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With our formalities exchanged, we began to walk toward the sprawling gardens where the picnic was taking place. It was a picturesque setting, with tables adorned with an array of delicious foods and drinks, and couples and groups of attendees mingling in the sunlight. I wasn’t surprised to see the assortment of gourmet foods at the long table. It all smelled very good.
“Are you hungry?” I asked.
“A little.”
“It doesn’t look like we have assigned seating,” I said. “Do you want to sit with anyone in particular? I’d love to meet your friends.”
“I don’t have any friends,” she muttered. “Not really. At least, not here.”
That surprised me a little, but then again, she had said something similar the night of the ball. I wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it.
“Let’s see what they’re serving,” I said.
We got in line and explored the many offerings. There were towers of delicate finger sandwiches, crowned with cucumber and smoked salmon. Beside them lay scones, freshly baked and still warm, accompanied by pots of clotted cream and strawberry jam. My stomach growled as I took in the array of foods. The English knew how to eat at a picnic. Although I would have been perfectly happy with cold fried chicken and potato salad.
My gaze then drifted to the center of the table, where a dazzling display of desserts awaited. Exquisite tarts covered with glossy fruit glazes, macarons lined up like precious gems, and a towering croquembouche stood as thepièce de résistance. I almost laughed at the elaborate display. It was so over the top.
We loaded our plates and looked around. “Do you want to sit at a table?”
Emilie’s response was swift and unapologetically independent. “I prefer to avoid the crowd,” she replied.
I respected her preference, and my admiration for her determination only grew stronger. She was a woman who knew what she wanted, and she wasn’t afraid to make her choices known. “Me too,” I said, leading her away from the crowd and toward a more secluded area.
Emilie and I found a quiet spot beneath the shade of a majestic oak tree. I was pleasantly surprised to see she didn’t care about sitting on the grass. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead, creating a tranquil atmosphere that was in stark contrast to the buzz of conversation and laughter a short distance away.
I took a bite of one of the finger sandwiches and moaned. “Damn, this is good.”
Emilie delicately picked at her food, her posture rigid and her expression guarded. I took a deep breath. I thought about what my dad said. I could do this. I had to be patient. Give her time to thaw.
“I’m not giving up,” I said quietly.
“Excuse me?”
“This situation,” I said. “I’m not giving up. Not yet.”
She let out a loud sigh. “I’m not going to change my mind.”
I smiled. “Fine. Tell me more about yourself. What are your passions, your interests?”
“Look, Theo, we both know you have one foot out the door.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I have both feetinthe door. If we’re going to be married, shouldn’t we at least know each other?”
“I heard what you did yesterday.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, smiling. “Did you like them?”
“What?” She frowned and picked up one of the finger sandwiches.
“The flowers, did you like them?”
“You shouldn’t waste money on stuff like that,” she scolded.
“It’s not a waste of money when it can make a beautiful woman smile.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re laying it on thick, Romeo. How do you know they made me smile?”
I chuckled. “Because you would have to be a cyborg not to smile when you see something that beautiful.”
