Scarlett walked back towards her own room to dress, calling sharply for Prissy to come and lace her.
Glancing along the rack of outfits that lined the wall of her dressing room, Scarlett felt the age old temptation to win back a man's favour by dressing provocatively. Idly, her fingers trailed across blood red tassels and bright blue frills. She could stop traffic in any one of these gowns. Rhett wouldn't stand a chance when pitted against her bejewelled figure.
She went to lift one from its peg, when a simpler, more understated dress caught her eye. A fine emerald silk creation, Rhett had purchased it for her during the first, golden flush of their honeymoon.
They'd just returned from a long night of dancing and drinking when he'd surprised her with it. Scarlett remembered how she'd held it up against her body and waltzed tipsily round the room.
'How do I look?' she'd called to Rhett as she span, eager for compliments.
'Like a pine tree,' he'd laughed, sitting back in his chair and lighting a cigar as he watched her.
'I do not!' she'd cried, wrinkling her nose up at the unflattering image.
'Come, Scarlett, be reasonable. I think the comparison suits you rather well. You're both proud, lofty creatures. Beautiful, impressive...and prickly.'
'Rhett!'
'What?' he'd chuckled, utterly unrepentant. Yet, his eyes had continued to track her round the room, following her every movement.
'You're being mean to me!'
'Am I, my darling? Why don't you come over here and chastise me for it?'
Scarlett had blushed both at the insinuation and the look on his face as he'd said it.
'It's about time someone did. You're too high and mighty for your own good, Rhett Butler!'
His grin had turned feral. 'I look forward to you putting me in my place.'
Feeling oddly shy, Scarlett had pivoted away from her confusing husband and danced around the dining table instead.
'Scarlett?'
'Hmm?'
'Come here.'
Lured by the deep timbre of his voice, she had almost given in.
'No.'
He'd laughed and the sound of it had made Scarlett's belly swoop.
'No?'
'No,' she'd repeated firmly, only just resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at him.
'Hmm, then I suppose I'll just have to come and get you.'
Juddering to a halt, Scarlett had blinked hard to ward off the dizziness brought on by all her spinning.
'You wouldn't,' she'd said, trying to sound sure.
'Want to bet?' Rhett had asked, stubbing out his cigar and rising slowly to his feet.
'Rhett, don't!' Scarlett had screeched, her stomach fizzling with butterflies as she'd backed away from him, inching towards the door that led to their sleeping quarters.
He'd stalked after her, his leisurely, measured gait somehow so much more thrilling than if he had run.
'Stop it! Stay where you are,' she'd warned, throwing one arm out to ward him off whilst the other clung protectively to her new dress.
'Or what, Scarlett?' he'd asked, his eyes snapping hotly as he drew nearer.
'Or I'll...I'll...I'll scream!'
'Oh, I'm rather counting on that,' he'd said, grinning. 'In fact, I don't intend for you to leave our bed until I've made you scream a dozen times over.'
Scarlett had frowned. 'What do you mean leave our bed? I'm not in bed - ARGH!'
Her words had dissolved into the first of those promised screams as Rhett had pounced on her, clutching her around the waist and throwing them both down onto the mattress.
'Let me go!' she'd cried, breathless, pummelling his chest.
'Never,' he'd declared passionately, running his hands over her.
'Stop it! Rhett, stop it! You'll ruin the dress!'
'I'll buy you a thousand more,' he'd sworn, before his mouth had met hers and words had morphed into groans for the rest of the night.
Scarlett picked up the emerald dress, holding it against her body once more. She span around once in the empty closet, feeling the weight of the past bearing down over her. She cursed to remember the sweetness of that earlier moment. How was it possible for a former belle to be so blind? She'd once collected men's hearts like trophies, only to thoughtlessly throw away the biggest prize of the lot.
For Rhett's love for her had been on full display that night. He'd worn it on his sleeve and she had been too pig-headed to notice. How Scarlett wished she could travel back in time and take him in her arms. They would kiss and laugh and finally know how it felt to love the other and be loved by them in return.
How beautiful that moment would be.
'I is here, Miss Scarlett,' Prissy called from the bedroom.
Scarlett sighed, the memory already fading. She could not wear this dress today, or any other like it. Melly had died yesterday, and Scarlett would be in mourning until her friend was laid to rest.
'Thank you, Prissy,' she called, as she moved deeper into the closet to rifle through her vast array of black dresses. 'I'll be out in a moment.'
Picking one out, Scarlett found a pair of matching slippers from a pile in the corner and carried them out.
'Fetch my corset, will you, Prissy?'
Prissy was too busy opening one of Scarlett's many pots of rouge to hear her.
'Prissy! Leave that thing alone and go fetch my corset. I need to dress quickly this morning.'
'What for?' she asked, winding her way slowly into the dressing room in search of Scarlett's corset.
'That's none of your concern,' Scarlett said sharply.
Prissy stayed silent, but Scarlett noticed she was a lot more vigorous with her lacing than usual, pulling the strings so tight that Scarlett would have cried out if only her pride had allowed it.
'See to it that breakfast is ready by the time I come down,' Scarlett ordered once Prissy had finished dressing her. 'I want the table set for two today as Rhett will be joining me.'
'Yes, Miss Scarlett,' Prissy smiled.
'What are you grinning about?'
'Nothing, Miss Scarlett. Only I was wondering how come your bed don't need making up this morning?' she answered smoothly, her bright eyes giving away her defiance.
'Why, you little…be gone with you! And breakfast better be ready the second I get downstairs or it'll be the last meal you ever serve in this house!', cried Scarlett, her words sending Prissy rushing from the room.
'The gall of that girl,' Scarlett fumed aloud to the empty room, her cheeks red with embarrassment.
How she wished that Mammy was still here. She would never have let Prissy get away with such impertinence. More than that, she'd have known just what to say to make Scarlett feel better about Rhett leaving. Scarlett had missed Mammy sorely since she had returned to Tara. It was as if her old guardian had packed up the last scrap of hope that existed in this god-forsaken house and taken it with her when she left.
Her sudden longing for Mammy reminded Scarlett of her desire to return to Tara as soon as Rhett departed. She was confident that its miles of rolling red hills and familiar, childhood haunts would revive her like nothing else could. The thought of seeing it again, of living once more inside the safety of its proud white walls cheered Scarlett. She only wished that she didn't have to lose her husband in order to regain her home.
After running a brush through her hair, Scarlett left her room and went to inform Rhett that breakfast was almost ready. She approached his bedroom slowly. He had closed the door since she'd left and the strong, unyielding oak reminded Scarlett sharply of her husband's similarly blunt and impenetrable demeanour.
Rapping her knuckles against the wood, she contemplated what would happen if she were to turn the handle and walk back in. Pressing her forehead against the welcome coolness of the oak, Scarlett imagined how Rhett's brows would rise in question as he took her in. His lips would be drawing together, ready to query her sudden reappearance, when she would silence him with a look. Her eyes making it clear that she had not come here to talk.
The understanding would quicken his breath and bring blood rushing to his cheeks. Scarlett would walk over to him, her tread sure and slow, stretching out the sweet moment of anticipation until she could bear it no longer. Only then would she reach up on her toes and kiss him. Rhett would move further into her touch, pulling her closer with his large hands as he took control.
Oh, how she wanted him to take control. She had always adored his kisses, for they were full-bodied and unapologetic, just like the man himself. They clouded her mind and captured her heart; they were the part of her husband that she'd first fallen in love with, long before she ever knew what real love felt like.
Leaning heavily against the door, Scarlett's mouth tingled at the phantom sensation of his lips, his tongue demanding an entrance that she would be only too willing to grant. Scarlett's lips parted as her thighs clenched, a warm, dizzying heat sweeping through her lower body and making her knees buckle.
She was reaching for the door handle, intent on having her fantasies brought to life, when Rhett coughed. The jarring noise pulled Scarlett out of her daze. She blinked, taking in her position draped against the door, and sprang back, feeling silly. Even if she were to walk into his bedroom, Rhett would not reward her candour with a kiss. He'd likely recoil at her wantonness, accusing her of using her body to try and ensnare him.
Pulling away, Scarlett swept down the wide staircase. She glanced back several times, filled with the wild hope that he would open up his door and call her inside, but he never did. The oak remained as impenetrable as ever and Scarlett had lost the nerve to try and batter it down.
Scarlett hurried into the dining room, her temper flaring when she discovered that breakfast had yet to be laid out. Cursing Prissy's laxness, Scarlett eyed the table critically. Since that hateful day Scarlett had first asked for separate bedrooms, Rhett had abandoned his seat next to hers. Instead, he'd taken up residence down at the far end of the vast mahogany table, so removed from his wife that he might as well have been eating his meals in the kitchen.
Scarlett had not approved of the change, but had hardly been in a position to argue. Now though, she was tired of holding her tongue. Marching over to his place settings, Scarlett grabbed up his cutlery and slid his plate along the table until it came to rest beside hers. If this was to be their last breakfast together, then they could enjoy it side by side.
Sitting herself down, Scarlett's fidgeted with her dress, anxiously smoothing out non-existent creases in the fabric as she waited for Rhett to join her.
She wondered how he planned on playing this encounter. Would he be honest with her, or would he stubbornly reattach the mask she'd torn from his face last night and pretend it had meant nothing? Because their coupling had affected him, Scarlett was sure of it. The hollow, broken shell of a man she'd encountered in Melly's house was not the same one who'd kissed her and held her and laughed with her in the middle of the night.
The only question now was, could she make him surrender his pride and admit it?
Her vision blurring, Scarlett rubbed at her eyes and was shocked when her hands came away wet. Capturing a tear on the edge of her fingertip, she studied the small droplet in horror. She had cried more in this last day than she had in the entire decade preceding it. Even the war hadn't left her feeling as strung out and emotional as this. It was pathetic, how deeply she'd let the weakness take hold.
All her life she had been a fighter, soldiering on while everyone around her faltered and failed. If it wasn't for her efforts, Melanie and Beau would surely have died on the road back to Tara. Why, every single person who'd lived within those white walls would have either starved during the war or become destitute after it, if not for her.
And yet after a lifetime of making difficult sacrifices in order to survive, here she was, content to sit around crying while Rhett abandoned her. Well, no more. Rhett had done an awful job of steering this marriage, hiding his feelings and running away every time she got too close. It was high time she took the wheel.
Bristling at the sound of Rhett's stealthy tread upon the stairs, Scarlett decided to stop running and stand and fight. She didn't yet know the direction her marriage would take, but one thing was for certain: from here on out, it would be her and not her husband who charted their course.