A gilt edged envelope arrived in the mail, bearing the Giuliani’s return address. Kevin felt his stomach plummet, his secret was found out. Upon closer inspection, he saw that Karen had already opened it. His heart in his throat, Kevin asked shakily, ‘What’s this envelope for honey?’ ‘Oh that? It’s nothing. An invitation to their Midsummer Night Party? Are we going to go?’ Kevin felt his vision clear and his heart settle back in its original vicinity. He thought a moment. ‘Sure, sounds good. We haven’t had a real formal night out in a while. Why don’t you go shopping and buy something new, a real knockout number?’ ‘Seriously?’ Karen yelled, walking from the kitchen. She hugged her husband closely and said, ‘Sounds like fun. And just to warn you, a ‘real knockout number’ will cost you.’ Kevin shrugged, still too preoccupied with what Adrianna Giuliani’s intentions were with this party. ‘Anything for my wife.’ ‘Okay then, I’m going to spend two thousand dollars on the dress alone.’ ‘Mm. ‘Coffee, wine? Mixed drink, Beer?’ ‘Wine please.’ ‘Have a seat,I’ll be right back.’ Humming softly, he takes the stairs at a hop, hangs up her coat and his in the foyer, and goes to the kitchen. Pammy, doesn’t sit right away, but walks around the room, examining the bric-a-brac on tables and the quality prints on the walls. His guitar is propped in a corner on a stand. She stops before it. He’s a singer he said. A songwriter. She reaches and idly plucks a sting or two daydreaming a bit. She is at ease here. The bag is forgotten. The battle, a truce. Quinton feels like singing. He has his heart’s desire in his house. Whether he gets her into bed is irrelevant. As he uncorks the wine, he figures it would be enough to court her and woo her. She is as nice as Janet and Sam said she was, if not nicer. Funny. Beautiful. An awkward charm. And they sure have a good thing going with the physical attraction. Grinning, he spies the gift bag on the counter, and hedging his bet or maybe.
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