Nigel shrugged. “Reality filters. Garden is absolutely brimming with them, and they’re infused into everything he grows. Any one of our flowers can go undetected if it so desires, save by the most magically-adept individuals. Such as yourself, Miss Talbot.”
Her mouth pressed in a considering line, Luna sat up as straight as she could beneath the table, her knees bent elegantly to one side. She looked at the plate in her lap. “No forks?”
Nigel frowned down at his own plate. “Blast. Plants don’t concern themselves overmuch with utensils, I’m afraid. Shall I send the peony back?”
“Oh no, no need!” Luna pinched a bit of cake off with her fingers and popped it into her mouth. Her eyes brightened, and a little moan thrummed in her throat. “It’sgood.”
Flushing, Nigel dropped his gaze to his own piece. “I believe I saw the Tokens of My Confection logo down in the parking lot earlier.”
“Oh?”
“It’s the bakery from which I purchased your, erm, birthday cupcake, actually.”
“Ah!” Luna swallowed hard and studied the cake in front of her. Suddenly the atmosphere in that too-close space brimmed with memories of a magical night: a shared dessert, a meaningful look, an innocent kiss on the cheek under the awning. Not the stuff of romantic epics, sure. Just little moments. One after the other. Moments which had left an indelible impression on Nigel’s soul, moments which he knew he would cherish to the end of his days.
But still nothing more than moments.
He took a bite of his own cake in silence. Luna, meanwhile, drew back a corner of the tablecloth and watched the dancers out on the floor. The celebration of Miss Eugenia Lambert’s liberty was in full swing now, and all the guests were in high spirits. The musicians, catching on to the mood, threw themselves wholeheartedly into ever more lively numbers, which zipped and tugged at the heart, practically daring those who listenednotto dance. It was all a bit frenetic for Nigel’s taste.
“I can’t imagine,” Luna said suddenly around a mouthful of cake, “wanting to spend my wedding day like this.”
Nigel’s brows rose. “Really?”
She sighed and shook her head. “It’s just so crowded. And noisy. And busy, and energetic, and so many people demanding your attention, and . . . I don’t know. I never understood the appeal.”
Shifting his seat slightly, Nigel eyed her from under the lock of hair fallen across his forehead. “I was given to understand thatmost women dream of large productions for their weddings. Is that not so?”
Luna rolled her eyes. “That’s just what the mags and the flicks want you to think! I’m sure there’s plenty of girls who would get a kick out of a big to-do like this, but not all of us are party animals, are we?” She leaned her shoulder back against the lyre support and tilted her head a little as she took her last bite of cake. “The only wedding I ever envisioned would have taken place in my aunties’ tea garden, with the old vicar of Greater Snoring officiating and just a few close friends gathered round.”
“Friends like the Archduke of Barksdinny?” Nigel suggested.
She flashed him a quick glance, eyes crinkling. “Well, of course! He would have been guest of honor, rest his noble soul.”
“And Gwendolyn Astoria and Pearline Pompadouria?”
“Sadly, dear Pearline has passed on as well. But her descendants, for sure.” Luna chuckled, setting her empty plate to one side. “I know it’s not exactly traditional. But I would’ve liked a few of the traditional touches too. The white gown, for one. Auntie Arabella had a picture of my mother and father on their wedding day, and I always thought Mother looked so pretty! I should have liked to wear her gown, but . . . well . . .”
Her voice trailed away gently, and her gaze drifted back to the dance floor without seeming to see it. Nigel watched her. And he wondered if her mother’s gown had been destroyed in whatever sorcerous altercation had taken her parents’ lives. That little girl of so many years ago had lost everything in one fell swoop, even such simple mementos of her own family and history. It was unfair. A cruel twist of fate that no child should ever be made to suffer.
He wished he might reach out to her, wished he might take her hand. But something always held him back. Possibly the knowledge that, if she truly knew who he was, she would recoilfrom him in abject horror. So he squeezed his hand into a fist, restraining the impulse.
Luna gave her head a little shake and sniffed. “Never mind. I don’t intend to marry in any case, so it doesn’t really matter.”
“You don’t?” Nigel frowned, surprised. “Why would you say—”
“And what about you, Mr. Grimm?” She turned to him abruptly, her expression masked in cheerful lines, what he could see of it in the shadows beneath the table. “Did you ever envision your wedding?”
Nigel blinked, taken aback by the abruptness of the question. “I, erm.” He cleared his throat and pulled at his collar with one finger. “I never really saw myself as the marrying sort. That being said, if I ever did end up on the receiving end of a matrimonial affair, there is one thing I know for absolute certain.”
“Yes?” Luna peered at him around the lyre spindles, eyes searching.
“Thissong willnotbe played.”
Even as he spoke, an all-too familiar trill of notes wailed out from a soulful saxophone. The crooner hired to serenade the wedding guests, cupped the thaumatic microphone tenderly in his hands, and poured out his heart in liquid-velvet tones:
“We shared secrets in the dark,
Every glance igniting sparks,
