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The gardens were alive with the buzz of insects and the gentle rustle of leaves, a natural symphony that played to the rhythm of our steps. I had chosen a spot I'd been told was secluded and stunning, a small clearing surrounded by a riot of vivid summer blooms.
I'd talked to the concierge of the hotel, and he'd arranged it through a service.
Isha stood still as we came to the area where a blanket was spread out under the shade of a tree. A rather large picnic basket sat on the edge of the blanket. There was an ice bucket with champagne, and two glasses on a cutting board.
"Is this for us?" she asked softly.
"For you, first, and then for us."
She looked up at me and gave me a tremulous smile. "Why are you going to so much trouble?"
I stroked her cheek gently with the back of my hand. "How can it be trouble when it's for you?"
"I haven't had champagne for breakfast in…forever. I think the last time might have been at the ranch."
I tugged her to the blanket, and we settled down. I opened the bottle of champagne; and poured.
We clinked glasses. "Thank you," she whispered. "This is lovely."
"Yes, it is," I said, my meaning unmistakable because I was looking at her.
"Well, what's in the basket?" Her eyes sparkled with delight, and in that moment, I felt a surge of something daring and bold, like the first leap into a cool, inviting lake.
"I did some research and was told that the one thing you miss about London is a traditional full English breakfast." I opened the basket. "Viola!"
She burst out laughing.
I brought all the containers out and put together two plates, each with bacon, a poached egg, grilled tomatoes, fried mushrooms, buttered toast, sausages, black pudding, and baked beans.
I opened the last closed container. "And this is the pièce de résistance."
"I can't wait."
"Bubble and squeak." I presented the fried potatoes and cabbage.
"I don't think I've ever eaten a full English with champagne."
I set the thermos of coffee and two cups, as well as two mason jars filled with orange juice, set them next to the champagne.
"This is very well-appointed picnic basket."
I couldn't stop looking at her as we ate. I could see a flicker of the girl I knew. Isha was never carefree, but she'd been, in some ways, freer with her feelings—now she was controlled. Part of it was simply growing up, but the other, I feared, was the damage I had inflicted.
"Did I hurt you?" I asked because that had been bothering me since I knew for sure that I was her first lover.
She didn't pretend to not understand. "It hurt…but there was also a lot of pleasure."
"I'm sorry. I saw the blood…you fell asleep, and I cleaned you up. I knew then, I think, even if I didn't want to believe it. I thought maybe you were small, or that you were on your period."
"Why didn't you want to believe me?" she inquired, not with malice, but genuine curiosity.
"I didn't want to accept that I'd fallen in love with you. It was easier to think of you as Ace's girlfriend, whom I'd slept with and had sent away."
She flinched at my explanation. But it was the truth. And I didn't want to sugarcoat it. If she was going to trust me, it would require me to tell her my truth every time she asked a question. It would not always be pretty, but it would be honest.
"I was so young." She twirled the champagne glass in her hands. "After I came back to London and pulled myself together, I wondered if I'd mistaken infatuation for love. That's when I wrote the letters and sent the money back. Well…it took me six months to save up enough to send you what I could afford."
"I wish you hadn't. But I understand your reasons. I’d made it impossible for you to keep it."
