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"Blue. Orange. Green. Red!" She grabbed her red plastic game piece and slammed it down triumphantly on the red space. "I passed you!"
"That you did," Mrs. Waters agreed. "You're so good at this, Gillian. I don't think I have any chance of winning."
Gillian giggled and smiled at her father. "I'm winning, Daddy! See?"
He strolled over and examined the board. "Yes, you are. By quite a bit, too."
Mrs. Waters turned over a card and handed it to Gillian. "Could you find where my piece is supposed to go, dear?"
Gillian studied the card carefully, and began tracing the board with her finger, reciting the colors.
Mrs. Waters looked up at Desmond. "You're home earlier than I expected. Lunch isn't ready yet."
"That's all right. You and Gillian finish your game. I'm in no hurry." He paused, then asked, "Where's Rebecca?"
"In the study." Mrs. Waters lowered her voice to a stage whisper, and added, "Making phone calls."
Desmond frowned at his housekeeper's obvious suggestion of impropriety. He couldn't image what she objected to about Rebecca using the phone. But the tone of her words sent a sliver of apprehension down his spine, and he approached the study with caution. He pushed open the door in time to hear the end of Rebecca's question.
"And how soon can you have a vehicle available?"
He froze in the doorway. Was she calling for a taxi? A rental car to take her away? Had Philippe been right?
"Okay. You're sure delivery this far out in the desert won't be a problem?" she continued.
"Rebecca?" He hated how hesitant his voice sounded. But it was enough to startle her.
She spun around toward the door, her eyes wide. Then she recognized him, and a huge grin spread across her face.
"You're home," she whispered. A loud squawk from the phone recalled her to her previous conversation, and she babbled into the receiver, "Yes, well, thank you for all your help. I'll let you know. I've got to go now."
She hung up and turned back to Desmond, the smile spreading across her face and lighting her eyes. "I was trying to arrange for a moving van. I already called my landlord and gave notice. But I'm going to have to go back to New York and pack up my things before the end of the month. When were you thinking of having the wedding?"
Desmond felt an answering smile warming his face. He was an idiot to have doubted her. He'd let Philippe's fears poison his mind when he should have known better. Nothing could separate Rebecca from him.
"I was thinking Saturday."
"This Saturday?" she squeaked.
"Yes. Is that a problem?"
"But...but...that's less than a week away! Where will we hold it? When will we get the rings? What will I wear?"
He leaned over and
gave her a lingering kiss. "You're adorable when you're flustered. Did you know that?"
"No. And don't change the subject. How on earth were you planning to get ready by this Saturday?"
"Las Vegas isn't that far from here. I thought we could reserve one of the wedding chapels, drive up Friday night, get the license and the rings, and get married Saturday morning."
"Las Vegas?" Rebecca pulled back in horror.
"You don't like the idea?" He tried to keep the panic out of his voice. If she refused to get married in Las Vegas, he didn't know how he was going to explain or obtain the services of a Justice of the Peace willing to marry them during the hours of darkness.
"It just seems so...tacky."
"It won't be."
