29 January 2000
The heavy beat of the music thrums through the girl’s body in time with the pounding of her heart. She’s alone for a moment in the crowded party, but then she sees him across the room and nothing else matters. He’s leaning against the mantel, all languid grace, and he’s talking to someone else, but when he catches her eye, he winks. And an actual shiver races down her spine.
He’s going to meet her later, outside, under the arched, vine-covered path by the fountain at the foot of the garden. A place for privacy. A place for lovers. Her body warms at the memory of the promises in his mouth and his expert hands.
There are butterflies, too.
She hasn’t done anything like this before, but she trusts him not to hurt her, physically at least. She has no illusions about what a boy like him will do to her heart. But with her third glass of the delicious punch almost empty, she can’t bring herself to care. Because he’s chosen her.
The hours pass in a blur of music and dancing and more punch, and trying not to pinch herself to be certain this is actually her life. When she finally winds her way through the garden to the meeting spot, she stumbles twice. Intoxication and nerves make her knees tremble.
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