Atlanta, Georgia, December 1874

Scarlett stood in the door of the large dressing room that opened off their bedroom. The room had been solely her own for years, and been full to overflowing with fine fabrics in a dizzying variety of colors. It had taken her more than a week to go through all those dresses. Some of them had gone to Tara for her sister; some, the oldest and plainest, had gone to Hattie and Prissy. Some clothing had been removed to be kept but stored elsewhere. These included the more matronly dresses in sedate colors that she hated to wear, but would be necessary when they went to Charleston - which they would, for the first time as a family, just after the New Year - and the depressingly numerous mourning gowns.

Now Rhett's dark clothes were held in sober array on one side of the formerly feminine closet. Already the confined space smelled differently, the aroma from her verbena sachets mingling with a hint of tobacco. The smell reminded Scarlett so strongly of she and Rhett together that even entering the dressing room could make her blush in an unguarded moment. This room was palpable proof of their reunion, and it reassured her to step inside and run her hands along the mix of their feminine and masculine fabrics.

Scarlett fingered the heavy broadcloth cuff of a black sleeve. Rhett had moved his things in October. Two months later she was still in the habit of walking through the dressing room solely for this sensory ritual at least once a week. When he was gone - down at the bank where he had reclaimed his desk, out with the children or Uncle Henry or some one or other of the gentlemen who now came to call again - she would step inside and take it all in. This tangible mingling of their possessions was more durable than the firm pillow of his chest under her cheek at night, her palm flattened over the reassuring strength of his heartbeat. He could leave any morning; that he had really and truly combined his life with her own once again was most strongly evident in the dressing room.

"You know," said Rhett from the open doorway, "I noticed something was missing."

Scarlett dropped the jacket sleeve as if it had burned her fingertips and turned hurriedly to face her husband. She was grateful that the dim room could hide the flush which must show on her face, if the warmth rising along her cheekbones was any indication. "God's nightgown, Rhett!" she complained, going on the offensive in the hope of forestalling any embarrassing questions about what she was doing fondling his clothing. "You scared me half to death. You - you should knock, not just sneak around the house like...like…"

Rhett smiled at her, but his eyebrows lifted in something too much like his old mockery. "I should knock on my own bedroom door?"

"Well, yes," Scarlett replied lamely, then, feeling she had chosen the wrong feint, she backtracked to his opening statement. "Something was missing?" She would rather discuss anything than this subject of knocking on bedroom doors, on this bedroom door in particular. It reminded her of the not-too-distant time when this had been only her room, when his presence - even properly announced by the rap of his knuckles - would have been unwelcome, when like as not the door would have been locked against his entry.

Rhett stepped back from the doorway and raised a hand to beckon her to join him. Scarlett slipped her palm against his and let him lead her across the room. Rhett guided her to the vanity table.

"Sit down, my dear."

"What are you doing, Rhett?" Scarlett asked, puzzled, but acquiescing to his command with the hope of satisfying her curiosity.

Rhett stood behind her and folded his fingers over her shoulders. His large palms covered the ridges of her shoulder blades, warming her skin through the red silk faille of her bodice. He flicked at the tassels that hung from her shoulders and she shifted under his grip, craning her neck to look up at him.

"Stop that, Rhett," she said irritably. "Are you ever going to get to the point? You must have some reason for - for loitering around the bedroom in the middle of the afternoon."

Rhett squeezed her again and bent low to press his cheek next to hers. He turned his head inward, so the edge of his mustache just barely brushed her skin as he murmured, "I could think of several reasons for loitering around the bedroom in the middle of the afternoon."

"You would," Scarlett said, rolling her eyes and disguising the thrill of nerves she felt at his words by refocusing her attention to the clutter on the vanity. The small pot of rouge she preferred to keep hidden in a drawer had been left out next to the nearly identical and far more acceptable pot of plain lip salve. She couldn't put it away with Rhett watching, though; he would be sure to tease her about feeling the need to hide her face paint. She grabbed the silver-backed hairbrush instead, digging at a long strand of black hair that was caught in the bristles.

"You wound me, my dear," Rhett said, straightening up with a chuckle. "I would have hoped you would feel much more charitable towards my - er - reasons for seeking you in our bedroom."

"You are a dirty-minded varmint," Scarlett said airily. She raised her eyes to meet his in the mirror. "Really, Rhett, what were you talking about? Something was missing?"

Rhett slid his palms slowly over her shoulders, drawing them towards her neck until his thumbs could trace the smooth white column. Scarlett shivered as he glided those digits slowly along her skin until he grazed the fine down at her hairline. Her eyes still held his in the mirror. A flame she could finally recognize burned in his insistent gaze.

"There was - a gift," he said, his thumbs trailing slowly down her nape again. "I had noticed its absence some time ago but, I admit, I thought little of it until two months ago. Even then, I was reluctant to mention it, although it has lingered in my mind. Are you changing for supper?"

Scarlett blinked. "Of course," she answered automatically. "But, Rhett, what has that to do-"

Rhett canted his head toward the dark green dress pieces currently draped over a chair by the fireplace. "For tonight?"

"Yes, but-"

Rhett sighed with theatrical exaggeration and stopped the sensual movement of his hands. "Yes, it would have been just the thing."

Scarlett rapped the hairbrush against the tabletop. "You are speaking in riddles!"

His cavalier grin was thoroughly aggravating, but the press of his thumb which came to rest just below her neck left her too flustered to be angry. "Can you not guess? Try and humor me, my dear. You must have seen it about this time last year."

Scarlett shifted her seat, uncomfortable with most memories from the year before. She did not like to dwell on those months. "No, Rhett."

Rhett leaned over her then, surrounding her, caging her against his chest with one arm braced on the table and the other reaching to drag her jewelry box forward. Scarlett's brows drew together and she looked at him in the mirror for a moment.

"Oh!" she breathed at last.

"You remember."

"Yes. Rhett, let me up."

Rhett stood, his arms falling to his sides and restoring her freedom of movement. She leaned over the table and pulled open a drawer. Her white hand disappeared as she reached all the way to the back of the shallow tray and her fingers closed around the smooth, flat box. Scarlett drew the box out and her hand wavered. Rhett closed his fingers over her own.

"May I?"

Scarlett's hard swallow hurt her throat. She released her grip and slid her hand out from beneath his. They were silent for a long moment, a minute only - or maybe less - that passed achingly slowly while they both looked at the unassuming black box.

"Why—"

"It reminded me of you."

That was not what she had meant. Why hadn't he given it to her last Christmas? Rhett pocketed the box.

"Rhett!"

He leaned down swiftly and kissed her, brief and firm. "Change for supper."

"But - Rhett!" she called to no effect as he left the room.

Scarlett sat fuming at her table a moment longer before rising to reach for the bell pull. What game was he playing now?

Out in the upstairs hall, Rhett stopped to open the box. He stared down at the strand of diamonds and the emerald heart which shone almost black in the gloom. With unnecessary care, he lifted the jewelry from its velvet bed and dropped it into his coat pocket. Turning, he saluted the closed bedroom door with the empty box before moving away down the hall. He tossed the box and caught it, tossed it and caught it again, as he descended the stairs. Pork was crossing the foyer and Rhett gave the box to the servant to dispose of.

Rhett lounged to the parlor where he made himself at home on the long slick sofa. He lit a cigar and held it in one hand while the other slipped back to his pocket. He ran the heavy diamonds of the necklace through his fingers, his restlessness hidden, outwardly a study in nonchalance as he drew on the cigar.

He shouldn't have left the necklace behind after the previous Christmas, or shouldn't have left it out where he knew she would be likely to find it. It had been an ill-considered move in a game he was barely aware of playing, and he could not think now of what he had hoped to accomplish with the taunt. Had it been meant to discourage or provoke? What had he hoped for in those dark months? It no longer mattered. It seemed at times that a force stronger than he had moved through their lives in the last year, determined to set right what remained to them when he had lost his ability to see or hope for better things.

The cigar was a smoking butt when he heard Wade and Ella on the stairs. Rhett ground it out in the ashtray and went to the hall door. Wade stopped at the foot of the stairs, but Ella came quickly to his side and wrapped her hands around his jacket sleeve. Both children were as cautious to trust in his continued presence as their mother. Where Scarlett tried to conceal her wariness, Wade was openly mistrustful. Ella was sweet but often clingy, and still prone to nightmares. Rhett had awoken more than one morning to find her curled against Scarlett's back. She was not allowed to sleep with her mother since he had usurped that position, so he would carry her back to her bed in the nursery before Scarlett noticed.

Wade's loyalties were mysterious. He was clearly reluctant to believe too strongly in a reunited family. Their discussion in New Orleans had yielded at least some improvement in his relationship with Scarlett. Wade no longer blamed his mother but stymied anger was not so easily reconciled and the emotion he had cultivated for a year still needed an outlet. The boy could be short-tempered, bitter in a manner most unbecoming the docile, calf-like softness of the brown eyes and open face inherited from his father. His moods tilted wildly between cold formality towards Rhett and a worshipful attachment almost as clingy as Ella; between the old outbursts of anger towards his mother and a staunch, overly eager defense of her in response to even the mildest jeer which Rhett might wield in gentle teasing.

Rhett swung the arm Ella grasped, eyeing Wade to read his current disposition. Wade shuffled his feet and his eyes would not hold Rhett's gaze. Rhett judged him to be mistrustful and sheepish of his own foul mood, but not angry.

Ella giggled, stretching on her tip toes to keep hold of his sleeve as Rhett raised his arm higher and higher.

"Did you see your mother upstairs?" he asked casually, directing the question to his stepson.

"No, sir."

"Ella, why don't you run back up and see if she's ready to come down."

"Yes, Uncle Rhett!" Ella released his arm and ran back up the stairs.

"Shall we go into the dining room, Wade," Rhett said in an easygoing manner that did not disguise the command inherent in his statement. Wade kept his gaze on his own feet, but dutifully followed Rhett into the brightly lit dining room.

The gas lamps were turned up and the window shades pulled open. The sun had set, so the effect was not one of added brightness but somehow, there was warmth in welcoming the outside world instead of closing it off outside the thick draperies. The star-strewn sky sparkled like diamonds scattered across black velvet. Perhaps he simply had a more romantic appreciation for his home these days.

Rhett took the decanter of claret and the carafe of water from the sideboard over to the long table. It was set for supper with four places. His own seat was at the head of the table, a formality for which Scarlett had demonstrated a curiously intractable insistence. He had briefly feared she would insist that all their meals cater to the most rigid standards of etiquette and they would once more be dining with the length of the table between them, a barrier to intimacy and a symbol of the cold estrangement their marriage had been. But Scarlett had been more than happy with the new arrangement, in which she sat at his right hand, with Ella on her other side, and Wade at his left. It was only his original suggestion of two-by-two across the table which had met with such puzzling disapproval.

The lack of a fifth place setting pierced him with a delicate pain. He would never be free of it, these reminders of his loss - their loss. He had learned to live with that ache, even to be unaware of it at times. Bonnie would never be forgotten, but he still had a family to live for, a wife and children who loved and needed him. A wife he loved, her children who were his children.

"I thought we gentlemen might indulge in a small apéritif."

"What is that?"

Rhett stood at the corner between his place and Wade's, filled his own glass with claret, and added a small measure of the wine to Wade's glass before filling it with water. The liquid was pale red when he was finished. It would only be a few more years until Wade was old enough for his own glass of wine.

As he poured, Rhett explained, "Just a small drink before supper." He handed Wade his glass. "Should we have a toast?"

Wade took the glass gingerly. "Uhm. A toast to what?"

"Hmm. I suppose it is too late for a Christmas toast." Rhett saw Ella round the newel post at the foot of the stairs, hand in hand with Scarlett. "How about a toast to your mother," he said, making sure to speak loudly enough for his voice to carry out into the hall, "the most beautiful woman in Atlanta."

Ella crowed loudly as the pair entered the dining room, pulling at her mother's hand in a failed attempt to induce hurry. Rhett set his own glass down to pour one for Scarlett and another, mostly water, for Ella. As they drew near, he could see the pleased sparkle in his wife's green eyes. She never tired of flattery.

"Why, Rhett," she demurred, taking the glass he held out to her, "you do run on."

Rhett handed Ella's glass down and raised his own again. "To you, my dear," he murmured, leaning close enough to whisper the words against her hair. When he pulled away and saw her flushed cheeks, he winked at her before bending down to clink his glass against Ella's. "I stand corrected. A toast to the two most beautiful women in Atlanta."

Ella beamed at him, so pleased she forgot to sip her drink. Rhett pulled out Scarlett's chair, then lifted Ella into her own while Wade seated himself.

The children were still brimming with the excitement of Christmas, and Rhett let their enthusiasm carry the meal. He usually liked to tell stories at supper, sometimes crafting uplifting tales of honor and virtue from the true stories of his past, sometimes amusing the children with edited versions of some of his more ribald adventures. He would catch Scarlett's eye during the latter and wink to remind her of the uncensored truth as she had heard it, enjoying her blush and watching her grow flustered until she would cut him off with a snappish, clumsy attempt to redirect the conversation. Tonight Rhett was content to let the children gabble, recounting their imaginative adventures with the new lengths of train track and regiments of tin soldiers that had taken over the ballroom. It was a better use for that empty, wasted space on the third floor than the parties never held - or even the ones she had held, filled with Scallawags and the scum of new Atlanta society. He knew Scarlett still loved to dance, and he vowed to himself to take her out again on New Year's Eve for a much happier celebration.

The corner of Rhett's mouth quirked upwards as he watched Scarlett shift on her seat. This prattle about make-believe was clearly boring her. Her own unimaginative mind, which so adroitly and easily grasped numbers and complicated mathematics, was simply boggled by the play of her children. It made her patience short as it committed two of the major sins of conversation with Scarlett O'Hara, being neither about herself nor easily understandable to her.

Rhett set down his fork and slipped his right hand into his pocket. The jewels of the necklace were cool against his fingers. Inside the pocket, he ran the strand along his hand, stopped to finger the pendant. Scarlett still wore the little diamond flower that Ella had picked out in Philadelphia. In fact, he suddenly realized, he had not seen her in any other necklace since - since when? Certainly since before the holiday at Tara. She hadn't had an occasion for anything more elaborate since then, excepting perhaps Christmas, but that had been a small family affair - just themselves and the bickering Hamilton siblings. Ashley had sent his regrets that the Wilkeses would not be able to return for the holiday this year; regrets, Rhett had been pleased to note, had not seemed to play any part in Scarlett's emotional response to that news.

Rhett pushed his chair back from the table, and three pairs of eyes turned on him with surprise.

"Rhett?" Scarlett questioned.

"Is it too late for a Christmas gift?"

Rhett stood and went around the corner of the table to stand by Scarlett's chair. Swiftly, he brought his hands to her neck and unclasped the delicate gold chain. He transferred the ends of the necklace to one hand and bent down to Ella.

"Rhett, what are you doing?"

"Ella, can you keep this necklace safe for your mother? I know that she likes it very much, and would hate for anything to happen to it. Perhaps you could wear it for her?"

"Yes, Uncle Rhett," Ella said, casting her eyes down. Rhett tapped her on the nose and hooked the fine gold chain around her neck. The small flower nestled in the frills of lace that ran down her dress from neckline to waist. Then Rhett turned to his wife.

"My love, I would like to give you a late Christmas gift. A very late gift. I can only regret the reasons for my extreme tardiness."

Scarlett's lips curled up in a delicate smile. The dark green of her dress - and, to be sure, her avaricious anticipation of the new piece of jewelry she knew to be forthcoming - deepened her eyes to their most emerald, their purity of color framed by the thick black lashes that set them off so alluringly.

"Oh, yes, Rhett!" she pleaded, knotting her fingers together in her lap. He heard a shiver of silk as her legs bounced with childish excitement.

Rhett bent his mouth close to her ear and whispered, "Only you can make greed so very charming." He laughed, pulling away and standing upright as her head whipped around, glaring at him with dark fire in her eyes. Rhett moved behind her chair and pulled the necklace from his pocket. Holding the ends lightly in his fingers, he draped the chain across her chest. As he lifted his hands to clasp the necklace at her nape, she leaned forward slightly to allow him room. Her bare shoulders shivered as the cool metal settled against her pale skin, the slightly larger stone which concealed the clasp resting just below the freckle on her nape. Sliding his hands from the necklace to her shoulders, his fingers clenched with an involuntary reflex. Scarlett brought her left hand up to trace the emerald and diamond strand, and the fingertips of her right hand brushed gently against his own. Rhett wished suddenly that he had not teased her earlier, that he had thought to give her this gift in the privacy of their bedroom and not at the dining room table with the children close at hand. He wanted to press his mouth to her neck, the way he had envisioned the day he bought this gift. If they had been alone, he thought, he would have pulled her out of the chair and damn the servants.

"Oh, Rhett," she sighed, a little wistfully. He squeezed her warm shoulders again, deliberate and gentle, hoping the gesture would convey a measure of understanding. It should at least bring comfort, even if she was too obtuse to read a deeper meaning. Regret - so much regret for wasted time, bitter misunderstandings, painful loss. For whatever game he had tried to play by leaving this gift behind, ungiven but sure to be discovered, and the struggle of the intervening year since that unspoken taunt.

Ella clambered up onto the arm of her chair, leaning over to gawk at the necklace. Rhett released his wife's shoulders and smiled at the little girl, then at Wade, pasting over the moment with a nonchalance he was far from feeling.

"Mother it's so beautiful!" Ella marveled.

Rhett took his seat at the head of the table again and, lifting his wine glass for a drink, tilted it towards Scarlett in a silent toast.

...

In the silent house, the sound of a door closing upstairs was easy to hear even from the parlor window. Scarlett counted the seconds in her head. From the door of Wade's bedroom, one last look into the nursery to see if Ella had fallen asleep before he would be on the stairs. She let the curtain drop and turned around just as Rhett crossed the threshold.

He smiled at her, an expression of genuine pleasure that still disconcerted her. There was no mockery in his gaze, no retreat into blandness meant to throw her off. Rhett found honest enjoyment in her company. In some ways, it was a return to the very first days of their acquaintance in Atlanta; yet even then he had hidden his true self behind quips and jeers - nothing like the brutal mockery he had employed after they were married, but enough to confuse her. He still loved to tease her, but she no longer feared that his jokes would come with a barb to sting her. It was odd, but it was wonderful.

"Rhett," she said, touching her fingertips to the necklace. His smile fell.

"I'm sorry." He moved swiftly across the thick carpet to take her in his arms. His hands rested on her waist, just above the flare of her bustle. He came close, so close; she could feel the solid warmth of his legs pressing up against her skirts.

"Don't let's talk about...about old things. I don't care."

Though his lips smiled, his dark eyes seemed sad. "You are a marvel, Scarlett. There is only the future for you, isn't there? The past is a place you never visit."

Scarlett stepped away. "There's just no point to it. That's all."

Rhett released her and she went back to the window. This pointless conversation irritated her. No one could go forward with a load of aching memories. They had hurt each other terribly; how could they ever be happy if they didn't shut the door on those times? She toyed with the fringe on the velvet curtain. Something was wrong now; something awkward and unsettled had come between them and she did not like it or know how it had happened.

Rhett's hand was warm as he covered hers and lifted it to press a kiss to her knuckles. "You must pardon an old man's conceit."

"You are not an old man," Scarlett whispered, looking at the grey wings in his black hair.

He lifted his head and pierced her with a sharp stare. "And you are surprisingly no longer a child, I think. Perhaps we are meeting somewhere in the middle at last."

Scarlett's brows drew together in a frown. This was not much better. Again, she tried to pull away, but this time Rhett tightened his grip and did not release her hand. "Just indulge me a moment, my pet. I know you think I am being foolish."

Scarlett relented and stood still while Rhett pressed his lips to her knuckles for a long moment, holding her hand securely in both of his. She stared at his bowed head, simultaneously disappointed and relieved that she could not see his face in this strange moment. What was he thinking? But even if she could see him, she probably wouldn't know. He no longer hid from her on purpose, but her own perspicacity had not been much increased.

Rhett lifted his head at last and his face was smooth; not unreadable, but showing no signs of inner torment - at least, none that she could see. "Now, come into the light and let me see you in all your beauty."

That was more like it. Scarlett let herself be led over to the couch, where a warm circle of light spilled from the gaslamp at one end. Rhett returned one hand to her waist and pressed the other under her chin, using it to tilt her head from side to side.

"Your eyes sparkle even more than those diamonds."

Scarlett smiled up at him, lowering her lashes and lifting her head just slightly to show off her dimples. Rhett's head lowered and she held her breath, her lips pursing unconsciously as she waited for his kiss.

To her surprise, he bent low and opened his mouth over the hollow at the base of her throat. The weight of his chin pressed the heart-shaped pendant of the necklace into her chest. Suddenly her eyes were pricked with tears and despite her own protestations, she found herself asking, "Why did you leave this last year?"

For a moment she was looking up into his black eyes, but too swiftly for her mind to form a protest he had gathered her in his arms and sat down on the sofa.

"Let us take your own advice, Scarlett. Leave it in the past."

She traced the strand with trembling fingertips, lifted the pendant and felt its weight. "But, Rhett…"

"I cannot answer that question."

"Cannot, or will not?"

"Both. I cannot, and if I could, I would not. What good would it do? Don't abandon your principles now, my dear - you have so few left. Aren't you the one who has told me many times that there is no point in looking back? We have only to move forward. Those days will never come back, my darling."

He was right, of course he was. It was the same thing she always said; to do other than move forward had only ever gotten her in trouble. She felt his thumb swipe her cheeks and realized she had started to cry.

"Don't you have a handkerchief for me?" she quipped, offering a weak smile.

"Did I not give you a dozen of your own for Christmas just the other day?" Rhett rebuked her even as he pressed a soft white square into her palm. Scarlett patted the corners of her eyes.

"I don't know why," she retorted. "I'll never remember them."

Rhett smirked. "Did you even open the box? Ah, well, that ruins the joke a bit." Rhett tucked his handkerchief back into his breast pocket. With his left arm draped over her legs, he cupped his hand behind her knees and held her snugly while he drew his right hand up her satin-covered back until his fingers touched the bare skin above her neckline. "Those handkerchiefs were all embroidered with my own initials."

"You are a varmint, Rhett Butler!" Scarlett said, a little breathless now, from laughter and a heartbeat that was beginning to race as his thumb traced the exposed skin of her shoulders.

"You like me because I am a varmint," he reminded her.

"You are conceited," she murmured, lifting her chin as his head lowered.

"I love you," he said, now so close that she felt the movement of his lips on hers as he said the words. She licked her own suddenly dry lips, and the tip of her tongue just brushed against his full lower lip.

Scarlett reached her arms around his neck and threaded her fingers through the roots of his thick, soft hair. "I love you," she whispered in return, closing her eyes in delicious expectation.

Rhett kissed her, his firm warm lips bringing that familiar rush of feeling that left her dizzy and breathless, grateful for the strength of his arms that supported her as the world blurred around her. His mouth was insistent but she was only too happy to yield to him, opening for his tender assault, her hands tugging at his hair. There was not a breath between them but she felt as if they would never be close enough.

His mouth left hers to move along her jawline, each fierce kiss leaving a small burn of desire in its wake. He pressed his mouth to the hollow of her throat again, and when his tongue darted out to taste her there she whimpered and her fingers clenched.

"Rhett," she managed to breathe, but as a protest it lacked any of the urgency she had hoped to convey. They were in the parlor, in the front of the house. At least with the heavy drapes no one could see in, if anyone were about at this late hour; but a servant could enter the room at any time, or see them easily even from the front hall.

Rhett took no notice of her failed complaint. His mouth was moving along the necklace now. It seemed he was pressing open-mouthed kisses along the strand, his tongue tracing above and below each diamond as he made his way up to her neck. Her head fell back to allow him access to her throat even as she tried again to gather her mind to protest their compromising position.

"Rhett, we can't," she moaned, and blushed at the sound.

"Hush," he said, his mustache tickling the skin beneath her ear.

"Not here," she managed to gasp. He had taken her earlobe between his teeth. Coherent thought was becoming more and more difficult to manage. If only they were in their bedroom already—

Somehow, her feeble protests must have finally made an impression. He lifted his head away from her neck and Scarlett bit her lip to stifle the whine that threatened to escape at the loss. For a moment they stared at each other, black eyes and green hot with desire.

"You're right," he mumbled. His fingers traced her skin and she felt the hand behind her knee press against her thigh. Then his arms were moving and shifting and he started to rise from the couch, cradling her against his chest.

"No!" she cried. "Anyone could see—"

"So? They are our servants. This is my house."

"Let me down. Please, Rhett. I will walk."

He set her slowly on her feet, clearly reluctant to let her go, keeping her so close that every inch of her body dragged along his as he lowered her to the ground. Her knees trembled as they took her weight and she locked them to keep herself steady.

Scarlett felt herself to be shamefully eager to reach the sanctuary of her bedroom, and the sedate pace at which they went upstairs seemed to take forever. At last, the door closed behind them, leaving them alone in the unlit room. She turned into Rhett's embrace, her mouth lifting for his even as she heard the turn of the key in the latch. The door was locked, with her husband on the same side now. She smiled as his lips found hers in the darkness. Now, and always.

Fin.

Thank you everyone for all the reviews, follows, and favorites over the course of this story! That is the end, yes. I have no plans for anything else related to *this* story right now, though I don't rule out perhaps a continuation or related vignettes. I always thought I would have some of the latter, not just that wedding night one-shot from this universe, but so far the ideas haven't materialized. But there are things - or at least one big thing - that I did not touch on in this story, and I think I would like to some day (that "one big thing" being another Butler baby, which I think needed more attention than I was interested in giving by this point in my writing of this story. Sorry there is no epilogue baby for those of you who have asked about that!).