Loss of Innocence Read Free Page B

done.
    Whitney let her body go slack. Sometimes it worked, sometimes not. Though she had heard stories about boys who used their tongues, she could not yet bring herself to mention this. Instead, she focused on the familiar softness in his face, the warmth of knowing that her body had the power to do this.
    Suddenly, he looked at her with new intentness. “Close your eyes, Whit.” Complying, Whitney felt him stir, thought she heard the whisper of a drawer opening. Then she felt his lips light and playful, brushing her stomach. Her skin tingled—perhaps, this time, he would please her as she imagined.
    Then Peter flicked his bedside lamp on. “You can open your eyes now.”
    Something small and light was resting on her stomach. She saw him smiling, then followed his gaze. A diamond ring circled her navel. To her startled eyes it looked perfect—not large or showy, but beautifully shaped, its facets sparkling.
    “It’s my grandmother’s,” he said. “Mom wanted you to have it. But you have to say you’ll marry me.”
    Stupefied, Whitney found herself grinning until she thought she could never stop. “Are you kidding me?” she finally blurted. “I love you, and I’d love to marry you.”
    Hurriedly, she put on the ring, stretching out her fingers for him to see. Suddenly they were hugging, rolling on the bed, laughing with the sheer joy of having each other. “Mrs. Peter Brooks,” he murmured.
    “Whitney Brooks,” she amended. “I can’t wait to tell Mom and Dad.”
    “Actually, I have. Your dad, anyhow.”
    For an instant, Whitney felt obscurely cheated; her father had participated in this moment before she had, a partnership of males. Just as quickly she reproved herself. Peter’s father was dead; Charles Dane had lost any hope of a son after his wife’s struggles in bearing Whitney. Yet her father had never betrayed any disappointment that she was not the boy he’d wanted, and it was obvious that he had liked her new guy at once. She was glad to have brought him Peter Brooks.
    “How did you tell him?” she asked.
    Peter grinned. “I met him for lunch at the Athletic Club over Christmas break. Then I asked him for your hand—and the rest of you, of course—just like a proper suitor should. I’m afraid I was pretty nervous. But he was so happy we killed a bottle of champagne.”
    Whitney imagined her father and his almost-son, enveloped in celebratory warmth. “But did he say anything, or did you just start drinking?”
    “Actually, he told me that I was the son he’d never had. And that he’d done pretty well with who you’d dragged through the door.” He hesitated, becoming serious. “He also said there was a job at the firm, if I wanted it.”
    Struggling to imagine Peter on Wall Street, Whitney was surprised, then not. “What did you say?”
    “That I’d talk to you.” He looked at her searchingly. “But really, it’s a great opportunity. Your dad wouldn’t ask if he didn’t think I could do it.”
    Despite his confident tone, Whitney saw the uncertainty in his eyes, which she understood and shared. Though seldom harsh, Charles Dane judged younger men with a jeweler’s eye—his approval once withdrawn was difficult to regain. Peter had gone through school being good at things—sailing, lacrosse, making friends, leading his teams to victory—without a clear vision of life after college. Though he applied himself to school with diligent effort, Whitney, a far better writer, had edited his papers. And the life both had led, she understood, might not breed her father’s relentless drive.
    “I’m sure you could do it,” she temporized. “If that’s what you wanted.”
    Peter seemed to sense her ambivalence. “But if I worked with your dad, would you be happy?”
    He needed her approval, Whitney understood. “Of course,” she assured him, and curled back into his arms. “So when should we get married?”
    As if feeling a chill the room, he pulled the blanket back over