Author's Note: Thank you everyone for reading! While I had a tremendous time writing this story, it paled in comparison to knowing you were reading and enjoying the story. I loved getting your feedback. Here's the epilogue. Thank you again!

Scarlett sat on the plush ottoman before her vanity and brushed her long black hair, her lips curved into a satisfied smile. Her reflection smiled back at her merrily, her eyes dancing as deep and dark a green as the emerald earbobs that still clung to her ears. How nice it was to finally be free of her corset and comfortably enfolded in her wrapper after the long day. She was tired; she tired much easier these days than she cared to admit. In fact, she had nearly nodded off in the middle of Christmas Eve mass earlier, only to have Rhett give her arm a swift pinch that brought her rudely back to whatever it was that Father Duggan had been going on and on about in his homily. Of course, mass had been well worth it in spite of Father Duggan's long-winded ramblings. For she had looked so pretty! She glanced with pleasure over at a nearby armchair where her changeable sage-green taffeta frock was draped lazily in folds and folds of shimmering fabric.

In the dim candlelight of the Church of the Immaculate Conception, the dress had glowed almost iridescently, looking violet in some lights and luminous pale green in others. Complete with her emerald earbobs and an elegantly swirled chignon, she knew she had cut a dashing figure—a fact that was pleasantly confirmed when she caught the hungry look of envy on Maybelle Picard's face. Scarlett had suppressed a triumphant smile and, instead, greeted Maybelle with a demure nod. However, she laughed inwardly, pleased her finery was the cause of jealousy. She knew that was wrong—after all, Maybelle had been kind to her this past year, much kinder in fact than some of the other ladies, stiff of neck, dainty of manner, with whom she now spent her time several times a week, gathered in meetings for Association for the Beautification of the Graves of Our Glorious Dead and the Sewing Circle for the Widows and Orphans of the Confederacy.

Her membership in these organizations could, of course, be traced to Rhett's recently renewed interest in securing the mantle of respectability for the Butler household. She had understood his reasons though, especially given the new matter at hand, and, so for the first time in years, she had donned a façade of ladylike propriety and modesty effective enough to make even the intractable Mrs. Merriwether grudgingly admit perhaps she was wrong—perhaps Scarlett Butler was a lady after all, though only Heaven above knew how that had come about given her years of notorious conduct. To the Old Guard, both the Butlers were now generally considered agreeable companions. Rhett had possessed the Old Guard's esteem since his earlier campaign on Bonnie's behalf and, with his help, Scarlett gradually obtained it as well. Of course, at first people had been a little reluctant and puzzled by her entreaties, but Scarlett seemed pleasant enough these days, imbued with a happy domesticity that went far to redeeming her in Atlanta's eyes, and she ultimately won favor.

For her part, Scarlett was content enough to have a place again among decent people. She had missed her old friends in the months following Bonnie's death and was pleased to once again have their acceptance. Still, sometimes she grew so irritated with the forced primness and little hypocrisies that went along with life in polite society that she felt she would burst. Fortunately, though, she had Rhett and, safe in the privacy of their Peachtree house, she could howl and wail to her heart's content about her grievances and Rhett would listen to her stories and then laugh with approval and make such snide comments about Atlanta's finest citizens that she sometimes wept with laughter. Yes, thank goodness she had Rhett. He could be a perverse mocking devil at times, but he made her life so lovely and exciting that she was often too happy to care about anything else.

Scarlett smiled at this thought and out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Rhett lounging carelessly on the bed. He watched her alertly and her heart swelled with joy at the sight of him. How he loved her! He had told her he loved her a thousand times over the course of the year, but as long as she lived, she would never forget that first thrilling day he declared his love. Of course, she thought with a wry amused smile, he had been so Rhett about it…

It was a rainy early spring day and Scarlett sat curled up on the sofa in the sitting room, looking over the heavy ledger book for the store that rested on her lap. Rhett lounged in a nearby chair and lazily paged through the newspaper. The soft steady patter of rain fell on the window panes and Scarlett smiled to herself. How nice it was to sit here contentedly with Rhett, to enjoy this companionable silence. He had been in Atlanta since Christmas and everyday she felt they had grown closer. There had been agonizing conversations, of course, but they had somehow weathered them together. And over time the sharp edges of their grief had started to smooth out, to fade gradually into a more manageable intensity, and for that she was thankful.

Rhett had made no lover-like gestures since Christmas Eve, except for his daily chaste kiss of her cheek or perhaps a tender embrace whenever their shared remembrances moved her to tears. But she was certain he loved her. Too often in unguarded moments had she caught that old, intent cat-at-a-mouse-hole glint in his eyes, that look of almost terrible yearning and anticipation that vanished as soon as he felt her gaze on his. Yes, Rhett loved her. He loved her and, things having gone so well between them, she was certain that any day now he finally would admit it. For the last two weeks, she had awoken each morning, breathless, eager with hope, sure that this day would be the fateful day. But the days had come and gone and still Rhett had not confessed his love. But no matter. She was certain of it and so it was only a matter of time now.

She stole a glance at him now and—sure enough!—there was that alert look on his face again. Rhett caught her gaze and held it and for once his features did not recede into blandness. She fluttered her lashes down demurely, out of long habit, and wild anticipation clutched her. This was it! She was certain! Making an effort at nonchalance, she trained her focus back on the ledger book and tried to quell her heart's fierce pounding.

Rhett spoke and his voice was smooth. "Tell me, Scarlett, do you know what today's date is?"

"March 15th," she replied, a little confused. This was a strange way to start a declaration of love.

"Indeed. And does that day mean anything to you?"

Scarlett considered. It meant nothing to her and she said so.

"No? It means nothing at all?" he inquired. "Today is the Ides of March. As they say, 'Beware the Ides of March.' "

She stared at him blankly. What in Heaven's name was he talking about?

Rhett smiled maliciously. "Ah, of course, forgive me—I forget what a poor student of history you are. March 15th, the Ides of March, is a day traditionally linked with unexpected and unpleasant events. And I have some unexpected news that I fear you will find unpleasant, although I hope you won't."

An icy shiver swept Scarlett and, with it, came a sudden fear too horrible to be borne. He couldn't mean—no, it was too horrible to even consider. She looked up from the ledger to Rhett's smooth face. His next words fell idly, with no particular emphasis, as if he was talking about the most benign of subjects.

"Scarlett, you must agree that I have been more than fair in honoring our agreement. I have been here since Christmas. But staying here in Atlanta no longer interests me."

Suddenly there came to Scarlett's ears a roaring sound like a violent surging sea and for a second she was so dizzy she thought she would faint. After all this—he was leaving. Unexpectedly and cruelly, he was leaving her—after everything, after all the progress she thought they had made, after all the painful conversations that had ended in the shelter of each other's arms. She had been so sure he loved her, but he did not. It had all meant nothing and she had once again been a naïve little fool.

Quick hot tears pricked her eyes and suddenly she wanted to sob endlessly, to cry and cry until she could cry no more. But pride stiffened her. She would not bawl like a baby and have him laugh at her. He mustn't ever know how badly he had just hurt her.

She met his gaze evenly and asked, "You are leaving?"

"Indeed I am."

Sharp pain clawed at her heart but she defiantly kept her jaw from trembling. "And where will you go?"

He shrugged carelessly and grinned. "New Orleans for several weeks, then possibly Europe."

New Orleans. She had been expecting him to say Charleston and so this answer puzzled her. Rhett hadn't been to New Orleans in ages—at least not to the best of her knowledge, anyway. The last time she could even remember him going there was following Ashley's surprise party years ago when he had taken Bonnie traveling to New Orleans and Charleston.

"Why, Rhett," she asked confusedly, "what business could you possibly have in New Orleans?"

"I have no business in New Orleans."

"Then why would you go there?"

His lips curled into a smirk. "Pleasure."

Pleasure! The word stung like a vicious slap. He was leaving her to get drunk in bawdy houses and consort with bad women like that Watling creature. He was leaving her now—now after everything!—to go and do despicable and disgusting things. Rage flooded her and she pushed the heavy ledger from her lap. She leapt to her feet, but he was instantly beside her and grabbed her balled fists with his large hands.

"Turn me loose, you cad!" she cried.

"I think not. Aren't you interested in what –er– pleasure takes me to New Orleans?"

"I know what you do for pleasure, you vile skunk, and I don't want to hear about it!"

"No? Regardless I shall inform you. I'm sure you will find my reason entertaining. Besides, you deserve to know—after all you are my wife. The pleasure that brings me to New Orleans is…" He paused and smiled.

"A woman," he drawled, but she was too furious to notice the warm, caressing note in his voice.

"A woman!" She struggled against his grip. "How dare you! And what makes you think that I'd be entertained to hear you say something so—so—"

"You are upset? Then I beg your forgiveness. I thought you'd be pleased to learn how I long to spend time in New Orleans with the woman I love." His arms slid around her waist and he smiled, a soft, leisurely smile filled with both mischief and tenderness. "I am devastated that you do not share my enthusiasm."

His meaning hit her and she was too surprised and too elated to do anything besides whisper, "Oh."

Rhett raised his hand and gently cupped her cheek. "I love you, Scarlett O'Hara Butler, and for once in my life, I plan on showing you just how much."

His dark eyes gleamed with a hot white light that suddenly left her breathless and, before she could even think, his lips met hers, tenderly at first, then with a growing intensity that made her tremble and her entire body grow limp. His strong arms encircled her and she could feel through the taffeta of her dress the heat of his hands on her waist. A tingling swirl of warmth enveloped her and, for what felt like a timeless time, she could do nothing but give way before it, drawing her arms around his neck and meeting his lips with heedless abandon. Then she abruptly pulled away.

"That was a nasty trick, Rhett Butler," she said tartly, but a small smile tugging from her treacherous lips betrayed her attempt at indignation.

"It was," he replied and there was sincerity in his voice, although his eyes still gleamed. With a smirk, he tilted his mouth down until it hovered just over the delicate, exposed skin of her neck and murmured, "No doubt I will have to make it up to you."

He had made it up to her. They had spent two glorious weeks in New Orleans, then another four in Europe. They had been the happiest weeks of her life—a dizzy exhilarating whirl of fine food and finer champagne, carriage rides, plush hotels, gilded dance halls, endless shopping excursions, and long languid nights, the events of which still made her blush in recollection. More times than she could count they had been mistaken as newlyweds, which she supposed in a way they had been. For it was the first time they had allowed their hearts to be fully open to each other—and she reveled that the love she gave so effortlessly and freely was returned to her in full measure. She remembered, as if from another lifetime ago, something Rhett had said on the night he had left—that he could have loved her as gently and as tenderly as ever a man loved a woman, if she had only let him. Well, she had finally let him and he did not fall short of his own assessment. He was a most ardent and tender lover, and though he still loved to tease her, his barbs no longer held the cynical venom of recent years. And he was kind too, kinder than she ever imagined Rhett Butler had any capacity to be, doting on her in a protectively charming way that made her feel, as she had never felt before, utterly adored, utterly safe, utterly loved.

It had, in short, been a time of pure bliss, and she had ridden that blissful crest all the away back to Atlanta, basking in their newfound closeness and fully bloomed love. Then summer came. And they had needed every ounce of their newly rejuvenated love to get through that cruel triumvirate of summer days—Bonnie's birthday, the first anniversary of her death, the anniversary of Scarlett's fall and miscarriage. She had cried more tears over the past summer than she could ever remember crying, but somehow they had made it through together. They had emerged from summer a little battered around the edges, tempered and chastened by sorrow, but with their love intact—intact and stronger for surviving it.

September had brought its own unique challenge as well. The anniversary of Melanie's death came and though Scarlett could not help but mourn her friend, her thoughts were consumed by the day's other bitter milestone. As if in anticipation, Rhett was maddeningly considerate all day, which served only to sour her mood further. She tried to pick a vicious fight but he would not be provoked. She sulked and silently picked at her food when, at Rhett's thoughtful instruction, they were served her favorite meal for supper. And when later, in a rare act of open contrition, he tried to draw her into his arms and apologize for his earlier desertion, she finally stormed to their bedroom in a rage, slamming the door behind her and shouting, "This is just one day that I'm always going to be mad at you, Rhett Butler, and you are going to have to accept that!"

Yes, thought Scarlett, it had been an altogether thrilling and strange and topsy-turvy year, one filled with joy and sadness in equal measure. But she shrugged away her recollections and focused again on her smiling reflection in the mirror. Her ears ached under the weight of her heavy earbobs and she went to remove them. But they gleamed so prettily and made her eyes such a lovely green that vanity was stronger than discomfort and she decided to leave them in, at least for a little. She could always take them out before she went to sleep. Scarlett gave her dark hair one last stroke and then rose from the vanity. Her back throbbed with a dull low ache and, for a second on standing, she felt lightheaded and a little nauseous.

She silently padded over the thick carpet and gratefully climbed into bed, moving without preamble towards Rhett, who wrapped a protective arm around her waist. She laid her head down on his chest and smiled. Yes, life so was wonderful now and tomorrow was Christmas Day and Rhett was sure to spoil her with lots and lots of presents. At this thought she beamed broadly and snuggled closer to him.

Rhett looked down at her in amusement. "You are grinning from ear to ear, my pet. What are you thinking about, Scarlett?"

"About all the presents that are going to be under the Christmas tree tomorrow morning. Oh, Rhett, you did get me a great deal of presents, didn't you?"

He threw back his head and laughed. "Yes, my greedy little girl, I got you a decidedly vulgar amount of presents."

"Good." She smiled.

"And tell me, Scarlett, were you kind enough to return the favor? Did you find it in your heart to get your devoted husband a mountain of presents—or is the generosity in the Butler marriage one-sided?"

"But Rhett," she said guiltily, "you know you don't care about presents like I do."

"Ah, so I have my answer then."

"No, you are wrong. I got you a bunch of things, though I don't know if you'll like any of them. You're an impossible person to buy presents for, Rhett, and you know it!"

"Nonsense. It's exceedingly simple to get me presents. I never tire of a box of good cigars or a fine bottle of whisky, for instance. Or, failing that, you can always order more of those delightfully scandalous chemises I bought you in Paris." Scarlett went red and swatted his chest with her hand. He grinned at her discomfort before continuing. "Although I understand your general point. What do you get for the man who has everything?"

His eyes twinkled and she couldn't help but laugh at his bland arrogance. "Oh hush, you conceited old thing," she giggled.

"No need to bring my advanced age into the matter and wound me, my dear," he replied. Then his eyes lost their teasing glint and his voice became quiet and gentle. "But I am quite serious, Scarlett. I have everything I could ever want because I have you." His hand fell to caress the slight swell of her stomach, barely perceptible against the folds of her wrapper. "You have given me more than I could ever want or dare to hope for," he said softly.

"Oh, Rhett," she whispered in a tender rush, encircling her arms around his neck. "I love you. You are the only thing I need."

"I love you too, my darling," he murmured. Scarlett smiled and nestled closer to him. If she lived to be one hundred, she would never tire of him saying he loved her.

After a moment, Rhett ended the embrace and his eyes began to dance wickedly. "So I'm the only thing you need, my sweet? What a useful piece of information! Very well then, in that case I'll clear away all your presents from under the tree and distribute them among Atlanta's needy."

"Oh, don't you dare!" she cried.

He laughed softly. "Darling, you are such a child."

"Oh, fiddle-dee-dee! How you do run on," she replied, wrinkling her nose at him, though her eyes were bright with laughter. Contentedly, she stretched out like a cat in the sun, relishing the bed's downy softness, and gave him a pouting smile. "Besides, you owe me about a million presents, Rhett Butler, after the way you nearly ruined Christmas last year!"

"Me?" He raised his hand in a gesture of mock surprise. "Nearly ruined Christmas? Fie, Mrs. Butler! Surely you are mistaken."

"I mistake nothing. You were horrid."

"Horrid? How was I horrid? I seem to recall I arrived at Christmas Eve mass just in time to save you from some rather vicious gossip. It was quite chivalrous of me."

"Do be serious. You know what I mean."

"Alas I don't. What did I do that was so horrid? I hope you aren't referring to how I initiated our rather dramatic –er– reconciliation later that night."

"Oh, Rhett, you're impossible," she said in exasperation, before her voice grew quiet. "That was such a terrible night."

"Come now, darling! Not all of it was terrible, surely!" he said silkily. His arms snaked around her again and she could suddenly feel his hot breath against the nape of her neck. It was his way of changing the subject and she knew it. But Scarlett was not deterred.

Rhett…" she began, her brow furrowed into a small frown.

Seeing she was serious about the matter, he acquiesced. "It was a terrible night." He took her hands in his. "But, honey, I made it up to you the next morning, didn't I?"

"Made it up to me? Ha!" she scoffed, though her tone was too light for genuine anger. "How did you do that—by telling me you didn't love me or by making me practically beg you to stay for a week?" Before he could answer, she laughed in recollection.

"Oh, Rhett, what a liar you were then! 'I'll only stay through New Year's Day!' " she said a drawling mimicry of his words.

He grinned down at her. "I'm glad you find it all so amusing in retrospect. Though you'll note I never specified what New Year's Day I planned to stay through. So perhaps, charming siren, you are in for a nasty surprise come 1875."

He had meant it as a joke of course, but one look at her suddenly crestfallen face and Rhett knew he had badly blundered.

Scarlett flung her arms around his neck. "Promise me you'll never leave me again!" she cried.

"Dearest!" he said, swiftly picking her up in his arms and cradling her in his lap. "No, darling Scarlett, I won't ever leave you again. You are stuck with me, my love, and I dare say that is your misfortune, given that I am not the easiest man to live with, as you doubtlessly know."

"I don't know, Rhett…" she sighed. She pulled out of his embrace and rolled to her side, her back facing him. "It's not really something you should joke about."

Rhett winced, cursing his own stupidity. She was right, of course. What in God's good name had possessed him to joke about leaving his pregnant wife—and on Christmas Eve of all times?

"It's not," he agreed. "And you have my word that I shall never joke about it again. But you have no reason to worry. I won't ever leave you again, Scarlett. I mean it."

"But you left before!" she cried indignantly. "You said you didn't give a damn about me and you left!"

Rhett sighed heavily. He hated to be reminded of that period of his life. The man in his memories seemed a stranger to him now. How had that ever been him? It disturbed him to think that he had once been so oddly detached from his life—and, even worse, from Scarlett.

"I did leave, but I was a fool for doing it—for thinking I could ever really leave you," he began. "Scarlett, you realize, don't you, that was perhaps the most pathetic attempt at abandonment ever ventured? Certainly it was nothing worthy of my villainous reputation. I left for three months, returned home, promptly fell back into your bed, and never left it again." He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, but her back stiffened at his touch. He sighed again. Apparently quips weren't going to work; he'd have to try plain honesty.

"Scarlett, when I first left Atlanta, I was certain that I meant every word I said to you the night Mrs. Wilkes died. But I was deceiving myself to think that I cared nothing for you. I believe on some level I knew I still cared even then. Why else would I have told you I'd come back and keep gossip down? That's not something I have ever bothered myself about." He smiled wryly as a memory came to him.

"When I make up my mind about something, my mind is set and I don't look back. You will recall that I once refused to marry a boring fool and then shot her wild-eyed brother in the bargain—all because my mind was made up and damned were the consequences. That tends to be how I make a decision. God knows when I'm truly certain about a decision I don't spout nonsense about gossip—gossip, of all things!—and promise to come back when I say I'm leaving."

He paused to wait for her answer, but silence was his only reply.

"Ah, darling, what can I say to make you understand? I never stopped loving you, not truly. Of course, I was fool enough to think I had. Scarlett, I loved you for twelve long years—during which time you scarcely gave me any indication you could care for me. And yet I always came back; I couldn't stay away from you as hard as I tried. If I couldn't really leave you then, what makes you think I could leave—or want to leave—now, now that I have you and you love me?"

Still she said nothing.

Now he was getting worried and, an unfamiliar anxiety filling him, he plunged ahead. "I love you, Scarlett. I have loved you since that first day I saw you at Twelve Oaks when you threw that vase and swore and proved you weren't a lady. I have loved you every day since then—even at times when I wished I didn't, even at times when I told myself that I didn't care. But I loved you. And I do love you. I couldn't imagine my life without loving you—and I have no desire to even try to imagine it."

Still she said nothing. This was not good—Scarlett could sulk for days when properly provoked. God damn him for being such a fool.

"Sweetheart, please…" he said imploringly, resting his hands on her small shoulders. "What must I do to convince you?"

Scarlett turned around to face him and her green eyes sparkled. She smiled mischievously. "Oh Rhett, you convinced me a minute or so ago, but I was enjoying listening to you run on about how much you love me."

He threw back his head and laughed uproariously. "What an underhanded trick! To prey on my susceptible heart like that. No doubt I will have to punish you for it."

He swiftly moved his hands to her sides and started to tickle her around the ribcage. Scarlett convulsed in giggles at his teasing ministrations.

"Rhett, stop!" she exclaimed through peals of laughter. But he continued unabated until they were both sagging with laughter. When Scarlett finally caught her breath, she leaned against her pillow and sighed and smiled. But it was the watery smile that Rhett knew all too well from the past year.

"What's the matter, honey?" he asked.

"Nothing," she replied quietly. "I am so happy. I am. And I am so excited about the baby, but…" She trailed off.

"Go on," Rhett said gently, nudging her to continue.

"It's just that—well… that's just it. I am so happy, Rhett, and I-I just feel guilty being this happy without—without Bonnie here."

Rhett nodded, his eyes suddenly dark. He felt it too—this queer pang of guilt that he could be so dizzyingly happy when he had already lost so much. His chest tightened with the familiar ache thoughts of Bonnie always triggered. He had learned to live with that ache over this past year; had learned through bitter practice that peace was not the absence of grief, but the mundane and daily acceptance of it. That did not make moments like this any easier.

"I know," he said, giving her a small smile and gently soothing back her hair. "But as a very wise and beautiful woman once told me, Bonnie would want us to be happy without her. Scarlett, we have to keep living our life. It's the only way."

"I know that," she sighed. "But—it's just that it's Christmas. And—oh, I don't know!—it somehow feels wrong to be this happy on Christmas when I still miss Bonnie so." Scarlett bit her lip to stop the tide of tears, but she was too late.

"Oh, Rhett, I miss her so!" she cried. The tears streamed down her face and he reached for her instantly, pulling her tightly to him like he feared she would somehow disappear.

"I know. I miss her too," he whispered, resting his head in the hollow of her neck.

Words failed. Nothing could be said to make it better. Nothing could be done but let the sorrow roll like a cresting wave and wait for it to crash and ebb. This was the curse of their happiness—it existed over a brittle layer of pain that could crack open and push its way to the surface at any moment. Once, years ago, they had had the chance to be happy without complication, but they had squandered it. And now their happiness stood on the other side of twelve years of cross purposes and carried in it the strain of indelible loss—a child loved and buried, another dead before its first breath, wounds that might heal with time but would never be forgotten. They were stronger because of it, their happiness more dearly cherished because they had known the sting of agony. But that was a small comfort now on Christmas Eve, before the weight of memories.

Scarlett sobbed into his chest and Rhett kept his arms tightly around her, blinking several times to stop his own eyes from watering. After several minutes, Scarlett's tears subsided into slight sniffles and then finally ceased altogether. She looked up at him, dabbing her eyes with the sleeve of her wrapper.

"Oh, Rhett, I am sorry to act so blue. But I am fine now, really." She smiled valiantly and gave her head a pert toss. "Besides, I don't want to be the one to nearly ruin Christmas this year."

He smiled. She was so brave. He knew she was not fine, but she would now vehemently deny it, should he try to comfort her any further. For she knew he was not fine either and that was her endearing, stubborn-headed Scarlett O'Hara way of trying to be strong for him. For years he thought he had understood and admired her courage—but he had never truly known its depth until this past year. She was her absolute bravest in quiet moments like this one, when she would attempt to chase away their sorrow armed only with a too-bright smile and her incomparable pluck. How brave she was and how he loved her for it.

But brave or no, Rhett knew he needed to pull Scarlett from her thoughts, and, considering the matter, he decided to employ the quickest method to distract her—complimenting her. (Actually, he corrected himself, that was a lie—the quickest method to distract Scarlett was to infuriate her, but complimenting her came in a very close and enjoyable second.)

He threw her a warm lazy smile devoid of mockery. "I don't think I ever told you how bewitching you looked at church tonight."

She dimpled with delight and he chuckled inwardly, noting that her eyes were wide now with pleasurable excitement and that sadness was quickly fading from her face.

"Did I?" she asked coyly. "I hadn't given it a single thought."

"You had so, you heartless creature. Although it's certainly not a surprise you looked so charming." He toyed aimlessly with one of her earbobs. "You always look especially lovely when you wear these."

"Oh? Is that so?" She beamed merrily.

"That's so." A memory flickered and he smiled nostalgically. "These earbobs spelled the very beginning of my downfall, you know."

She looked at him in puzzlement. "How do you mean?"

He let his voice go silky smooth. "I mean that last Christmas Eve I walked into that stuffy church and you were wearing that little dark green frock and these earbobs," he ran his thumb lightly across her cheek. "And the combination made your eyes such a startlingly shade of green that my breath stopped for a moment—and I had a sudden suspicion that spending Christmas with you would be much harder than I had initially imagined."

Scarlett practically glowed at the revelation and Rhett suppressed a grin. Yes, she was completely distracted now—God, it was so predictably easy to distract her. One of life's joys. He watched his wife's lashes flutter and her dimples deepen in her familiar coquette routine.

"Why then I am glad I wore them, Captain Butler," she remarked flirtatiously, tossing her head so the earbobs danced.

"And I am glad I bought them," he smirked.

A small pout came to her red lips, but she continued teasingly. "Yes, that was a very nice, gentlemanly thing to do—surprising me with a lovely little present on Christmas Eve. Pity you weren't so considerate this year."

"What makes you think I wasn't?"

Glee lit her face at the mere mention of a present, but it faded a little when he made no gesture to retrieve the supposed present from wherever it hid. "Well… I don't see anything," she ventured.

"No? Perhaps that is because you haven't looked underneath your pillow."

The pillow was tossed aside in an instant and she gasped with childish excitement at finding a small package there. In another second she was eagerly tearing off its white ribbon and opening the box.

"Oh!" she cried softly. There in the package gleamed an ornate hair comb, made of pure gold crafted into delicate swirling flourishes and encrusted with emeralds surrounded by smaller diamonds. It was the perfect complement to her earbobs and just as beautiful.

"Oh! The darling thing! It is so lovely!" Scarlett leapt excitedly from the bed and hurriedly rushed to the vanity mirror. Laughing, Rhett rose and followed after her. She stood in front of the mirror and, with a slender hand on each side of the hair comb, placed it in her dark curls as regally as a queen donning a tiara.

The jeweled hair comb, in harmony with her emerald earbobs, offset her pale green eyes handsomely, darkening them to an enticing hue of jade. She knew she looked pretty and she whirled around to seek his confirmation.

"How do I look?" she asked, giving her head a jaunty toss.

"Enchanting, my pet."

She smiled at the compliment and in her elation closed the distance between them and flung her arms around his neck.

"Oh, Rhett! You are so good to me!" she said happily. And her smile was so adoring, so utterly adoring and so utterly joyful, that for a moment his breath stopped at the sight of how much she loved him. In an instant he moved his head closer to hers and his lips urgently parted her mouth, as his arms encircled her waist…

~~o~~

Later that night Rhett awoke with a jolt. In the darkness he could feel only the cool expanse of linen sheets and his heart hitched with dread. He frantically scanned the dim room and then exhaled in pure relief as, his eyes adjusting to the darkness, he saw Scarlett was asleep in bed after all. In her sleep she had migrated out of his arms and towards her side of the bed. He moved towards her and, careful not to wake her, gently pulled her close to him, savoring the faint fragrance of her hair, the warmth of her slender body, her soft breath rising and falling like waves on a placid shore.

Thank God. She was real. She was flesh and blood and she was his. Too often over the past year had he awoken, as he had now, in the middle of the night—cold with fright in the fleeting seconds before his bearings returned, convinced that the last year had all been a vivid, impossible dream, that none of it had happened. In those horrifying seconds when he first awoke, he was always back in Charleston again and he was awaking to nothing—nothing beside the promise of staid respectability, a life of utter boredom and calm dignity and genial grace. Such pleasant but pointless things—things that could warm neither his bed nor his heart. How had he ever thought that they could sustain him? How had he thought anything could truly sustain him besides Scarlett?

He looked down at Scarlett and wrapped her inky black hair around his throat. He had very nearly not come back last year for Christmas. He had sat in the train depot in Charleston for an hour before finally buying a ticket to Atlanta—and then he had nearly ripped it up. Where would they be now if he hadn't decided to spend last Christmas in Atlanta? He liked to believe they would have found their way back to each other anyway, but who could say how long it would have taken or if their relationship would have become what it was now? He drew her closer to him in the darkness. Thank God he had come back. No—thank God he had come home.