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Authors: Carey Corp
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evening, he would finally know how it felt to hold her; to speak to her, at long last. How he had envisioned his declaration to Wendy—he knew every word by heart! She, of course, would melt to him and her beautiful cerulean eyes would shine with reverence.
By habit, he slipped his hand into his pocket and, grasping his good luck charm, made a wish. Make Wendy mine. As if in answer, Griffin appeared at the foot of the stairs nodding and gesturing wildly. Miss Darling had arrived.
Descending the main staircase, Peter reflected on how Wendy had brought him to this place. Although he had discovered the theatre on his own, without her influence, would he have loved it as much? Would he have formed the resolve to forsake his father’s business and become an actor? It was for love of Wendy that Peter was becoming the man he felt certain he was meant to be. And not just a man in the narrowest definition of a grown male, but as protector, provider, and—dare he be so bold?—sweetheart. So many times he had imagined this; their first meeting, professing his love, taking her for his bride and growing old together in love. Now that the moment was at hand, he could scarcely breathe!
Just last night he had dreamt of them as children, playing father and mother as if in rehearsal for future bliss.
He affectionately called her “old lady” when she met him at the door with their make-believe brood.
She went to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “Dear Peter,” she said. “I’m afraid I have passed my best, but you don’t want to exchange me, do you?”
“No Wendy.” Certainly, he did not want a change. Whether young and brimming with possibility or mature and radiating experience, she was perfection. His dream-self watched the boy Peter and the girl Wendy pretending. For a split second, he felt terribly old and wished instead of Father his role could be that of Wendy’s devoted son.
Peter came to uncomfortably, blinking, you know, like one not sure whether he was awake or asleep. Had he actually felt afraid to become a husband to Wendy? To start a family and grow old with her? Such lapses in confidence, even when dreaming, were so foreign to Peter that he easily shook them off.
At the bottom of the stairs, Griffin waited. With unwavering approval, he adjusted his brother’s pocket kerchief and straightened his tie.
“She’s here?” Peter inquired, his devastating grin ready to wreak havoc.
“Aye, Peter.” Griffin nodded toward the far end of the hall. “She’s just over there.”
Peter followed his brother’s nod with his eyes. Across the ballroom, he encountered the truest cerulean eyes locked on his, and what little breath he had left was stolen away by her beauty. As his vision tunneled, Peter, the man, crossed the void to his waiting beloved and the realization of every good thing. Shoulders erect, steps confident, his carriage was that of a man eager to embrace his destiny.
CHAPTER 8
Across the Ballroom
It took all Wendy’s composure not to look about her in an effort to find Peter. For once, Aunt Mildred’s instructions proved useful as Wendy made a grand display of being composed and charming. Inside she was the complete opposite of her façade. Her brain whirled, her stomach churned, and her blood boiled. Her agitation was such that she could pay scarce attention to the conversation before her. Everything around her seemed so trivial. All that mattered—indeed, the only thing that mattered—was Peter.
She heard herself politely speaking about the weather but the voice seemed to be coming from someone else. Then the voice, that came from her but was not hers, stopped mid-sentence. Across the room, the most intense, unnerving emerald eyes were boring into her soul.
The sight of Peter in his tuxedo was breathtaking! Wendy’s knees began to knock and she grasped a nearby chair for support. Everything that unfolded after, to Wendy, seemed to happen in slow motion.
With single-mindedness,
By habit, he slipped his hand into his pocket and, grasping his good luck charm, made a wish. Make Wendy mine. As if in answer, Griffin appeared at the foot of the stairs nodding and gesturing wildly. Miss Darling had arrived.
Descending the main staircase, Peter reflected on how Wendy had brought him to this place. Although he had discovered the theatre on his own, without her influence, would he have loved it as much? Would he have formed the resolve to forsake his father’s business and become an actor? It was for love of Wendy that Peter was becoming the man he felt certain he was meant to be. And not just a man in the narrowest definition of a grown male, but as protector, provider, and—dare he be so bold?—sweetheart. So many times he had imagined this; their first meeting, professing his love, taking her for his bride and growing old together in love. Now that the moment was at hand, he could scarcely breathe!
Just last night he had dreamt of them as children, playing father and mother as if in rehearsal for future bliss.
He affectionately called her “old lady” when she met him at the door with their make-believe brood.
She went to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “Dear Peter,” she said. “I’m afraid I have passed my best, but you don’t want to exchange me, do you?”
“No Wendy.” Certainly, he did not want a change. Whether young and brimming with possibility or mature and radiating experience, she was perfection. His dream-self watched the boy Peter and the girl Wendy pretending. For a split second, he felt terribly old and wished instead of Father his role could be that of Wendy’s devoted son.
Peter came to uncomfortably, blinking, you know, like one not sure whether he was awake or asleep. Had he actually felt afraid to become a husband to Wendy? To start a family and grow old with her? Such lapses in confidence, even when dreaming, were so foreign to Peter that he easily shook them off.
At the bottom of the stairs, Griffin waited. With unwavering approval, he adjusted his brother’s pocket kerchief and straightened his tie.
“She’s here?” Peter inquired, his devastating grin ready to wreak havoc.
“Aye, Peter.” Griffin nodded toward the far end of the hall. “She’s just over there.”
Peter followed his brother’s nod with his eyes. Across the ballroom, he encountered the truest cerulean eyes locked on his, and what little breath he had left was stolen away by her beauty. As his vision tunneled, Peter, the man, crossed the void to his waiting beloved and the realization of every good thing. Shoulders erect, steps confident, his carriage was that of a man eager to embrace his destiny.
CHAPTER 8
Across the Ballroom
It took all Wendy’s composure not to look about her in an effort to find Peter. For once, Aunt Mildred’s instructions proved useful as Wendy made a grand display of being composed and charming. Inside she was the complete opposite of her façade. Her brain whirled, her stomach churned, and her blood boiled. Her agitation was such that she could pay scarce attention to the conversation before her. Everything around her seemed so trivial. All that mattered—indeed, the only thing that mattered—was Peter.
She heard herself politely speaking about the weather but the voice seemed to be coming from someone else. Then the voice, that came from her but was not hers, stopped mid-sentence. Across the room, the most intense, unnerving emerald eyes were boring into her soul.
The sight of Peter in his tuxedo was breathtaking! Wendy’s knees began to knock and she grasped a nearby chair for support. Everything that unfolded after, to Wendy, seemed to happen in slow motion.
With single-mindedness,
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