Page 77 of Bronson

I would have gone with something much, much classier. But it’s sweet. Bronson said that was where we had our first official date, and so there it had to be. He’s rented the entire place out. For the whole day and night.

It’s cute how sentimental he is.

But I’m only doing this once. And it must be perfect.

Now, I slip into my little blue dress. Check my hair and makeup for the umpteenth time.

Flawless.

I head down to the street. Bronson’s driver is waiting for me on the curb. He opens the door and I breathe a sigh of relief—Bronson’s respected my wishes to go first, alone to get things the way I want them. He’ll be meeting me there. I hop into the car, and we’re off.

Nervous, excited butterflies tickle my tummy as I watch the shops pass. The minutes tick like hours. I ask the driver to step on it. He shoots me a look that makes me bite my lip. Finally, we’ve arrived. The car slows to a stop. I open my own door. I step onto the sidewalk and take a deep breath.

The hostess greets me at the entrance. I’ve gotten used to excellent service.

I step inside. Delight wells in my chest.

Impeccable.

Huge globe lights hang from the ceiling. Their warm glow shines down over the round tables. Each is covered in a starched white cloth, a gold silk runner cascading down the middle and over the sides. On the runners sit white pillar candles.

Each place setting has a gold charger beneath a white porcelain plate. To the right of each plate, two forks and two spoons sit on a white linen napkin, and to the left, two polished knives. There is a cut crystal goblet for wine, and one for water.

There will be four courses: soup, salad, dinner, and dessert. Red and white wines will be served with the entrée, and just before dessert, a champagne toast.

It is perfect.

I busy myself, rushing around the room, adjusting this and that. The wait staff flock around me, ensuring my satisfaction. Soon, guests begin pouring in. I’m so busy greeting, kissing, hugging, and complimenting them, I don’t know that my fiancé has arrived.

My eye catches his profile as he appears next to me. I turn, my breath catching at the sight of him.

He’s striking.

Dressed in the navy suit I demanded he wear—he has to match me, and I match my diamond—and crisp white button-down, he looks like he belongs on the red carpet. His dark hair is slicked back, giving his good looks a dangerous edge.

I feel sorry for the other men in the room—no one can hold a candle to him.

He kisses my cheek. “You look stunning.” He wraps an arm tightly around my waist. Normally, I love his embrace. But not today, when I’m wearing silk.

I push him away. “Careful. You’ll wrinkle the dress.”

Men.

He grabs my arm, bends down, and whispers in my ear, “May I talk to you a moment?”

“Not now,” I hiss between my teeth as I see more guests arriving. I have to play the role of hostess. Peter and Alice have just arrived.

Catching sight of Peter, Bronson asks me, “What’s he doing here?”

“I invited him. A guest of Alice’s.”

At first, he’s confused. Then, a light shines in his eyes. “Oh. Very good.”

“See. Just leave it to me, I have this thing under control.”

He stiffens beside me. I’m not sure why.

Everyone arrives. It’s time to be seated for dinner.