When I left my room, an assistant was standing by with a cameraman and some other people, and I wasn’t really sure what they did. Someone asked, “Is it a go?” into their headset, and then nodded at me.
The production assistant told me I could go down the stairs. I wondered if I should walk down slowly or normally. I settled for somewhere in between.
Dante stood at the bottom, in another tuxedo, holding a bouquet of lemon lilies for me. I didn’t know if he was deliberately using the flowers to make a pointed reference to what had happened between us on my graduation day, but I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Flowers, huh?”
“I know, clichéd. But they were easier to carry than what I wanted to bring you.” He handed the flowers to me and I took a deep breath, inhaling their scent. Like a cross between lemons and orange blossoms.
“What did you want to bring me?”
“A Tuscan villa.”
I laughed, and one of the PAs took the lilies to put them in water. I twirled around once and asked, “So, what do you think?”
His light brown eyes appraised me, and I could tell he liked what he saw. “You expect me to be able to think when you’re wearing that?”
Suddenly I regretted asking him. It was what happened when you were an only child. I was so used to constant attention and affection from my parents that I often sought it out in others. Which wasn’t the best idea given my current situation.
“You look . . .”
I stopped him. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?’
“I don’t think you should say whatever it is you’re going to say. I think it’s better for both of us if you don’t.”
“I was going to say you look awful.”
“Awful?” He had me back to laughter again.
“Just terrible. I’m not sure I can be seen with you in public.” He offered me his arm, and I put my hand on the crook of his elbow. It was supposed to be a polite, chivalrous gesture. Instead it made all my nerve endings tingle as my pulse did a two-step.
“You look awful, too.”
“Thank you.”
We had a short limo ride where he refused to tell me where we were going. You would think it would have been weird with all the cameras and people watching us, but honestly, after a while I started to forget they were even there.
The limo pulled up in front of an adorable restaurant that overlooked the ocean. Dante helped me out of the car and then escorted me inside.
Where there was only one table for two, set up with candles and more lemon lilies. Very beautiful. Very romantic. Very intimate.
Very terrifying.
I’m engaged, I’m engaged, I’m engaged.
He helped me to sit, and after I had scooted in, he handed me a menu that had been left on the table for us. “Do you like sushi?”
“Where I’m from we call that bait.”
He laughed as he picked up his own menu, and we fell into a comfortable silence. I figured this probably made for boring television. Two people choosing what they wanted to eat.
Especially because there was no way we would actually eat.
A waiter came out, and I ordered lobster risotto and the salmon entrée. Dante said that it sounded delicious and that he’d have the same. When the waiter left, we were alone.
With six people watching us.
He reached over and put his hand on top of mine. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
A million different things ran through my mind. What had he been meaning to ask me? Would it be inappropriate? Would I be embarrassed and unable to ever hold my head up in public again after the shame?
Would I be tempted to say yes?
“How did you get your name?”
That was so not where I thought that was going. I pulled my hand away and put both of them in my lap. I couldn’t be trusted while he was holding my hand and giving me all the feels. “My great-grandparents met at a barn raising, and started dating or courting or whatever they called it back then. They shared their first kiss under a lemon tree on the family ranch. They named their first daughter Lemon, and my parents named me after her. My grandparents and parents all shared their first kisses under that tree.”