“Right now,” she said, “I don’t feel sixteen. Nor do I think of you as that teenager anymore.” She laughed at his puzzled expression. “Thank God! I’ve lived those years, gone through so many experiences, learned so much . . . I don’t want to be that young, foolish girl any longer. Malleable, obedient, gullible even. I like being the woman I am today. Devlin, you’ve made me feel beautiful again. Womanly. Sexy. Right now.”

She looked at Devlin and leaned forward to stroke his face. “And I like who you are today. The man you’ve become. I don’t want to go back to being those kids again.”

Devlin reached out to take hold of her shoulders. “I feel the same. That’s what I’ve been trying to say in my own clumsy way. “Dora . . .” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “I . . . I love you. I always have and I always will.”

Dora drew back, and her heart began to flutter. “Dev . . . this is all moving so fast.”

Devlin’s smile slipped and he released her shoulders.

“Because you don’t have feelings for me? You don’t love me.”

Dora let out a guttural groan. “Of course I have feelings for you. Deep and very real. But love? I’m not going to rush into using that word again. I’m not ready. I’m not even divorced yet!”

“Well, I am,” he shot back. “And I’ll tell you what. A piece of paper don’t make a damn bit of difference. It’s what’s in here that counts.” He made a fist and pounded his heart. He went very still. His tone turned indignant. “Eudora Tupper, do you still love your husband?”

“Devlin, how can you ask me that?”

“I can because you broke my heart once over that man. I don’t aim to have it broken again.”

“When did I break your heart?”

He looked stunned that she could ask. “When you broke up with me!”

“Oh, for . . . Dev, I was eighteen years old!”

“Nineteen. We dated all freshman year you were at Converse and I was at USC. All that summer and part of the next year.”

Dora stared back at him, stunned that he knew this, and by the raw hurt and pain so evident in his voice.

“Then you met your high-and-mighty Calhoun Tupper and you traded me in for a fancier model.”

“I did not!” she said, annoyed that he would say such a thing. “That’s not why we broke up.”

“Then why?” he asked, eyes glaring. “You never told me. Not really.”

Dora shifted. “I . . . I don’t know. We grew up. We changed. I fell in love with Cal,” she stammered.

“Or your mama did.” His tone was bitter.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Am I? You know your mama never liked me. She never thought I’d amount to much.”

Dora crossed her arms. “What does she have to do with this?”

“Everything! You were a mama’s girl. She said jump, you said how high. It was always like that with her. She never liked me, but I can just imagine her putting Cal’s picture in front of you whenever I called. I’m damn sure she never gave you half of my messages once you hooked up with Tupper.”

Dora averted her gaze.

“You married him because your mama told you to.”

“Stop, Dev,” Dora said, looking into his eyes. “That’s not fair. I married Cal because I loved him.”

“Shit,” he said in a long drawl, shaking his head. Pointing his finger at her, he declared, “I don’t believe you.”

Dora straightened, mouth agape.

Devlin angrily flipped back the covers and rose from the bed. He crossed the room in long strides, slamming the bathroom door behind him.

Dora wrapped her arms around herself and sat alone in the king-size bed. The moon rose higher in the sky, like a resplendent queen. A few minutes ago, she’d felt as golden and full of light as that moon. Now she felt eclipsed and cold. She dragged the thick coverlet from the bottom of the bed over her shoulders. Staring out at the night, she ran her fingers along the cable pattern of the wool.

Patterns, she thought—there was that word again. Dora was beginning to comprehend the power that patterns had to influence behavior. What Devlin had said was true. Winnie had made no secret of her disapproval of Devlin. Was she being a good girl and following the pattern set by her mother, and her mother before her, when she’d married Cal? She thought back to how Winnie had pointed out to Dora that Cal wasn’t the heavy drinker her father was, or Devlin was. Winnie had always railed against the evils of alcohol, using her father as the prime example of how a life could be corrupted by it. She’d also reminded Dora how Cal was from a family with deep Charleston roots and strong connections. He would provide for her the comfortable lifestyle she was accustomed to.

Dora had loved Cal in her girlish fashion. She had felt from the first that with Cal she was on a trajectory toward marriage. When he dropped to one knee and proposed, she could only answer yes.

They’d married at St. Philip’s Episcopal Church in a traditional ceremony on a sunny day in June. She’d worn white lace; the bridesmaids blush-pink taffeta. Dora had chosen an Aynsley China pattern like her mother’s and her grandmother’s silver pattern.

Was it fair to say that she had judged Devlin by her mother’s stringent measures? Dora swallowed hard. She had to admit it was. Lord help her, she thought, feeling the sting of shame.

Dora tossed the throw off her shoulders. The thick, unyielding wool was irritating her tender skin. As she sat scratching her neck and arms, she wondered how long she would continue to blanket herself in the old patterns that had only brought her unhappiness.

The bathroom door opened and Devlin walked out, tying the belt of an expensive-looking waffle-weave robe. His blond hair was disheveled and his feet bare. He had the heavy-footed walk of confidence mixed with anger.

How times had changed, she thought. She couldn’t help but wonder what her mama would think of Devlin now. This was no longer the clever but poor island boy she’d grown up with. Dev was a self-made millionaire. He’d brought himself up from almost nothing. He’d become a man, had a successful business, married, divorced, was a father. Yet despite the changes and years, he still loved her.

He stopped at a tray table laden with bottles of liquor and poured himself a drink. He turned to glance her way.