As I listened to him, especially when he talked about me, I thought he was doing a good job of covering up what led to our being here. Even if later on my mother found out why we were moving so quickly on our marriage, I didn’t think she would be upset. Despite how efficiently and how fast the details of our ceremony and reception were being spun, this had no resemblance to what some people might call a shotgun marriage. There wasn’t the hint of any arm twisting. Even my mother was overwhelmed with how much Garland loved and respected me. I could see how she was looking at me when he talked about me, elaborating on our first meeting each other, to the point where she began to wonder if he was still talking about me. It was as if my mother’s eyes had been opened to see a new daughter.

I read her mind. Was I really that sophisticated? Could I really be that charming? As far as she could tell, I had completely won this worldly man’s heart instantly. She even looked a little jealous. Perhaps in her mind, my romance, as short as it was, was ten times as romantic as hers and my father’s had been. By the end of the evening, Garland had certainly succeeded in wining and dining my parents. At our nuptials, there would be no hint of anything but his and my love for each other and my parents’ joy.

How pleased my father looked. It was, in fact, his acceptance of how strong Garland’s love for me was and his belief in Garland’s remorse over nearly losing me that helped convince me I wasn’t making a mistake. My father rarely made significant errors, and in my heart of hearts, I still believed he only wanted not only what was best for me but what would make me happy.

Mrs. Steiner and Dora had served us so well my mother compared our dinner service to the service at the best restaurant in Alexandria. When we were up to dessert, Garland asked Mrs. Steiner to bring out his cook, Marion Wilson, to be introduced. She was a very pleasant-looking, tall, light-brown-haired woman with a soft-spoken English accent. Her hair was severely pulled and pinned back and tight into a bun. Her cheeks were crimson, perhaps from the heat of the kitchen, but they made her large hazel eyes dazzling. I didn’t think she was much more than thirty years old, if that. Wisely, she directed herself mainly to my mother.

“Very pleased to meet you, mum,” she said, and nodded at my father, barely glancing at me. I supposed she thought she and I would have a lifetime to get to know each other.