It has been said before that the higher the vantage point, the more beautiful the view. The city was especially beautiful due to the light filtering through the ever-present, sepia-colored, atmospheric haze. Candles flickered on the linen-covered table that was set with pristine goblets of cut lead crystal and pure white bone china. “The Hearts Asks Pleasure First” played by an unseen pianist somewhere near. The music drifted loud enough to block out the sounds of the street below, but not so loud to become the focus. Though outside, the orb created by the light of the candles made the area seem a room to itself.
To prepare for the evening, she had selected a sanguine-colored dress with an empire waist and intricate embroidery along the bodice and hem. It had been purchased in Venice along with the vanilla-scented soap. Prior to the trip, Denny had pressed her to take a credit card which she used to purchase the perfume she also wore. Upon her arrival to the rooftop, Ethan looked her over moving in circles and observed her from all angles. He gave her an approving smile and ran a finger over the necklace he had gifted her with some weeks before. He kissed her neck softly. Circling again, his lips brushed over her forehead and cheek before he pulled back to look her over once more up and down. He said, “You are beautiful, Brit” before placing a lingering kiss on her lips.
He directed her to the table that was set for two but, rather than sit her across from him, he closed the sunbrella so they could view the sky and invited her to sit with him. A single waiter tended to the table. Brit focused on Ethan’s obvious comfort in such a formal setting rather than the waiter’s ill-fitting clothing or unnatural way of speaking which made him sound like he was reciting a poem from school. The waiter poured champagne into crystal flutes tipped with silver. Ethan admired the color while Brit sipped ladylike and listened to him talk about the holiday, which he said was somewhat new, and that he understood its meaning in the modern world. His fingers caressed in time with the next song, “The Chairman’s Waltz.” He told her that while this night was as good as any other by his system, they did have something to celebrate, and that it was a good excuse to have her looking like a princess.”
He had selected the menu had been carefully and each course was brought up for two. He pretended to join her in eating the meal, rather like a game, which delighted her as he usually just talked or stayed with her while she ate. His fingers idly caressed her as he observed her reactions to each dish. The soup was a tomato-based soup laced with basil. The lobster and crab salad was gifted with an approving MMM that was much louder than fine dining would consider proper. Music continued as “Love Remembered” played. His hand caressed her while he reminisced about wines that he enjoyed back when he drank such things. The dessert was a chocolate cake with a molten chocolate core covered by scoops of chocolate ice cream and topped with rich, chocolate syrup and whipped chocolate mousse. Death by Chocolate.
As she danced with him on the roof top over looking the city, she remembered the first time she saw him, the first time they danced, the first time she woke up with him, and of the time when he came for her in the library. The pianist played Satie’s Gymnopedie and Gnossienne, and she felt slightly dizzy swaying in time to his lead. Between the two songs, he took her left hand, spread her fingers, and slide a ring on her finger. It was hard for her not to lose focus to shine of the ring or the swirling drop of vitae that moved within it. He told her that rings had many meanings, but this ring was a part of him to be kept by her. He said that she was a part of him as was her blood mingling with his and kept him returning every night to be hers, and the ring would claim her as his.
Securing the ring on her finger, he told her many things. He called her his princess and told her that she was the only one worthy of being called such in this town or any other. She remembered him speaking of real princesses he had known long ago. His words regarding princesses were edged with contempt. It was a Valentine’s Day that she would remember all of her life. Brit knew that she was not a real princess. It never occurred to her to ask Ethan whether his vantage point was too high, or whether he really observed her close and without filters using the same criteria that he had damned all other princesses before her.
To prepare for the evening, she had selected a sanguine-colored dress with an empire waist and intricate embroidery along the bodice and hem. It had been purchased in Venice along with the vanilla-scented soap. Prior to the trip, Denny had pressed her to take a credit card which she used to purchase the perfume she also wore. Upon her arrival to the rooftop, Ethan looked her over moving in circles and observed her from all angles. He gave her an approving smile and ran a finger over the necklace he had gifted her with some weeks before. He kissed her neck softly. Circling again, his lips brushed over her forehead and cheek before he pulled back to look her over once more up and down. He said, “You are beautiful, Brit” before placing a lingering kiss on her lips.
He directed her to the table that was set for two but, rather than sit her across from him, he closed the sunbrella so they could view the sky and invited her to sit with him. A single waiter tended to the table. Brit focused on Ethan’s obvious comfort in such a formal setting rather than the waiter’s ill-fitting clothing or unnatural way of speaking which made him sound like he was reciting a poem from school. The waiter poured champagne into crystal flutes tipped with silver. Ethan admired the color while Brit sipped ladylike and listened to him talk about the holiday, which he said was somewhat new, and that he understood its meaning in the modern world. His fingers caressed in time with the next song, “The Chairman’s Waltz.” He told her that while this night was as good as any other by his system, they did have something to celebrate, and that it was a good excuse to have her looking like a princess.”
He had selected the menu had been carefully and each course was brought up for two. He pretended to join her in eating the meal, rather like a game, which delighted her as he usually just talked or stayed with her while she ate. His fingers idly caressed her as he observed her reactions to each dish. The soup was a tomato-based soup laced with basil. The lobster and crab salad was gifted with an approving MMM that was much louder than fine dining would consider proper. Music continued as “Love Remembered” played. His hand caressed her while he reminisced about wines that he enjoyed back when he drank such things. The dessert was a chocolate cake with a molten chocolate core covered by scoops of chocolate ice cream and topped with rich, chocolate syrup and whipped chocolate mousse. Death by Chocolate.
As she danced with him on the roof top over looking the city, she remembered the first time she saw him, the first time they danced, the first time she woke up with him, and of the time when he came for her in the library. The pianist played Satie’s Gymnopedie and Gnossienne, and she felt slightly dizzy swaying in time to his lead. Between the two songs, he took her left hand, spread her fingers, and slide a ring on her finger. It was hard for her not to lose focus to shine of the ring or the swirling drop of vitae that moved within it. He told her that rings had many meanings, but this ring was a part of him to be kept by her. He said that she was a part of him as was her blood mingling with his and kept him returning every night to be hers, and the ring would claim her as his.
Securing the ring on her finger, he told her many things. He called her his princess and told her that she was the only one worthy of being called such in this town or any other. She remembered him speaking of real princesses he had known long ago. His words regarding princesses were edged with contempt. It was a Valentine’s Day that she would remember all of her life. Brit knew that she was not a real princess. It never occurred to her to ask Ethan whether his vantage point was too high, or whether he really observed her close and without filters using the same criteria that he had damned all other princesses before her.
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