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

back in town I chose a petite, dark blue sapphire set in a twisted knot of gold. It was one of the few rings in our price range—inexpensive. John paid for it and slipped it into his pocket. A clock on the wall rang out five chimes.
    “We have reservations at La Escondido for five thirty,” John said. “Let’s go, Cinderella.” He ushered me out the door. “We’ll get flowers at the restaurant.”
    Despite the friendly banter in the car, I couldn’t help feeling lost. The events of the day kept running through my mind. I tried to push away thoughts of the distasteful building and the little man speaking in Spanish, but when we drove into an empty parking lot of the restaurant, I couldn’t help myself. “If this place is so popular, where are all the cars?”
    We waited in the car, under a large portico covered with bright red bougainvillea, while John went inside. Several minutes later he bounced back to the car, grinning from ear to ear. “They open in ten minutes. We’re early, but they said for the bride and groom to come in and have a drink.” He winked at me.
    I always try to make the best of a situation. So far, today’s events made it a challenge. The event this evening was our wedding dinner. I was determined it would be okay.
    On the way to our table, my positive attitude started paying off. We were in an upscale dinner club with burgundy leather-upholstered booths, flickering candles, white linen-covered tables, and fresh flowers. I needed this romantic ambience more than I realized.
    “I asked to be near the band,” John grinned. “We want to have our wedding dance, don’t we? And I ordered us a bottle of champagne.”
    The evening was looking up. Once we were settled with the champagne in our glasses, J.R. announced, “I believe it’s appropriate for the best man to give the first toast.”
    “Oh, wait a minute,” I said, digging into my purse. Out came my camera and I set it on the table. “We must have our pictures.” We all chuckled and raised our glasses. Click, click.
    “Here’s to Barbara and John—for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do them part.”
    John and I intertwined our right arms and sipped from our glasses. The camera flashed. “Well, let’s not talk about the death part,” I grimaced. “That’s a long way off.”
    John set his glass down and fumbled around in his coat pocket.
    “I think you’ve waited long enough for this,” he said. “It’s time for the ring ceremony.” He took my left hand. “It’s a little out of sequence but, what the heck, better late than never.” He chuckled, amused at himself. I hadn’t had enough champagne yet to laugh, but I did manage a smile.
    John spoke at length of his love for me, and finished by saying, “With this ring I thee wed.” He slipped the ring on my finger, and the camera flashed once more. I glowed. This time it wasn’t the champagne. I felt deeply loved by this man . . . my husband.
    The restaurant quickly filled with well-dressed patrons enjoying themselves for a Saturday night on the town. When the flower girl approached us with her wicker basket, John picked out the two largest orchid corsages.
    “A white one for the bride and a purple one for the matron of honor,” he grinned, laying them on the table. Once he had pinned my corsage on me, we put our heads together, forehead to forehead, looking into each other’s eyes and smiling, as only two people in love can do. The camera flashed and captured that moment forever. J.R. was doing a great job recording our special day. The band started playing the “Wedding March.” How did they know? John gave me a quizzical look, shrugged his shoulders, and smiled.
    “A little bird must have told them,” he said. We stood, at the insistence of the bandleader, who announced that the next song would be for our wedding dance. As we twirled around the dance floor, my spirits lifted. The audience applauded. All eyes were on us. The earlier