Dolly sighed, shaking her head. “I can’t believe she went through with it. When she was in love with you.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. They’ve got three kids. A dark-headed boy and two of the blondest little girls you’ve ever seen. Twins. They send my mom and dad a picture every Christmas.”

“I can’t believe it,” she repeated, taking another sip of whiskey to soften the blow. She handed him back the flask, and he set it down on the grass next to him. “Well, if it was me, I would have married you,” she said.

He smiled a little. “I guess it’s too late for that, too.”

She sat on her hands, wishing she could rewind.

He reached over to pull some grass up from past the edge of the blanket. “Tell me, Dolly, what makes a girl decide who she’s going to marry? What about you and your husband?”

“Oh, I was dreadfully in love with him. Like I told you before.” She felt on the verge of revealing everything, the whole terrible dinner and all. Instead, she said, “But I didn’t know him, you know?”

“Well, what have you found out?”

She cocked her head, looking out at the lake. “Only the extent of my ignorance, I suppose.”

JJ laughed.

“And that you’re probably right about the house—I mean, that it wouldn’t make any difference, where we live. Because I don’t think he understands me at all, or even cares to. It’s like I’m supposed to be this cookie-cutter wife, you know? And be there for him whenever he needs me—in just the way he needs me, nothing more and nothing less—and not have any needs or desires of my own.”

“So what are your desires, Dolly?”

She felt a lump rise in her throat. She couldn’t remember Byron ever asking her such a thing. “Well—well, adventure, of course,” she stammered finally. “Romance!”

He looked at her, and in his eyes was such a mix of concern and longing that she found she couldn’t speak.

And then he leaned close and kissed her, resting his fingers lightly on her face. His lips were surprisingly soft. For a moment, she was lost.

But then she realized what she was doing, and recoiled. “Oh!” she said, raising her hands to her mouth. “It’s gotten me, too! The curse!”

“Me, too,” he said. He moved her hands aside, and kissed her again. Goodness, he was pleasant. His formerly sour smell seemed to have sweetened. Or was it that she herself had soured?

Her tipsy brain wavered. His breath was warm on her face, and, through her dress, she felt the heat of his hand, resting on her hip. He touched his lips to hers again. “Me, too,” he said again, moving closer.