"Let's see." Her brow furled in thought. "There was Hugh Crest who thought he was quite a free spirit because he'd had his hair permed. And Ted Arnold who was really a darling. But he still lived with his mother, and when she took a trip to Hawaii and met my mother, it was all over."
"Your mother's in Hawaii?"
She used her finger to wipe up a bit of moisture on the table and nodded.
"Yes. She's lived there since my father died about eight years ago. She reads palms and tarot cards."
Her quick, brittle smile couldn't completely hide the mixed feelings she still had for her mother. "Don't ever go to her. All she ever foresees are long trips which will end in unhappiness and mysterious packages which will arrive on your doorstep." She laughed softly. "Those she will advise you to burn before opening. The trips she will advise you to avoid at all costs. If you listen to her, you'll never have any fun at all."
The next logical topic was Alan, of course. His hand some face flashed into her mind, but she blinked him away. She was completely over him, but it still hurt. She didn't want to talk about that failed romance. She'd been telling Ross things that were close enough to the quick as it was. Enough was enough. Quickly she turned the conversation to Ross.
"How about you?" she asked brightly. "Why aren't you married? And who was special in your life?"
"Me?"
He thought for a moment and tried to recall some special lady, someone he might almost have mar ried. He thought harder, suddenly aghast.
There wasn't one woman who stood out from the others. How could that be? After all the years, all the women? Lovely faces, lovely bodies. Was that all there was? Nothing to differ entiate one from another?
He'd never realized it before, but there was no one. What was wrong with him?
"I've been too busy," he muttered evasively, refilling both their glasses with the shimmering liquid.
"Doing what?" she prompted.
He stared at her. Here it was again, another opening to tell her who he really was. His gaze flickered over her trusting face, the soft hair that fell in disarray about her shoulders, the clinging cloth that outlined her breasts, and he reaffirmed his decision. He wasn't going to jeopardize this feeling that was growing between them by telling her the truth right now. Guilt twinged sharply, but he ignored it.
"All the wrong things, obviously," he said instead of explaining. He lifted his glass, meeting hers in a toast. "Here's to our marriage," he said, his voice low, husky and aware. "May it be short... and sweet."