“Sometimes they don’t work either. You love them, care for them, but they just don’t work. After meeting my daughter, I’m sure you would agree. Listen, Montana, if marriage and a family are what you really believe that you need, then you should find someone who will give them to you. But if you can handle a life filled with romance, adventure, and the courage to dangle, then you’re staring at a man who’s more than willing and able to give you just that.”

“What if that’s not enough?”

“And what if it is? Either way, it’s a choice you’ll have to make.”

Echoing through my mind were the words “a bird in the hand” and standing less than a foot away from me was a prehistoric-sized pterodactyl. Yet and still, my hand was closed, and my heart unsure.

“I tell you what, Montana. We’ve waited ten months already. What’s a few more days? Think about it. I’m passing through New York next week on my way to London, then to Rome, and then to Greece. I’ll have my travel agent book you a ticket just in case. Now, for the rest of the evening, let’s laugh, dance, dangle, and pretend that this night never has to end.”

As we danced under the moonlight I wondered if my road to pretend would ever end.

Chapter 15

7:25 A.M. PST
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 21ST

3 DAYS, 8 HOURS, AND 57 MINUTES TO “E-DAY”

Now I’ve heard it called a lot of things before, but an “invitation” had to be the classiest way I’ve ever heard of being asked to be international travel booty. But I guess I can’t be too mad at Quinton or his “invitation,” especially since I’ve never been invited anywhere close to Rome, Greece, or London. I was once invited to Paris. Well, Paris, Texas, by my aunt. I was invited to Detroit a couple times. Even Chicago. Though I’m really trying to forget about Chicago. But Rome? Greece? London? Quinton’s game was seamless and his gifts were priceless. But for all the bling bling that would linger, there was still no ring ring on my finger.

I was still undecided. Not about the bracelet—’cause I kept the bracelet—but about Quinton’s “invitation.”

“Happy holidays and welcome aboard Transcontinental Flight 581 with non-stop service to Baltimore’s BWI Airport.”

Nestled tightly in a coach window seat in the rear of the plane, I decided this time to simply be a passenger. I had a lot on my mind and not very much time to sort through the haze.

On one hand, Quinton was offering everything a woman could ever ask for. On the other, he was denying the very thing that a woman spends most of her life waiting to have.