Fiona Hood-Stewart - Southern Belle

Elm sighed and turned on her side, recognizing that there was never a right time and that she must go ahead, whatever the consequences. She’d spent a lifetime trying to please them all, trying to be the perfect daughter, wife and hostess—she would have tried mother, too, had life offered her the chance.

In a strange way, her evening out with Johnny tonight had helped clarify the issues for her. Her marriage was truly over, and she now had the freedom to make her own choices. It would be hypocritical to deny the riveting attraction she’d experienced tonight as Johnny had twirled her about the floor to the infectious beat of salsa, false to pretend she didn’t want to enjoy something more than Harlan’s selfish bursts of sex. The temptation of discovering what it felt like to be properly held in a man’s arms—a man who might actually think of her pleasure and happiness before his own—was devastatingly alluring. She swallowed, throbbing with anticipation, shocked to find her mind running ahead of itself when all they’d done was dine and dance together.

A smile touched her lips as she recalled the walk home afterward in the bitingly cold, starry night, arm in arm, sliding down the hill, catching each other on icy patches and laughing like kids. What if Johnny was right and, as he’d whispered when they’d parted, their paths had crossed again for a reason?

Elm sat straight up and tucked her knees under her chin, pulled the duvet closer and wondered what sort of a lover he would be. Generous? Giving? Tender? God, she was thirty-four years old and the only man she’d ever slept with was Harlan, her first real boyfriend. Still, she mustn’t let her naiveté run away with her. It was all very suave and sophisticated to have a passing fling with someone—if you were like Gio, that is, and that was the kind of world you moved in. But it wasn’t hers and somehow Elm wasn’t quite sure if she was ready for this yet.

With a yawn, she snuggled under the goose-down cover, half ashamed of her silly recurring schoolgirl fantasies as she recalled the feel of his arms about her as they’d swayed on the dance floor, the scent of his aftershave and the strange comfort it had afforded her. Maybe that was it. Maybe she was just seeking a comfort zone.

But Johnny was a gentleman and would never make a move without her consent, she realized. If she wanted something more than casual friendship, she’d have to signal that. What would he do, she wondered suddenly, if she let down her guard and was frank about her interest?

Realizing she would never get to sleep, Elm switched on the bedside lamp and popped a pill, still toying with the idea of crossed paths and destiny. Just before her eyes closed, she wondered about the consequences of flouting destiny.

Then she let out another sleepy yawn. There was no end to the justifications you could come up with if you really put your mind to it, she reasoned drowsily. The real truth, she acknowledged, eyes closing, was that even if she were bent on seducing Johnny, she wouldn’t have the first clue how to go about it.

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