One Last Time by Denise Daisy Page A

contemplate his answer. I have a thousand other questions I want to ask, but the sight of Emily gliding across the grass with a dress in tow ends our conversation. Quillan is quick on his feet at the sight of her, causing the doleful pain to take root all over again.
    Her eyes sparkle as she hands me the dress. “Here you go, love.”
    Grateful, I take it and step back into the tree line for privacy. Trying to pull heavy, clinging wet fabric off my skin is no easy task. Still, I rush to change, hurrying along because I have left Quillan and Emily alone. I scold myself for sneaking a peek at them through the branches. How dare she bat her lashes and flirt with Quillan when she thinks we are married? Why should I care if those two like each other? What’s it to me? It shouldn’t matter, but for some reason it does. I continue to hurry all while feeling a twinge of bitterness at Emily.
    Having changed into dry clothing, I step out of the shadows, interrupting their playful banter.
    “Why look at you.” Emily’s perfect lips spread across her face in a charming smile. “I do believe you look much better in the dress than I do. You can have it, for I shall never be able to do it justice again.” She’s kind, but another thing my momma warned me about is people who flatter. Who’s she kidding? I know how girls our age work. She’s just trying to get Quillan to compare us both, and right now it’s an unfair contest. My romantic side-braid is gone and my ribbons washed away by the water. I am sure what’s left of last night’s mascara is pooling around my eyes, making me look like a raccoon wearing a hoop skirt. I’m not going to let her get to me. I gather my tresses and wring them out, giving her a half smile.
    She continues on, “Quillan, you have a gorgeous wife. I am sure you are proud of her.”
    My cheeks burn hot as Quillan removes his eyes off Emily and turns them on me.
    I don’t know why I want him to think I am pretty and pay attention to me. I hate when I feel this way. It reminds me of when the cutest guy in my history class asked to meet me at lunch because he wanted to talk to me about the homecoming dance. I was ecstatic, already planning what kind of dress I would wear and fantasizing about the night, only to find out he wanted my help so he could ask a friend of mine. Despite every effort, I cried in front of him, humiliating myself. He felt so bad. I wanted to drop out and be homeschooled after that.
    “She’s breathtaking, for sure.” Quillan smiles at me. I am not happy with his compliment because I am sure he’s just saying it to keep up appearances as my loving husband. After all, how could I be breathtaking as I stand here with dripping-wet hair? Let alone compete with flawless Miss Emily?
    “Well”—she bats her eyes again—“I better get back to my party. Everyone will be wondering where I disappeared to. You two come along when you’re ready.”
    And like the evening breeze, Emily drifts past us, disappearing in the trees again.
    Quillan watches her until she vanishes like the ghost she is. Before I can stop myself, my curiosity gets the better of me. “Are you in love with her? Is that why you wanted to come back here?”
    He stares at me a long time before answering, and then again, it’s vague at best, neither denying nor confirming my suspicions. “I came to save Lunar from being hung.”
    It’s the only answer I am going to get, and I know it.
    “You ready to go back?” he asks.
    I am more than ready to leave here and head back to our room at the hotel. “Sure,” I say. “My little adventure kind of wore me out.”
    “I meant back to the party.” He corrects me. He wants to be where she is and I, for one, have no intention of hanging around and watching him flirt. “And by the way,” he continues, “the Faulkner’s have invited us to stay with them, so we won’t be going back to the hotel.”
    “Quillan, no!” I protest. “I cannot sleep inside that house.