Late November 1859, Pine Bloom
Another day. Another barbecue. This time at the Calvert's plantation, the place for the meeting quite far away from the house because the recent Mrs. Calvert, Yankee as she was, could not bear the thought of the smells going into the old white-washed plantation and staying in there.
Now was the time for separation, as the men went on with their liquor, but some of the girls did not want to sleep just yet.
Just like Scarlett.
Scarlett knew Pa and Mother had quarreled over something. The first quarrel in many years of marriage. She had caught some glimpses of it, the voice of her mother raising an oddity to her ears.
Yet, it seemed neither of them won as finally a decision was taken.
She would go to her grandfather's house to further her education.
It was Rhett that won, she realized. For who else could manage such thing?
Scarlett would have wanted to be left on her own. To think of the unfairness of it all.
Yet, Randa wouldn't let her. And there was no stopping Randa Tarleton when she had something in mind, especially after she'd eaten too many chocolate cakes at the barbecue and did not want to go to bed with the others just yet.
Her new whim was that the men hid something and that something would be discussed in the afternoon.
Thus their presence behind the door of the room where it was happening.
"They don't want the girls to go in," Said she, before turning her grinning face to Scarlett, with sparks twinkling in her gaze "Don't that make you want to sneak in?"
Had she even the choice?
Scarlett rolled her eyes.
Though, if she was totally honest with herself, she did want to know.
"Alright," She chided. "Just give me a little place."
And so, they listened through the keyhole, two young girls having nothing else to do with their times.
"... Oh, but imagine the glory, Mr. Wilkes, Ashley! Our younglings are becoming indolent and spiritless. There's nothing like a war to give them some sparks."
"Now, gentlemen," John Wilkes tried. "A war would be disastrous, I just hope..."
"It's our livings they are threatening! Our way of living, of thinking!"
"Tom!" Randa almost cried, before being hushed by Scarlett.
"They're raising that man," Old Dr. Fontaine urged. "that unbearable Brown, as their martyr when he's going to be hanged like the criminal he is, and they're waiting for the moment to strike. So why not strike first?"
"I'm sure Gerald agrees with us!"
"Well, me lads, what are you on about?" Gerald O'Hara bellowed. "Too many talks of war, and you know they will never dare. Cowards, every one of them."
Oh, the naughty things, to plot like that against the Yankees when Mrs. Calvert was nearby. Daring old men, Scarlett thought fondly, yet stupid, too stupid.
The cracking of steps. The girls stiffened, prepared to flee.
However, it was too late. As they turned, they realized they had already been caught.
"Oh, girls... What kind of mischiefs are you preparing, when you should be in your beds napping with the others?"
Yet, it was in Grandma Fontaine's eyes that the mischief glinted.
.
.
January 14th, 1860, Savannah
Dear Randa,
Sorry to disappoint you, but it seems my grandfather's so called scandalous life is not that scandalous. All of my days are spent on learning, lecturing, improving in dancing, walking, talking sweetly, and manner, a thing he seems to take delight in.
Never have I seen him drinking more than a glass of red wine a day, curse, or throw any tantrums as some men his age seem to do. He always appears dignified and proud, and there's no reaching him!
He's a boor. A selfish, vain boor. And a tyrant. How many times Aunt 'Lalie dropped her teacup because he would throw a tantrum about one thing or another!
Send my love to everyone in Tara, and one kiss to Stuart. Not Brent, he's been terribly neglectful the last time I saw him.
Scarlett
.
January 20th, Fairhill
Dear Scarlett,
Poor dear. You must be bored to tears. Should I send you a guillotine? Very fitting, don't you think?
Old man must hide it. There's no other explanation.
Have seen some strange thing happening in Twelve Oaks. A young mulatto asking to see India during a meeting, and India in a flurry! I thought she was going to die of embarrassment!
Smells like scandals, and you know I do love some. After all, that's why I do like you (and, I must say, you do like me).
Grandma Fontaine sends her regards, and hopes that you may snatch some rums for her. Says a proper Haïtian must have some, certainly. Especially when he's also French. She insists most diligently.
Stuart and Brent moon over you, and it is with the greatest pleasure I read them your letter, for what entertaining quarrel your little mention provoked!
Randa
.
January 25th, Savannah
Randa,
Terrible, terrible sister that you are!
But I do look forward to your investigations. You know how I like gossips.
Keep going. These two are never as fun as when they can plead the excuse of being jealous. A pity for little Careen though. I think she took a fancy to him.
All my love to home, etc.
Scarlett
.
January 30th, Fairhill
Dearest Scarlett,
So... Is Monsieur Boor, His Majesty your grandfather, still very much an infuriating man? I would have believed two people who are so alike in vanity and selfishness would either kill one another, or taken great liking to one another.
Nothing about the little matter yet, yet the Great Matter, that our poor Pas would not want us to know, continued ringing with excitement. It's beginning to be quite worrisome.
Grandma Fontaine thanks you for the rum. She likes it very much, though now I believe she fancies her grandsons want to get their hands on it. She keeps it jealously under her bed, and when she takes it with her, it goes under her skirt. Can you believe it? Oh, the silly thing when some gentlemen noticed drops on the floor, but without daring to remark on it!
It was only your Mr. Butler who very innocently came to her and began to talk about his grandfather, saying he was a pirate, and as every pirate, he dearly liked liquor. He said then that it must be his pirate instincts, for he smelled some good rum out there, but certainly it could not be, with such good company. I never knew Grandma Fontaine could blush, but he managed it!
Randa
.
February 4th, Savannah
You infuriating thing!
As for grandfather... in fact, the more I see him... I don't know. I think I'm becoming fond of the old man. He says many interesting things, has many stories to share, many pieces of advice that I think every girl should know.
He made me think... We're not ready to face the world, Randa. It's one thing someone once hinted at me, but now I realize it. He says things plainly, and I'm beginning to believe in it. He says people like to put others in a role and keep them here, and that it can be used to our advantage. People think you are silly and don't understand? Well, some may let something slip, and dismiss it once uttered.
Make them believe what they want to believe. At least until you have what you want. Information is like a key, he said, and when you have it, you have more options.
Too many images for my poor head, but I'm sure it will come out useful.
I would have liked to see that scene with the rum.
But he's not my Mr. Butler, Randa. You shouldn't say such a thing. Or if you do, just add him to the list, with your dear brothers, Raif Calvert, Mr. Harkins, Mr. Small, Mr. Jordanson...
But a pirate, he certainly is!
Grandfather wants me to prepare for the next ball, I have to keep going.
All of my love to home, etc.
Scarlett
.
February 28th, Fairhill
Scarlett O'Hara, melting the ice around an old and bitter Frenchman's heart? It seems more likely than one would think.
Of course, we're not prepared for anything. I thought that was obvious. But what a gloomy thing you are turning into! It sounds like YOUR Mr. Butler more than you.
And don't think I don't smell the lie coming from you from miles away. It stinks, dear, and I know you're itching to talk about him through each line, even the sentence that doesn't mention him directly. You're not that smart about hiding your feelings. You better say that most of your love is sent to him, as I think he began to notice your letter to me. Commented on the writing once, without daring to approach.
But tell me... Is Mr. Small that small?
Randa
.
March 4th, 1860, Savannah
Randa,
You infuriating girl!
Why, a girl has to collect hearts and get as many beaus as possible... if she doesn't want to end up a spinster with cats around her. Like, you know, someone with a loud mouth risks becoming.
As for Mr. Small, you know a lady should not be unkind to anyone...
But yes, he is.
Scarlett
PS: Did he, you think?
.
March 10th, Fairhill
Is that supposed to be an insult? You just describe my goal in life, sweet girl.
With maybe becoming a governess. You know my deepest love of children, and wish to make them suffer as many times as possible.
Make them run. And YOUR Mr. Butler as well.
Randa
.
.
March 15th, Charleston.
Sitting on one of the very comfortable pine armchairs of the hotel room, his long legs crossed, Rhett stared with amusement at his friend pacing and pacing on the thick Persian carpet.
"Oh, do stop fidgeting, mate. She was only gone for a few months. She'll be happy to see us, after all these days with the old Frenchman."
Yet, his foot was tapping with the same rhythm as the clock's ticking. Mammy stayed calm, her hands gripping very tightly at the front of her apron.
"You're right. I know 'tis ridiculous, but I've always feared..." Gerald paused, before coming to the sofa with a sigh. "Mrs. O'Hara, me wife... She comes from such high ground. I know I should have kept good relationships with the father, but she was so insistent on it and..."
"You were afraid the prize you got would be taken back if the relationships were kept."
Something seemed lifted as Rhett said it, and for once, there was no bravado in Gerald O'Hara's posture as he ran his fingers through his long silver hair.
"Something like that, maybe. And now, Scarlett... Oh, I don't know why you wanted it, she doesn't need it, and I don't know why Mrs. O'Hara wanted it..."
"You were never really sure of your victory, weren't you, old pal?" Rhett questioned quietly. "But Scarlett isn't like that. You know she isn't. She is too much like you."
"I'm not sure about that... She changed too much already," The old Irish gentleman sighed, weary. "You know, sometimes, I wondered if I would have to regret meeting you one day. You are a man with troubles, me boy, and troubles follow you and the ones who are with you."
"Do you regret it now?" There was a tenseness in Rhett's shoulders as he asked this, and though he hated this weakness, he could not help it.
A shake of the head, with a little smile. Relief.
"No. I think change was needed. Though," And the blue eyes twinkled maliciously. "Don't abuse it. I like my life as it is."
The younger man snorted, under Mammy's glare. Then, suddenly, she stopped, like a deer catching the sound of a predator's approach, and ran to the entrance with bright eyes, her imposing body shaking.
He heard Scarlett before he saw her. A cry, full of joy as the bell of the entrance rang.
"Mammy!"
A plead, warm and happy, sent in reply.
"Come to yer ol' Mammy's arms, chile," There were tears in Mammy'seyes as Scarlett threw herself at her, merry as the young girl she was supposed to be. "Oh, mah lam', I done missed you so!"
"I missed you too..." The girl whispered, her eyes closed like a contented cat's.
"'Twas too silent without ye, chile. Don't do that again to yer po'r Mammy."
The girl nodded, before turning to the arms of her father
"My Puss..." The old Irishman raised from the sofa to join her and uttered with difficulty as his daughter leaned into him. He patted her arms awkwardly. "Not too grand for your dear Pa yet?"
"Oh, Pa! You'll always be grander than me."
Pierre Robillard entered as the embrace took place, straight as only members of the old aristocracy learnt to, a learning to which had been added years of alertness fighting Napoleon's wars.
Except the last one, of course.
"Little Esther..." The Haitian aristocrat called with a smile. "Not so little anymore. I do remember you as a babe, though. It's good to see you again."
Mammy's cheeks reddened with pleasure as she looked at her former master.
"Mesir," She said respectfully.
"Is Ellen alright?" Pierre asked softly.
"As she be s'posed ter be,"
"You always take great care of her," He remarked, before clearing his throat. "Thank you."
As if such a thing was unusual to him, he did not wait for the mammy's reply, and turned with embarrassment toward his son-in-law with a nonchalant grin.
"Hello, Gerald,"
"Mister Robillard," said Gerald nodded in respectful acknowledgment.
The eldest man grinned a little more.
"The girl, I believe, is too excited, and that wouldn't do. I suppose you would know how to subdue a little of that wonderful energy," He said with a soft tone that was almost like fondness as Scarlett blew a raspberry at him, before finally remarking on Rhett's presence. He smiled maliciously. "Mr. Butler."
Yet Rhett was barely paying attention, and only nodded. His senses were alert with the feeling of the girl's presence. Pierre chuckled to himself and went, almost escaping everyone's attention, so deep they were in their reunion.
"Your sister did throw quite a pretty stunt when she learned you were being presented in that ball," Gerald slipped to his daughter. "I reckon her voice raised quite acutely."
"The girl that is trying hard is always surprised when it's the naughty one that gets the reward," Rhett could not help but add, making himself eventually noticed by the young woman.
Finally, he saw her, her figure entirely revealed to his eyes.
She was laced in a lovely walking dress with the so fashionable pagoda sleeves, and the black and green plaid darkened her green eyes, giving them the perfection of precious stones.
"Rhett," She said softly as she bowed lightly, graciously, like a feather dropping to the floor.
She gave her cheek to kiss, her eyes not quite meeting his, and he was tempted to laugh at this affected prudery.
"Little miss."
His lips tingled as he kissed the soft skin of her dimple, daring her to protest. Through the slits, he could see the green blazing, sharp like a dagger. One corner of her mouth went up.
"Not so little anymore."
So, I see, he was tempted to reply. Yet, the words stayed stuck in his throat.
So, he offered her a seat and changed subjects, and watched her as her father inquired about her well-being and experiences in Savannah.
They discussed pleasantly, the three Musketeers finally reunited, and Rhett at last relaxed. Nothing had changed. She was still the same Scarlett.
As if to prove it, it was at that time Gerald dared her to dance a little jig.
"Oh, Pa!" Scarlett giggled. "Do be serious! We don't have any music!
Gerald's eyes glinted. "Oh, but I do have me own violin. I took it, you know. Just in case."
A smile came to his daughter's lips as she pondered it. Her eyes met Rhett's for a moment as she replied. "But I don't like to dance alone. No, another time."
"Oh, but then, I will dance," Rhett said, teasing as he saw a hopeful light coming to her eyes."... After all, dear Mammy and I can throw quite a pretty jig, don't you think?"
Mammy took a step back, dumbfounded and more than a little outraged over the dismissal of her charge.
"Me, sir? No, no, 'twouldn't do!"
"But who else would dance with me?" Rhett cried with mocking dismay. "I was looking forward to it!"
"I would dance with you."
Rhett turned his eyes to Scarlett, surprised for a moment. Though daring her to, he wouldn't have thought she would have done this. In his mind, he would have had to drag her to the dancing floor.
Her expression bore also a little shock, her lids lightly fluttering in confusion, before meeting him with defiance.
"Then, let's not wait for you both to question it," Gerald said hurriedly as he rummaged through his chest to find his instrument. "I've got me old violin, and it's high time it was used!"
They took their places, and it began, with Gerald's grave voice leading the way.
.
I'll tell me ma, when I get home
The boys won't leave the girls alone
.
"So, what is the news, Scarlett?" Rhett asked with an easy smile as she approached him, her feet clicking swiftly, backward, forward, a hint of skin revealed as she lifted the skirt to ease her moves. "Still with that little infatuation with Mr. Wilkes? Or did you finally swipe him for one of the Tarletons?"
She bowed and let him do his part.
.
Pulled me hair, and stole my comb
But that's alright, till I go home.
.
"Nonsense," She objected, though her face, instead of reddening at the offense, kept a pleasant expression. Another dimple appeared on her cheek, a tender crevasse that begged to be taken into consideration like the other. "Ashley is a gentleman. A man of honor."
"A boring man. If you had him, you wouldn't know what to do with him. He's not the kind of man that would suit you."
"And what kind of man do you think would suit me?"
.
She is handsome, she is pretty
She is the belle of Clayton County
.
"Is that what charms your beaus, dear?" He snorted as they joined, her hand so small and light in his dark one.
.
She is a-courting one, two, three
Pray, can you tell me who is she?
.
And Gerald to wink as he sang it!
Infuriating, teasing man.
… But how light Scarlett's feet were, how bright her eyes! And these cheeks, high with color, her chest heaving with the effort of dancing!
And when her light little hand touched his, he felt a strangeness in his chest, a pride, most certainly, at the result of his influence.
It was almost a disappointment to let her go, and a delight to meet her again.
.
Albert Mooney says he loves her
All the boys are fighting for her
Knock at the door and they ring that bell
Oh, my true love, are you well?
.
She was barely fifteen and yet the shape of a full-grown woman, and the strong will of one that knows her mind. She played and danced with him, and he wanted to tease her out of her reserve, to observe her feet fail her, her knees buckling as she fell.
"No, but you're not my beau, are you?"
.
.Out she comes, as white as snow
Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes
Old Johnny Murray says, "She will die
If she doesn't get the fella with the roving eye"
.
He nodded, entranced, taking her hand for a moment to make the needed move. His feet followed the rhythm, and so did hers, and he was as aware of each step she took as any beating of his heart.
His lips opened slightly to let out a smile.
"Acute observation, my dear."
.
" I'll tell me ma, when I get home
The boys won't leave the girls alone
Pulled me hair, and stole my comb
But that's alright, till I go home.
.
A peal of laughter. An arrow through the heart, the sound of the hit having been treacherously hidden by the sound of her dancing feet, and the mesmerizing glow of her orbs.
"You're a rascal, Rhett, and I pity the women who fall in love with you."
He laughed back, and the song continued.
.
She is handsome, she is pretty
She is the belle of Clayton County
She is a-courting one, two, three
Pray, won't you tell me who is she?
.
A vigorous spin, and her skirts flowed around her, a little like wings. He wanted to catch her to prevent her to fly too far, but she kept it on, throwing her head backward in another laugh as her feet clang on the parquet.
.
Let the wind and the rain and the hail blow high
And the snow come a-tumbling from the sky
She's as sweet as apple pie
And she'll get her own lad, by and by
When she gets a lad of her own
She won't tell her ma, 'til she comes home
Let them all come, as they will
For it's Albert Mooney she loves still
.
He kept it on. Of course he kept it on. He was up for this dance, she was not to outrun him.
Yet, when the last note rang in the room, the vixen took advantage of his distracted attention, drawn for a moment to the fluttering of her skirts, and did not see the sneaky little foot that kicked his own, forcing him to kneel.
Gerald's laugh echoed in the room, while Mammy scowled at the indignity of it all.
"Ouch! And here I thought your feet were light!"
She grinned at him as he raised and dusted his breeches, and bowed with a saucy air, her eyes sparkling like emeralds under the light, and cheeks flushing. He was towering over her, but she was not afraid, no... She was daring him.
And her mouth... Her mouth seemed like velvet, and he wondered if it might go redder if it was kissed...
He blinked and turned his mind to his numb foot.
Dangerous, dangerous thought.
"You should prepare yourself," He said quietly. "The ball will come soon enough."
"Yes, I should," She echoed, breathless, her bright eyes on him telling too many things for him to grasp. She took a step away from him, and he felt her loss. Her head tilted away, her body stiffening but a little. "Thank you for... making me remember."
She turned away, and he met the teasing eye of Gerald O'Hara, who said nothing else, yet did not need to. Rhett dismissed it with a shrug and took the drink that was offered. They discussed some more, waiting for Scarlett to return.
When she was finally ready, Mammy entered with the sense of importance and pride of a queen's herald, and announced her.
And a queen, she seemed to be, indeed. Quite ostentatious for Rhett's heart, with black pearls glinting teasingly at her decolletage, the dark green silk of her evening gown highlighting not only her eyes, but the tender ivory of her skin, and the crimson of her lips. Even the shawl could not hide the striking sensuality of that silhouette.
He gulped silently, and blinked once at the apparition.
He composed himself as she looked, his features smoothening in a reflex that did not surprise him anymore.
She seemed more subdued, as Pierre Robillard had intended her to be. In her eyes, there was a hazy light, that could easily be seen as a sign of melancholy, but that kind of mysterious melancholy that suggests a depth as attractive as a treasure hidden in deep waters. It hinted at a vulnerability that a male strength could appease and comfort. A feverish vulnerability that hinted at the afterglow of love.
He looked away for a moment, before offering her a light smile.
They led her finally to the meeting point as it was expected, in the hall of the building where the ball was taking place, their voices hurried and merry, and their steps small as if to beg for more time together.
Yet, Pierre Robillard was already waiting enough, and remarked on it.
As Gerald discussed with his father-in-law, Rhett took advantage of a few minutes to talk with Scarlett, though fully knowing he should not.
She was so distant suddenly, so calm!
"Don't forget to have fun," He told her softly as he helped her out of her shawl.
"Isn't it all just a game?" She countered with a graciously arched brow, though there was no mirth in her tone.
You cruel thing, he thought with amusement. He pitied the men who would put their hearts at her feet. She'd trample on them and laugh after that like a child breaking a rival's toy.
Her fingers grasped the thick, velvety fabric of the curtains as she looked in the room. The violins rang, softer than that of the previous jig.
"Is there going to be a war, Rhett?" She asked quietly.
His eyes went up to hers as he pondered where she could have heard of it, and how his answer would be perceived. She met his eyes equally, with no coquetry that invited a soothing lie.
She wanted the truth, and she would not accept anything else. So, he offered it.
"I'm afraid so."
She did not even blink. Did not even gasp. Just a little paleness came to her cheeks that he wanted to rub so that the color returned.
"You're not afraid," She stated.
"I'm not."
"You knew it was going to happen," She read him. "Did you talk to Pa about it?"
He said nothing, admiring the calm way she was taking this shattering information. It wasn't necessary. She sighed, her brows gathering in a dismayed frown.
"He wouldn't want to listen, would he?"
The corner of his mouth went painfully up, in a jeer that was supposed to lighten the mood, yet she was serious, too serious.
"Your father will be alright. You may believe I will always look out to him. He is my friend, after all."
"Will you?" She asked softly, examining him in a way seemed to stare into his soul. He almost guffawed under her scrutiny, dumbfounded at her reaction. "Yes, I believe you will."
She squared her shoulders in a way that went straight to his heart. His chest fell just a little as he looked at her.
'My lovely little soldier, preparing for battle,' he thought with fondness.
He faltered. War was coming, indeed, and what would come to the bet? What would come to her?
The thought collided to the corners of his mind over and over, before gathering in the lump on his throat.
Did the bet ever matter anymore in a time where men would soon march toward the battlefield, with their women waiting?
How many widows will there be? How many bereaved mothers, daughters, fiancees?
Who would remember that Scarlett O'Hara had become a success for one season, before the war began?
He would get nothing of that. It had been an useless quest, and now he was left with the loneliness of the Cassandra that now realized everything that had been done in vain.
"You'll be doing fine," He managed to say.
"I know that," Scarlett stated, not even bothering to meet his eyes.
She pinched her cheeks to make them rosier on her otherwise pale face, and her eyes went for a moment as hard as steel. "Goodnight, Rhett."
He wanted her to turn to him. He wanted to appease the fidgeting fingers that betrayed her anxiety, and soothe the sharp edges that appeared when he was alone with her.
Yet, she turned away, and entered the scene, leaving him to the backstage.
That girl, he swore he had known her to the tip of her nails. Yet, somehow, here, she was everything he had wanted her to be, and he felt as if she were going away from him, a stranger when hours before she was in his arms, warm and merry.
What had changed? When did the adoring girl grow up to become that bewitching woman that now was building walls that he so wanted to climb? How could he go back to the easy friendship, the easy feeling of kinship?
That cold-minded attitude was what he had wanted her to have when considering each beau.
But not with him. Never with him.
She could not know he had intended to use her prospects to get what he wanted. No, if she knew, she would have confronted him, tried to fight him in outrage, before sobbing on his shoulders as he explained.
He dismissed it. No, he tried to think. She ought to thank him. Not every girl would have been supported like that.
So, what could have triggered this change?
He looked at her, a striking silhouette making her way in the crowd without him, drawing eyes that craved the newcomer like a new candy.
Lonely and lovely. And soon to be caught.
Who would know behind that sweet and innocent face was a sharp mind, a woman that could accept and face hard realities without a swoon? A woman who knew of her charms and how to use them?
His fist clenched and he turned away.
Somewhere in his chest, something was begging to be let free.
He almost thought it exploded as he felt the hurt acutely.
Yet, it was the grasping reality of the body of a woman that met his eyes as he turned to look. Or, at least, her dressed to the nines body, and her hair that was pulled in a high chignon kept by many sharp pins.
A girl that had been leaving the room just a moment after Scarlett had entered.
"Oh, sorry! I'm so deeply sorry!" She kept babbling, her hands fidgeting as she looked at anything but him.
"It's alright," He muttered, checking automatically the girl who had bumped into him.
She had golden hair, curly at the temples, and black eyes like his, yet it wasn't her eyes that caught attention. It was her height, a height that put some men to blush, and blush, she was the one to do so, very heavily.
A girl almost as tall as him, and with the gaucherie of a sheltered one. A pity.
That face was familiar, and she seemed about the same age as Scarlett. He wondered about it for a moment, before turning away. He dismissed it and went back to his hotel. He had no head for thinking. Maybe a head for playing. And drinking. The sight of Scarlett alone in the arena was leaving him with a bitter feeling, and he wanted to get rid of it.
He did not know quite how he got back to the hotel. Gerald was already snoring quite loudly on the couch, visibly not strong enough to take off his boots and go to his chambers.
Rhett rummaged through his desk to find a bottle of brandy, and poured himself some, hoping to numb his mind enough to escape the madness that was taking him little by little.
Yet one glass wasn't enough. Nor two. Or three.
In the end, it did not matter.
He closed his eyes and dreamt of the loveliest dancer he ever had in his arms.
However, when the day crept through the heavy curtains of his hotel room, so came the realization that he loved that girl, loved the headstrong, charming woman she was sure to become. He wanted her, that girl, more than any woman he ever had, and he knew he was wrong for it, for she was indeed still very much a child under her feminine appearance. She had caught him unaware, carelessly, so he did not know when she had done it.
But even worse came the fact that everything that brought them together might as well separate them even more surely. She might only see him as a big brother figure, and he would be left mooning over something that couldn't be. She might think him disgusting and old.
Oh, the terrible thing, when he did not think of himself as old!
Already, she was quite distant.
So, he decided to stay silent, clipped a cigar and lit it, hoping to lose himself in the smoke.
However, as the thick cloud enveloped him like a somber veil, its odor nauseating and making him choke, a curse left his lips.
"Damn it!"
