of having to talk to Pattie, until he suddenly found himself alone with her right after the dancing started, the redheaded girl having been claimed by the usher on her left, and Greg having gone off with the matron of honor. It left Brad, next to Pattie, with almost all of the others on the dance floor, and it suddenly seemed very uncomfortable to be seated next to her alone.
He glanced to his right, and found that she was looking at him, and somewhat ruefully he smiled at her, trying not to think of what had happened in Rome. “Looks like we've been deserted.” It was a dumb thing to say, but he couldn't imagine what to say to her. She turned her little heart-shaped face toward him, her mouth in a familiar pout.
“Does that bother you, Brad?”
“No.” Which was a blatant lie. He was finding it damn awkward.
She sat there as though expecting something from him, like a kiss or an arm around her shoulders. Everyone knew that they had been engaged the year before, and now suddenly here she was, about to marry his brother, and they were sitting alone at the main table, side by side. Everyone must have been wondering what they were saying.
“Don't you want to dance, Brad?” She looked at him petulantly and he blushed and nodded quickly.
“Sure, Pattie. Why not?” At least she wasn't making a scene, or reminding him of what had happened between them. He stood up next to her chair, took her hand, and they went directly to the dance floor to dance a merengue. She was an expert dancer, and he was suddenly reminded of their nights at the Stork Club, when he'd been on leave after the war, and a little drunk on the excitement of Pattie. She was a damn pretty girl, but in a whole other style from Serena. Serena had elegance and grace, a face that people turned around to look at, and a kind of perfect beauty that took one's breath away. Pattie had something very warm blooded and sexy about her, until one knew her well, and then one knew that beneath the cuddly mannerisms lay a heart of ice. But at any rate she was a good dancer, and she was about to become his sister-in-law, so he was making the best of their moments on the floor. The merengue led into a samba, which became a fox trot and eventually a waltz, and no one seemed to change partners, so neither did Brad. He kept her out there, much to her delight, and when the waltz became a tango, they stuck with it, until finally Pattie looked at him with her Kewpie-doll smile, fanning her face with her hand.
“Aren't you ready to die from the heat?”
“I'm getting there.”
“Want to get some air?”
He hesitated for only a fraction of a second, and then felt that he was being unnecessarily ungracious. What was wrong with going out for some air, after all? “Sure.” He glanced over the dance floor, looking for Serena, but he couldn't find her. So he followed Pattie out of the private dining room and down the stairs to the street, where the June air was almost as hot and heavy as the hall.
“I'd forgotten how well you dance.” He looked at her as he took a cigarette from his gold case, Pattie glanced at it, and then at his face quickly.
“There's a lot you've forgotten about me, Brad.” He said nothing to her in answer, and she reached for the cigarette he had lit, took a long drag, and then put it back between his lips with traces of her deep cherry lipstick on it. “I still don't understand what you did. I mean why?” She looked straight at him and he was sorry they had come out for air. “Did you do it just to get at me? Was that it? I mean, why her? She may be pretty, but she's nothing. And how long will you want that, Brad? A year? Two? And then what, you've ruined your life for that little harlot?”
He was about to go back inside, but he stopped dead in his tracks at her words, and his voice was like ice when he spoke to her. “Don't ever say anything like that to me again, you little bitch. From tomorrow on, for better or worse, you and I will be related. You'll be my brother's wife, and I'm still not sure what that