Marabeth had no illusions about herself. She’d seen the way George looked at her and although she had been trying to look her worst for him, choosing colors that made her skin look wan or brought out her freckles in the most obvious way, he still didn’t think she was very pretty. And since he was the only man allowed to get close to her since she’d been betrothed to him since birth, she hadn’t been able to flirt with other boys or men. Which meant her only validation for her self esteem came from the mirror or her late fiancé.
They were usually blonds but definitely some
They all had gorgeous, tan skin and incredible
Marabeth didn’t consider herself pretty. She knew she was passably attractive but her hair was too red and her skin too white. She had nice eyes but she suspected that most people were too overwhelmed by the color of her hair to notice her pretty blue eyes.
Sam’s comment drew her back from her self recriminations about her appearance. “There’s a game the American’s play called twenty questions,” Sam was saying and leaned against the concrete railing. “How about if you start?”
She immediately liked the sound of this game. It seemed like a wonderful way to get to know Sam without getting hurt in the process. “Do they have to be yes or no questions or can they be open ended?”
“Anything you want to ask.”
“Good. What’s your favorite color?” she asked.
“Blue, I guess. What’s yours?”
“Yellow,” she said with emphasis.
“Why?” something. magazine. dessert?” She thought about that for a moment. No one had ever questioned why she liked
They had just accepted it, then usually printed it in some newspaper or “Because it is a happy color, I guess. My turn. What’s your favorite
“Anything with lemon in it,” he replied easily. “What’s yours?”
“Meringues.” She thought for a moment about her next question. “Where’s the worst place you’ve ever visited?”
“The jungle,” he said without hesitation. visited?”
“What’s the best place you’ve ever
“Washington, D.C. in the springtime.” She took another sip of wine and considered her next question. “What’s your most dysfunctional relative?”
Sam threw back his head and laughed. “Most dysfunctional, huh? Let me see. I have an Aunt who lost all her teeth. Every once in a while, she leaves the house without her dentures. It is a little shocking.”
Marabeth grimaced. “That’s all you got? An aunt with bad teeth?”
“No teeth, and yes, that’s the worst I have. That I know of. I’m sure that some family member is probably locked in the closet each time I come near because he or she has drunken bouts of rage where they tell all the other family secrets. Unfortunately, because they are locked in the closet, I’ve never met them. What about you?”
She laughed at his response, warmed that he was sharing with her. “Now that you mention it, I have a cousin who gets drunk at almost every meal and starts singing show tunes.”
“I bet he doesn’t get invited to many political functions, does he?” Sam laughed.
“Actually, he is a she and no, not many.” She turned away and walked along the patio, touching a bloom every few feet. “Your turn,” she said.
“Mystery, romance or non-fiction?”
“Mystery, but I have to keep the lights on when I finish reading. And I secretly love reading a romance novel but don’t let that out to anyone else. I won’t even bother asking you.”
“What would you guess I read?”
“Non-fiction, of course,” she replied. “Why of course?”
“Because you would never unbend enough to read something nonsensical. Am I right?”
“Perhaps. So what’s your question?”
“I’ll throw one of yours back at you. What’s the best thing you’ve ever done in your life?”
“Kissed you the other night,” he said without hesitation.
“Oh,” Marabeth said, her eyes looking into his intense gaze. Suddenly thirsty, she drank half her glass of wine. “Your turn.”
“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? And you can’t throw my answer back at me,” he chuckled.
Marabeth smiled at his quick retort. “That’s a tough one,” she said. “I suppose that would be the Christmas that I got mad at Ana and told her that father was selling her off to be one of Santa’s elves and she’d never have any more presents.”
Sam threw back his head and laughed at her comment. “And she believed you?”
Marabeth smiled but there was a catch to her expression. “If I remember correctly, she was seven and I was almost six. We weren’t very nice to each other that year.”
“I thought you two were