“I sure do. Twice as much as yesterday.” It was extraordinary to realize that less than twenty-four hours before she had arrived in Paris, and now she was B.J.'s wife. Suddenly she thought of Marcella and wished that she could tell her, and she promised herself to write to her by that night.

“Happy, darling?”

“Very much so. And you, Colonel?” She smiled gently as she leaned forward to kiss him softly on the mouth, her face almost hidden by the sumptuous sable hood, her eyes bright as emeralds in the winter light.

“Never happier. And one of these days we'll take a honeymoon, I promise.” But he hadn't been in Paris long enough to ask for any significant time off. Not that Serena cared. All their time together was like a honeymoon. She had never been happier than she was with him. “Maybe we could drive out to the country for the day, on Christmas.” He looked at her dreamily. He really didn't want to drive anywhere. He wanted to stay in bed with her for the next week, and make love. She giggled then as she looked at him, almost as though she knew what he was thinking. “What's so funny?”

“You are.” She leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “I don't believe a word of what you're saying. I don't think you'll drive me to the country at all. It's all a plot to keep me locked in our room.”

“How did you know?” he whispered back. “Who told you?”

“You did.” She chuckled again, but then smoothed the sable coat over her legs and attempted to look at him seriously. “But I have to go out to do some Christmas shopping, you know, Brad.”

“On our wedding day?” He looked shocked.

“Today or tomorrow. That's all that's left.”

“But what'll I do?”

“You can come with me, for part of it anyway.” She smiled happily and lowered her voice again. “I want to get something for them.” She indicated the front seat with her eyes as Marie-Rose and Pierre chatted animately with the driver, and BJ. nodded agreement.

“That's a good idea.” He looked at his watch then and frowned. “After lunch I want to call my parents.” Serena nodded quietly. She was nervous about the idea, but she knew that she'd have to meet them sooner or later, and it would be easier if she had spoken to them on the phone once or twice. But each time she thought of them, she found herself remembering Pattie Atherton, and all that she had said that day, in her rage, on the balcony overlooking the garden … you and some goddamn little Italian maid … your Italian whore.… Serena almost winced as she heard her again in her head, and Brad reached out and took her hand in his. “You don't have to worry about them, Serena. They're going to love you. And much more importantly, I love you. And then”—he smiled to himself as he thought of his family—”there are my two brothers. You're going to love them too. Especially Teddy.”

“The youngest one?” She looked happily into her husband's face, trying to forget Pattie's words again. Perhaps his brothers would like her, after all.

“Yes, Teddy is the youngest. Greg is the one in between.” His face clouded for a moment, “Greg is … well, he's different. He's quieter than the rest of us. He's … I don't know, maybe he's more like my father. He sort of goes his own way, and he's odd, you can influence him more easily than you can me or Teddy. We're both more stubborn than he is, and yet when he really gets something in his head that he cares about a great deal, he's like a bloody mule.” He looked at her with amusement. “But Teddy … he's the family genius, the imp, the elf. He's more decent than any of us put together, and more creative. Teddy has”—he thought for a long moment—”soul … and humor … and wisdom … and looks.”

“Wait, maybe I got the wrong brother.”

B.J. looked at her in total seriousness. “You might have. And he's certainly more your age than I am, Serena.” And then his mood lightened quickly. “But I'm the one you got, kiddo, so you're stuck with me.” But it was evident, as it always was when he spoke of his youngest brother, that there was a bond of tenderness between them that reached to his very soul. “You know, after he graduates from Princeton next June he says he's going to med school, and dammit, I bet he will too, and he'll be a terrific doctor.” He looked at her again with a broad grin and she leaned over and kissed him.

Back at the house on the Avenue Hoche, they opened another bottle of champagne and drank it with Pierre and Marie-Rose, and then the elderly couple went downstairs to prepare lunch, and B.J. and Serena went upstairs to celebrate their honeymoon again, and when Marie-Rose buzzed them an hour later, they hated to get dressed and go downstairs.

Eventually Serena was dressed in a gray skirt and gray sweater, once again wearing her single strand of pearls. As he emerged from the bathroom Brad noticed that it was a very sober outfit.

“What happened to the white dress?” He had liked that, it made her waist look so tiny, and she looked lovely in white. The gray looked strangely sad for such a happy day. But it was the best skirt she owned, and the sweater was cashmere, a rarity for her too. She owned almost no clothes, except what she had brought from the convent, and what she had worked in at the palazzo. She knew she would have to buy more now that she was his wife, and she was planning to spend some of what was left of her money on that too. She didn't want to disgrace him with the ugly hand-me-downs that were mostly all that she had.

“Don't worry. I'll buy some new things.” She looked embarrassed then. “Is this … is it very ugly?” She glanced in the mirror and realized how drab it seemed. It was a far cry from the white dress, and the borrowed sable, but this was all she had. She blushed faintly and he went to her and took her in his arms again.

“I'd love you wrapped in a blanket, you big silly. Nothing you ever wear looks ugly. You just looked pretty in the white … and the sable. Why don't we take you shopping this afternoon, and get you some pretty new things? My Christmas present to you.”

Before she could protest, as he knew she would, he put an arm around her shoulders, and went downstairs with her, where they sat down to a sumptuous lunch. Marie-Rose had outdone herself on their behalf. There was a delicately seasoned homemade cream of vegetable soup, a tasty pâté with freshly baked bread, wonderful little roast squabs, and a puree of artichoke hearts, which B.J. especially loved. There was salad, and Brie and pears, which Marie-Rose had been hoarding for days in honor of this luncheon, and for dessert she had made a chocolate soufflé with vanilla sauce and whipped cream.

“Good God, I don't think I'll ever be able to move again.” Serena stared at him almost in amazement. “I've never eaten that much in my life.”

“God, it was wonderful.” B.J. looked glazed as he looked up at Pierre, who offered him now a small brandy and a cigar. B.J. refused them both with regret.

And after Pierre had left them, B.J stood up and stretched in the warm winter sunshine streaming through the long French windows, and then he went to Serena and rubbed her shoulders gently with his strong hands, as she dropped her head back and looked up at him “Hello, my love Are you as happy as I am?”

“Much more so And fatter. God, after that lunch, I may never fit into my uniforms again “

“It's a good thing I wasn't wearing Marcella's white dress, I would have exploded and blown the dress to smithereens.” He laughed at the vision and pulled her chair back for her, as she stood up slowly and stretched too “I don't even feel like shopping, but I really have to.”

“First”—he glanced at his watch—”we have to call my parents It may take a while to get through, but it's important. I want to introduce them to my wife.” He kissed her then and walked her into the library where he picked up the phone on the desk, dialed the operator, and began, in halting French, to give her the number he wanted in New York

“Do you want me to do that for you?” She whispered it to him and he whispered back.

“It makes me feel competent to make myself understood in French” But he knew that his French was barely tolerable and Serena's was fluent, but nonetheless he managed, and a moment later, having given the operator all the information, he hung up

Pierre had started a fire in the fireplace before lunch and now it was blazing along at a good clip B.J went to sit in front of it and beckoned to Serena, who came to sit beside him and hold his hand. She looked worried though as she came to him, and he gently stroked her hair, as though hoping that that would calm her worries.

“Do you think they'll be very angry, Brad?”

“No. Surprised maybe.” He was staring into the fire as he spoke. At that precise moment he was thinking of his mother.

“But you said you told them we were going to get married.”

“I know I did” He turned to her then, with a quiet look in his eyes, as though he were not afraid and were very sure of what he was doing. It was in moments like that that she became aware of his strength again, and his self-confidence. Brad always seemed perfectly sure about what he was doing. It was a quality that had brought him far in his work, and that had served him well all his life. When he had gone to Princeton, he had been the captain of the football team, and he had managed that with the same quiet assurance. It had made everyone respect his word instantly, both on the team and off, and despite her worries, it made Serena feel calmer now. Just the tone of his voice was reassuring, even if she didn't quite understand what he just said. “I know I told you that I told them, Serena. But I didn't. There was no reason to. It was my decision, our decision. I wanted to wait until we were married.”

“But why?” She was shocked that he had felt the need to lie to her the day before.

He sighed deeply and looked into the fire, and then back at her. “Because my mother is a very strong woman, Serena. She likes to have her way, and sometimes she thinks she knows what's best for us. But she doesn't always. If she could, she'd like to make our choices for us. I've never let her. My father always has. And she's made some damn good choices for him. But not for me, Serena, not for me.” He looked as though he were thinking back over his whole life as he spoke to her. “I thought that maybe if I called her first, she'd try to put her two cents in, want to fly over and meet you first, God knows what. She'd probably tell me I was robbing the cradle. Above all, I didn't want to get you upset. You've been through enough, and I want to make things easy for you, Serena, not harder. There was no point having her come over here to look you over, tell me you were terrific, and scare you to death in the bargain. So I thought we'd get our life all squared away by ourselves, and then tell her when it was a fait accompli.” He waited a moment and then, “Do you forgive me?”

“I suppose so.” He made sense, but the worry had not quite left her eyes. “But what if that makes her so angry, she dislikes me?”

“She couldn't, darling. How could she dislike you? She'd have to be crazy. And my mother is a lot of things, but not that.” And then, as though on cue, the phone rang, and it was the French operator, announcing to him that she had his transatlantic call for him. At the other end was a nasal-sounding operator in New York who was just about to get his call on the line. He heard the phone ring three times, and then it was answered by B.J.'s youngest brother. He accepted the call and roared into the phone over the static.

“How the hell are you, old boy? And Christ, how is Paris? I sure wish I were there!”

“Never mind that. How's school?”

“Same as ever. Dull as hell. But I'm almost out, thank God, and I got accepted at Stanford Med School for September.” He sounded like an excited schoolboy and B.J. grinned.

“That's terrific, kid. Hey, listen, is Mom around?” He seldom asked for his father. His father had been the invisible man for thirty years. In some ways their father had a lot in common with their middle brother. Mr. Fullerton was somewhat more enterprising than Greg, after all for one term he had been in the Senate, but he had coasted more on family prestige, good connections, and lots of campaign money than on any personal charisma of his own. In truth, it was Margaret Fullerton who should have been in politics. B.J. used to tease her that she should have been the first woman president. She would have too, if she could have got away with it. But she had settled for pushing her husband, being in the circles that such people as Eleanor Roosevelt were in.

“Yeah, she's here. You okay, Brad?”

“Just great. All of you? Greg? Dad?”