Page 32 of Love in Bloom

“Of sorts.”

She patted the seat next to her. “How so?”

“We have a manor, or a castle rather, since it does have a moat. A modest affair.”

“Really? Truly? You grew up in a castle?”

Her eyes were wide, letting Tristan sink into their luminescent pools of blue. “Yes. Though there have been upgrades over the years, heating and indoor plumbing, and such.”

“I’d love to see it.”

“Perhaps someday you will.” Tristan berated himself for his outright lie. He was too much of a coward to go home after what happened in Singapore. He knew his parents would understand, but that fact almost made it harder. The world had branded him a criminal.

They wandered through the rest of the flora as Patrick kept up his enthusiastic diatribe about the gardens and how they employed only a staff of six to maintain it. They came to the final one. “Here is the white garden. I think I will let it speak for itself.” Patrick gestured to the area in front of them.

“Oh.” Camille touched her fingers to her lips. “It’s exquisite.” She tugged on Tristan’s arm, leading him down the paths through the five water features. “I love the sound of a fountain, don’t you? Of course you do. It’s so bubbly and peaceful all at the same time. I sometimes imagine the water speaks as it spouts and falls. Look at the Opalia and Madame Alfred Carrière roses. How do they get them that white? I wonder how those varieties would work in our lines? Oh, maybe Lakr should do an all-white line. So many options. There are so many specimens, how will I ever select one from all these varieties? Hibiscus, hydrangeas, hyacinths, tulips, narcissus, impatiens, salvias, gauras, cleomes, dahlias.” She spun in a circle with her arms wide. “It’s heavenly.”

Tristan thought she looked heavenly as he snapped a picture of the enraptured Camille. The green background dotted with blooms of white made her blue sundress stand out all the more.

“You need one with your wife, otherwise no one will believe you spent your honeymoon together,” Mrs. Kollman said, her hand held out expectantly.

Tristan gave her his phone. “Camille, a picture of us to prove we were here,” he said to her. He took his hand in hers, and they turned to Mrs. Kollman.

“Closer,” Mrs. Kollman coached.

They stood hip to hip.

“It’s not right.” Mrs. Kollman frowned. “You look stiff.” Her expression brightened. “Dip her.”

“What?” Tristan asked.

“You know, throw her over your arm and bend her back like at the end of a dance.”

“Oh.” He looked to Camille.

“She won’t let up until we do what she says. She’s like the German grandmother we never had.” Camille’s lips twitched.

Tristan felt the corners of his mouth go up. “Like this?” he called to Mrs. Kollman. He spun Camille in a circle and dipped her in his arms.

His eyes locked onto hers, their faces so close he felt her breath on his face, warming his skin, sending electricity zipping over his body. He caught the surprise that turned to longing in her gaze. It would take only an incline of the head for either of them to join their lips together. The moment stretched, became thin, and then blew away with a screech from Mrs. Chan.

“Get it away from me!” She swung her handbag at a bee.

Tristan righted Camille, who slipped her sunglasses from the crown of her head to her nose.

“Time for luncheon,” said Lisette. She and Patrick led the way to a quaint picnic spot set up in the green space adjacent to the parterre affording delightful views of the manicured topiaries.

Tristan and Camille settled onto their picnic blanket, while Mrs. Chan insisted on having a chair brought for her since she didn’t sit on the ground.

“That’s for commoners.” Mrs. Chan sniffed.

Camille asked, “Are there many like her in Singapore?”

“Enough.” Tristan picked up his salade Périgourdine and took a bite.

Camille sniffed hers. “What’s in it?”

“Not sure. It’s quite good though.”

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