his palm and she wished the ground simply ate her whole.
"Well, you must have been mistaken. I think it would be better if you abandoned your notions. Mr. Butler doesn't seem like one to back down, and Scarlett is not one to be deterred."
"You heard what his acquaintance said about him! What sort of men would we be if we'd let Miss O'Hara be led astray by Rhett Butler?"
She rolled her eyes at the feeble attempts at her defense. The smirk Rhett bore, nor his proximity, did much to help her nerves.
They heard Ashley let out a weary sigh. "We'd be gentlemen. It is not our place to say such things. If it comforts you, Melanie believes they make a good match."
"Melanie is too good, too pure. She doesn't know of men like Mr. Butler."
"And you do?"
Just as Scarlett could not take their grating speech any longer, she felt something warm brush against her neck, and she slackened for just a moment before she realized where she was. God's nightgown, why was he doing this now? Soon, the words exchanged became background noise, and she clutched his lapels as he took to her ear, whispering things no decent girl should ever bear to hear.
"I'm afraid I have to agree with Melanie. Scarlett seems happy, more than she had been in months, and all that talk about Mr. Butler seems to be just that–gossip."
"...Do you really think so?"
"Yes, now don't trouble yourself any further. Let's go, the others will be looking for us."
The door shut, their footfalls growing quieter, and the two let out breaths of relief, one of them more amused than the other. Rhett lifted himself slightly, confirming that they had indeed left, while Scarlett lay bewildered, and indecently thrilled, her hand tracing the spots his lips had brushed upon just moments before. He laughed at the sight and relaxed once more, laying back on his side and gathering her in his arms. She looked up curiously, wondering at his unrestrained manner.
"How would I explain to them if they found us here?"
"I'm afraid no explanations would suffice. It would seem like I had compromised you and you'd have to marry me then."
She pouted. "You once told me that if you were to compromise me, you need not respect me."
He placed an indulgent kiss on her inviting lips. "I've said too many damn things."
"Yes, you have, but I shall forgive you because I have accomplished the near impossible."
"Which is?"
"I've made you my beau."
He let out a breathy laugh. "Indeed? Don't you have enough of those? What's one more to your collection?"
She scowled. "Don't be nasty, Rhett. You're lucky Ashley avoids conflict. Or else my father would have to shoot you."
"Not if I agreed to marry you." He paused, thoughtfully. "Say, that Ashley fellow is not all bad. I'll be honest he seemed incredibly dull at first, but he has some sense."
He started at the fit of laughter erupting from the girl in his arms.
"What?"
"Oh, it's just that I never thought I'd hear a word of praise for him, especially from you."
His eyes grew alert. "And why especially from me?"
She bit her lip. Curse her and her mouth for saying too much!
"Don't tell me… Is Ashley Wilkes the man you were pining over in Charleston?"
"No!" she denied, but it was too late, for it was his turn to burst out laughing.
"Scarlett! I expected more from you! How is it possible? Why, you two couldn't be any more different–"
"Oh, hush, you! I was silly and foolish and learned my lesson. Do stop laughing!" she seethed.
"What did you see in him, my dear?"
She pushed him away and sat up petulantly. "He was a gentleman, unlike you right now, or at any given moment, a matter of fact."
"Was that fact not evident after what we just did?" he asked, in that irritating shameless manner of his. "Besides, you heard the man. We make a better match."
To hear her and Rhett, referred to in such a way, pleased her more than it should have.
"And is that what we are? A match?" There was an eager quality to her voice she could not suppress.
He said nothing to that, instead suddenly fascinated by her hands, taking one in his own, and grazing over her knuckles with his thumb.
"There are two of us. We certainly fit the definition."
She frowned, not only at his aversion but at the strange feeling welling within, the breath's reach from acute recognition yet never fully realized. Though how could she approach this certainty with such an uncertain man?
Scarlett pulled herself off the couch and began fixing her skirts, unwilling to meet his eye.
No–the word match was much too inadequate.
Ellen Robillard O'Hara paused in her greetings as she took in the stranger who presented himself in her foyer.
"I did not expect to have guests so late into the evening," she said, in a soft reproach gone unnoticed by Gerald's glee, and she studied the man who stood closely, too closely, to her Scarlett. He whispered something in her ear, in a manner that seemed all too familiar, and the girl giggled, though regained composure, noticing her mother's intense scrutiny.
The sight triggered a memory long stowed away and Ellen quickly decided that she did not like what she saw. The familiarity of it all pierced through her, and threatened her passivity to life, after so many years of allowing herself to be acted upon.
He had that same air surrounding him, and look where that got her.
The group walked into the parlor and she frowned as the two youths sat beside each other on the sofa, with Scarlett blushing like a bride! Oh, and the man had such a wicked smile on his face. Worst of all, Gerald did not seem bothered by it, in fact, he seemed quite encouraging!
"Sorry for the short notice, but I invited Mr. Butler to stay the night before he heads back to Charleston."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Oh, so you must be Eleanor's son?"
"Yes, Miss O'Hara spent many days at our home with her aunts, so we have become well acquainted."
Just how well acquainted, Ellen could only guess. She wished she could assure herself with comforting, wishful statements like "oh Scarlett would never," but she knew her child well and this man seemed to be just like her–a pairing that bore little hope for propriety. It did not help that Scarlett actually appeared to be fond of him, nothing like the girlish crush she bore for that vapid Ashley Wilkes. Her husband was quite taken with the man as well, for Gerald had always wanted a son, and finally he had found a potential candidate, one he liked far more than the previous object of Scarlett's affection.
The conversation continued without her, as lost in her thoughts as she was, and the sound of her lilting laughter brought her back to the fold. The sound was unadulterated, the gentle hand upon his arm uncalculated, and her green eyes held no degree of their usual cunning.
Good lord, the girl was gone and didn't even know it!
Defeated, Ellen sighed and excused herself from the jovial crowd. She would deal with such matters later.
She had never seen a sky so red, so steeped in blood shed by the American man, for in the isolating darkness, there was no telling whether the passing soldier was Yankee or Confederate...
One moment she was unable to sleep, disturbed by the fact that Rhett lay only a few doors away. The next moment, that same man stood over her bed, shaking her shoulders, with tears still warm on her cheeks.
Half-awake, she babbled on incoherently, too disturbed to note the presence of a man in her private quarters, and had she been more aware, would not know which she would be more horrified by–the state of her reputation or her disheveled appearance.
"Hush…" he whispered, propping her against the headboard. His eyes surveyed the room, which was furnished simpler than he had imagined, searching with purpose before his gaze landed on the floor, on wrinkled fabric, illuminated dimly by the moonlight. He stood to retrieve it, and with every footfall came the sounds of red-rimmed skies, the stench of death, of decay. When he returned to her bedside, the sights went away and he handed her a handkerchief embroidered with his very initials, yet had he noticed, he said nothing of the matter. Rather, he asked:
"The same nightmare?" His voice was kind, so kind.
She nodded, blowing her nose. "Did I cry very loudly?"
"Loud enough for me to hear."
Indignant, she stared at the door, expecting it to open at any moment. What a picture they made, neither decently dressed, Rhett perched on her mattress–the perfect portrait of a scandalous midnight rendezvous.
"What if someone may find you here?"
He brushed away the hairs that clung to her cheek, avoiding the green gaze.
"I suppose the universe really wants me to marry you."
She let out a hoarse laugh and, unconsciously, she reached up and cupped his hand against the slant of her jaw. It warmed her skin and had she been more of the romantic sort, would have dared say it seemed to belong there, fitted for her alone.
"Pa would never have invited you if he knew you would do this."
Looking her in the eye now, she caught a glimpse of his turmoil, one she imagined he had well-hidden the entire day, only she was too absorbed in his welcome company to notice. Such an uncertain look did not suit him, whose face was molded for utter assurance, for arrogance.
He laughed too, though not with her. What a self-deprecating sound.
"Well, it's a good thing he will never know, isn't it? And I'd rather be here than some boarding house."
"I still can't believe you got Pa to invite you."
"He's taken a liking to me."
"He's always wanted a son."
His hand fell gracelessly from her cheek. "And I, a father. How convenient."
For a while, she said nothing.
"...Why are you really here, Rhett? Why are you back so early?"
He smiled, almost sadly, yet there was a maliciousness to it, a glaring satisfaction that made his eyes gleam with reckless abandon.
"I got expelled from West Point."
The white sheets rustled as she drew her hand back. Cold, the breeze was cold. A creaking floorboard, a fluttering curtain. The falling and rising hum of the cicadas; a whippoorwill song, faintly, feverishly in the distance. Expelled? And yet he looked unperturbed, his eyes blazing with a nurtured defiance. Say something, anything at all!
"You told your mother you would be good…" were her first words, a pathetic, wary response.
He was no longer smiling. "I think we both knew that was wishful thinking on her part."
"How? Why?" Her voice was small and bewildered.
"I was too drunk. Too tired. I don't know."
"And your father? Does he know?"
His frown deepened. "No."
"...And when he does?" she dared. "What then?"
The maliciousness returned to his face and he stood then, pacing upon the carpet. She suspected that had it not been there to muffle his angry footsteps, the whole household would be made privy to his presence in her bedroom.
"It is of no value to me what he cares to do about it. I have no interest in continuing the cycle of hypocrisy he so insists on pursuing. I'm not meant to be stuck in a plantation, and I sure as hell will not be a replica of my father."
She was on her knees now, swinging her legs off the bed, standing to grip his arm and stop his erratic pacing.
"And what if the things out there are no better than what you have here? You're hardly starving, Rhett. You have roots, money, influence–my Pa would do so much to have that."
At that moment, he beheld her with much contempt and pulled away, turning away from her piercing, challenging gaze.
"I'd imagine your father is nowhere near as uptight as my own."
He was pacing again, the movement grating to hear, dizzying to see.
"Yet you're going back to Charleston," she hurled accusingly. "You wouldn't have bothered down South otherwise."
The pacing stopped the fight, the vigor, leaving his body. He slumped onto the vanity bench, hands clasped. His troubled face was poorly lit in the mirror.
"Damn fool I am, aren't I?"
The words were barely a whisper.
Her feet brushed against the carpet and she approached cautiously, squeezing into the space beside him.
"Your father is a stubborn man. And so are you."
"And little good that does for us. It's a powder keg bound to blow up."
Powder keg.
Things are set into motion. He is who he is and that she cannot change. The gears shifted in place, long before she arrived, waiting for the feather-light weight to skew the balance, to turn the tide. Looking up, she met her own reflection in the mirror, and despite the darkness, her features appeared so clear, so defined.
And then her eyes strayed to the side, gazing at the profile of the man. Reconciling the one she knew and he as he was now. The seemingly infallible, infuriating, callous man was capable of tenderness, of kindness. The man who shunned convention, yet hoped at conciliation with the very man who embraced it. The man who she did not understand yet, incredibly, found herself giving a damn about him.
It had pricked her mind long enough. She loved him. And that made both of them the fools.
Boldly, she reached for his hand, unfurling days' worth of simmering frustrations. He eyed her carefully, unresponsive, waiting for her next words.
"And when it does…" her fingers intertwined with his own, "...you'll make it through. You'll survive."
Such confidence in her voice, despite confirming the inevitability of collapse. Squeezing her hand, he bowed his head down, brushing a kiss upon the back of her palm.
"Thank you, Scarlett."
Author's Note: I apologize for the incredibly long wait, my life has been tumultuous for the past months. Most of this chapter was written this past month because I had severe writer's block after writing the first few paragraphs. I had actually written part of the last scene (where Rhett tells Scarlett he gets expelled) right when I started this fic, so it's nice to see it finished and in its place.
The meaning of the title "Et nos cedamus amori" is "and we too shall yield to love."