“Naturally, I would seek your input on and approval of every aspect of the event . . . the flowers—I know you’re partial to irises—the menu, the music, everything. There will be no limit on the number of guests you want to invite. I humbly suggest that it will be the most sought-after invitation in Virginia society.”

When he paused, it was quiet enough to hear us all breathe. My mother looked like someone had splashed ice water over her face. My father sat back, keenly satisfied. Garland cleared his throat, now looking a bit uneasy at my mother’s silence.

“Well, I think I’ve said enough. If you’ll permit, I will retire to your front porch with Corrine, if she agrees, and give you and Mr. Dixon time to discuss my proposal.”

“Tonight?” my mother asked, now even more astounded. “We’re to decide this tonight?”

“Should you need more time after you begin your discussion, of course, take it.” He looked at his watch as if to communicate his demand for a decision this very evening, however. He smiled at me and held out his hand. “Corrine.”

I rose and, without looking at either of my parents, took his hand and left the room. We walked out, and he nodded at the bench.

“How did I do?” he asked as soon as I sat.

“I’m waiting for my breath to return.”

He laughed and took out a thin cigar.

“How much of what you just said was true?” I asked.

“What? All of it.” He leaned against a post. “Since you left, I haven’t spent an hour without thoughts of you and regrets about how awkward our parting was. I did have pressing business, however. That was not an untruth.”

I scowled at him.

“Dear me,” he said. “Don’t peel off my skin.”

“Did my father threaten you?”

“Threaten?” He shrugged. “He did what any father would do at first, but that isn’t and never would be a concern of mine. I sincerely am sorry for the way I treated you.” He smiled. “I’ve put away all the remaining limoncello. It’s under lock and key, in fact.”

“Unless it does have some magical powers, we can’t blame it all on that. It’s just some fancy alcoholic drink,” I said.

“Not that fancy, but I agree.”

“I wouldn’t light that cigar,” I said. “My mother loathes the scent but especially indoors. And it doesn’t inspire good memories for me.”

He looked at it. “Oh, right, right. Sorry.”

He put it away quickly.

“So, if your parents agree tonight . . .”

“Don’t,” I said quickly.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t make any promises until we say our vows. I hate promises.”

“Why?”

“You can’t be disappointed without them, and there’s nothing I hate or fear more than disappointment.”

“Okay,” he said, widening his smile. “I promise never to make promises.”