Free A Dance With the Devil: A True Story of Marriage to a Psychopath by Barbara Bentley Page A

up.”
    I started to respond, but he held his index finger to my mouth. “Shush. Before you comment, I have something important to say. Wait. I need some stuff from the kitchen first.”
    He struggled to get to his feet, holding on to one of the decorative poles separating the living room from the foyer, and winced.
    “Damn back and neck!” he exclaimed as he shuffled off to the kitchen.
    This man of mine, I mused...so mysterious, so loving, so full of surprises, and in such constant pain. It tugged at my heartstrings. I heard him ramble about, open the refrigerator, move some boxes, then a distinct pop.
    “Need any help?”
    “No, thanks. I have everything under control.” John walked back through the foyer holding a bottle of champagne and two paper cups. At his side Gobi padded along, head raised, sniffing for a handout.
    “Well, almost under control. I couldn’t find the champagne glasses, so these will have to do.” He handed me the bottle and paper cups, then hunkered down beside me. Peaches and Patches scampered into the room, investigating their new digs.
    “Here, let me pour,” he said, taking the bottle as I held the cups for him. He set the bottle down between us and raised his paper cup.
    “I’ve always told you my time with you has been the happiest of my life,” he said, “and I really meant it. So here’s to the woman who has made me the happiest man alive.”
    I smiled and touched my paper cup to his. We both took a sip. Not to be outdone, I raised my cup. “And here’s to the man who lights up my life.” We both sipped once more, basking in the afternoon sunlight filtering in from the upper foyer window. Then, gently and with purpose, he reached over and took my right hand in his.
    “You have made me very happy,” he said. “There’s only one thing that could make me happier. Would you be my wife? I want to marry you and spend the rest of my days with you.”
    It was the declaration my heart had been aching to hear for the last six months. He wants me to be his wife. The admiral’s wife!
    “I don’t know,” I blurted out, surprising even myself. I looked down at my hands, at my feet, everywhere but into John’s eyes. The proposal had caught me surprisingly off guard. Instead of triumphant joy, I tumbled into an abyss, lost in the world between good and bad, positive and negative, fighting my inner self for control of my boundaries.
    What young woman in her right mind would give up sex for the rest of her life? Am I really happy? Isn’t this just like last time? But no, I argued with myself, unlike Bryan, John can’t help his health problems, can he? I was being unfair, judging him and projecting the hurt from my last relationship onto this one. It wasn’t that John didn’t want to make love. At least he wasn’t cheating. Besides, he showed his love in sweet gestures, in buying me presents, in cooking dinner, in rubbing my feet as we watched TV. He was definitely affectionate with me, and I enjoyed our time together.
    My finances have never been so bad. I’m constantly stressed out and embarrassed by his habitual overspending. He’s too irresponsible. I countered these thoughts, too. Finances were strained at the moment, but John’s sizable checks, however erratic, did appear. He promised to get Vestico under control or find another consulting job. He’d already sold his house. I knew we could count on that money, even though it was seven years away. If things got really tight, there was always his inheritance, controlled by his grandmother. Surely she would help John out by advancing some of his share if he were facing a true financial hardship? Also, we planned to sell the Concord house and move back to Antioch. The finances could be handled.
    What about his angry outbursts? How long before he hauls off and hits me? What about his threats to leave? I asked myself. Those concerns hadn’t reared their ugly head for some time. He hadn’t hurt our pets since the night with