Everlasting by Nancy Thayer

real life and surrendered to the intoxication of the night and the music—and the champagne.
    “May I?”
    Catherine was released from the arms of her current partner into the presence of a new man, an American, with a pleasant face … a really likable face.…
    She leaned back a little as they began to dance, to get a better look at him. He was tall and handsome, in a kind, easy way. There was nothing smug or insolent in these good looks. He looked gentle, with a thatch of blond hair and lushly lashed, almost amber eyes.
    Now here was a man she could go to bed with, she thought, and promptly stumbled and stepped on his foot.
    “You look like a golden retriever,” Catherine babbled to cover her embarrassment.
    “Do I?” the man replied. His hands were firm and warm as he steadied her easily. “I’m Kit Bemish,” he said.
    “I’m Catherine Eliot,” she replied.
    The band was playing a waltz, and Kit Bemish waltzed beautifully. Catherine’s gown breezed and belled around her as they danced. He led her with such ease that her own body felt light and graceful.
    “I think I’m getting a little silly,” she confessed sotto voce. “All the champagne.”
    “We’ll get you some water,” he responded solemnly. “If you drink a glass of water for every glass of champagne, you won’t get a hangover.”
    “I never knew that!” Catherine said. Suddenly, that seemed like great wisdom.
    Kit grinned. “One of the more useful things I learned at Harvard.”
    When the dance ended, Kit escorted her off the dance floor. He got them each a tall glass of sparkling water, then took Catherine’s arm and led her out the long doors onto the terrace. The night air was fresh and mild after the warmth of the ballroom.
    “You’re a friend of Kimberly’s?” he asked.
    “Yes. We were together at Miss Brill’s School for Girls. God, that sounds so insipid, doesn’t it? It was a million years ago. And you?”
    “I’ve known Philippe Croce since we were about ten. We spent several summers on international sailing expeditions that were also supposed to be floating summer schools.” Kit laughed. “We sailed and swam all day and spent perhaps five minutes on lessons at night. At least Philippe learned English and I learned passable French. We haven’t sailed together for years, though.” Kit sighed.
    “That must have been wonderful fun.”
    “It was. And it was a great way to see the world. One year we sailed the Mediterranean, another year we were off the coast of Newfoundland, another year down in the Caribbean. It was rather unreal, though. Just men, wearing only swimming suits, no schedules, lots and lots of days when we never looked at a watch and the hours just drifted by.…”
    “Sounds like you’d like to be there right now.”
    “I wouldn’t mind a week or two of it. I could use some unreality. I’m in law school at Harvard. My life is divided into tight little segments. Oh, I like it, it’s what I want to do. It’s just that being with Philippe again brings back memories.…”
    They walked in silence to the end of the long reflecting pool. Candlelight streaked the still water.
    “I like remembering my school days, too, but not as much as you seem to,” Catherine said. “I was always so confused. I didn’t have any idea what I wanted to do when I grew up.”
    “I’ve always known.”
    “You have! That’s amazing!”
    “Maybe only predictable. My father’s a lawyer, my grandfather was a lawyer and a judge. I always knew I’d go into law. But not to please them. They didn’t pressure me, and they certainly always showed me there were other options in life. I think my mother kept sending me on the summer sailing school in hopes that I’d develop an interest in diplomacy. She loves traveling. My father hates it. I think at the back of her mind she hoped I’d grow up and live abroad so she could come visit me.”
    “Instead you’re going to become a lawyer.”
    “Yes.”
    “And then? Do you