Page 20 of Second Chances

I laugh.

“It was a summit held in 1520 between Henry VIII and King Francis I of France. They erected opulent tents as a display of wealth and power in an area of France, which at the time was under British rule, and basically partied for a month to bond and talk treaties.” I really am a history geek.

“Sounds like a great time. I’m afraid I can’t offer you a month of partying here, but you can have a night.”

“I’m not sure I’d have the stamina for a month of Tudor partying. Their celebrations went on for days at a time with little sleep. I’m too old for that sort of thing.”

“Never.” Ryan winks at me.

Henry VIII welcomes us all to the banquet, and we all toast his health with a cheer. The acrobats and jesters file into the room as the first course arrives: a vegetable soup that has my stomach rumbling with hunger—it smells so good. We eat in silence as we watch the performance, and I’m stunned when I see one woman folding herself into a tight knot with her amazing flexibility.

We’re sitting on a long bench with loads of other guests. Some are dressed in Tudor costumes, and I secretly wish I had one to wear as well…maybe next time. I’m only on the first course, but I already know this won’t be my last visit here. We all talk together as the second course of bread, cheese, and meats is brought in. The two people closest to us are tourists from America, exploring the great city of London for the first time. We’re regaled with stories of their visit to the Tower, Buckingham Palace, and the Ritz for afternoon tea.

When the main course of roast chicken in a traditional medieval sauce with roasted potatoes and vegetables is served, the couple next to us turn to speak to the guests on their other side, and Ryan and I are left to talk.

“So, did your sister-in-law spill the beans about my love of Tudor history?” I question while popping a potato in my mouth.

“She may have mentioned something.” Ryan does the same. “Amy is a handy person to know when you want to date her best friend.”

“I guess she is.”

“Are you enjoying it?” Ryan shuffles a piece of chicken around his plate nervously. “It’s been a while since I really thought about going out with someone. I wasn’t sure what to do.”

“I’m loving it.”

He triumphantly stabs the piece of chicken and puts it in his mouth.

“You’re going to have to do something spectacular for our next date to beat this.” I realize what I’ve said too late and quickly add, “If you want a second one, of course.”

“I’m planning on a lot more than just one more, so don’t worry about that.”

“Good.”

We finish the meal as knights enter the room and engage in a mock fight to the delight of the audience. I’m screaming so loudly with encouragement my throat is going to be red raw tomorrow morning. Taking another sip of my wine, I look at Ryan. He has the biggest smile on his face as he watches the entertainment. His eyes flick to mine as he catches me watching him.

“They’re good. Great skill.”

“Don’t tell me you’re trained to use swords,” I joke, but the look that crosses his face tells me he is.

“I fenced for a while when I was younger. It’s a handy skill to have. You never know what weapon you may be called upon to fight with during a mission.”

“Is being an operative in MI5 really as dangerous as the TV shows about it would have you believe?”

“Not really. They’re exaggerated. I’m not saying there aren’t dangers when you’re out in the field, but a lot of the day-to-day stuff is desk work and investigation. The most danger I face is probably from a computer overheating.”

“Damn and there I was thinking I was getting an action man as a date.”

“Don’t worry, if you want me to flex my muscles and show you action, I’m up for that as well.”

I blush, and we turn our attention back to the fighting knights as our dessert is brought to us. A fruit pie with cream. I’m not sure where I’m going to fit it in—I’m already full, but it looks so delicious I’m definitely going to try.

“Amy says you have Spanish ancestry? Do you speak the language?” Ryan continues our easy conversation.

“You’ve really been talking to her, haven’t you?” I tease. “Yes, my father was Spanish. I was brought up bilingual, but I mainly speak English since he died. Although I’m handy when you want to go on holiday in Spain.”

“Did your father not have any family in Spain?”

I shake my head.

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