Page 36 of Love in Bloom

CHAPTER EIGHT

Parc Oriental de Maulévrier

With a yawn, Camille stepped off the bus and pulled on her cardigan. She adjusted the lightweight scarf around her neck to keep out the night air.

“A bit ridiculous, don’t you think? Earlier we were sweating to death, and for the night tour of the Parc Oriental de Maulévrier we need to wrap up.”

“Much like summer in England.” Tristan slipped his hand into hers.

It felt as natural as putting on a soft pair of gloves. Camille would be very sad indeed to relinquish that feeling in a few more days, when she and Tristan returned to their corners of the world. She was certain they’d be in touch, but it wouldn’t be the same. She’d already grown used to seeing him first thing in the morning and enjoying meditation together. Her ability to let go and focus had improved already.

At the entrance, Lisette passed out lanterns on sticks. “The gardens are self-guided. There are six stations you may visit. Please return for departure in ninety minutes. Mercí.”

Camille slipped ier hand around Tristan’s elbow since he held the lantern in his other hand. They headed into the garden, passing by the welcoming stone statues of Vishnu and Lackmi.

“I’ve certainly never done this before,” Tristan said

She caught his smile in the lantern light.

“Wandered around a garden with a lantern?” she asked. “I appreciate that they supplied permanent lighting to help us on our way. Even so, the park has an eerie and mystical feel. Maybe that’s what they were going for. If so, then mission accomplished.”

“I meant, I’ve never had the opportunity to take a late night stroll, in the company of my wife, when the whole goal was to enjoy the beauty around us.”

Camille had the distinct impression that he meant she was the beauty around him more than the half-lit greenery. Thank goodness for the diminished lighting that hid her blush.

“How was your dinner?” Tristan asked as they strolled down the paths, vying for foot space among the other tourists.

She giggled. “Much better than Mrs. Chan’s. I thought she was going to throw the plate at the waiter and then chuck the carving knife at the chef. I felt so bad for the fellows. I wish she wasn’t on this trip. Her constant complaining gives me a headache. How does her husband stand it? Does he wear invisible ear plugs to tune her out all the time? I wish I could. Her words are truly acidic. The Chans should be banned from future tours.”

“I agree, I could do without the show part of the dinner, but how was the food?”

“The onion soup had deep flavor. The broth was nearly black. They must’ve cooked the onion for ages, and yet the bus didn’t smell of onion. How did they manage that?”

“No idea, but I enjoyed the quiche.”

“Hmm. The ham had a wonderful salty flavor. I think salt must be processed differently in France. It makes their meat taste amazing. I’m going to add ratatouille to my list of favorite dishes. I’ll have to learn to make it when I get home. It can’t be too hard, I mean, if that rat can make it in a kids’ film, then how hard can it be? Though I doubt I’ll ever get that perfect swirl. I’ve ignored vegetables for so long. It’s probably a good thing that I’ve had to adjust my diet. I would’ve missed out on some fantastic food if I was constantly stuffing my face with croissants and pain.”

“Do you miss carbs?”

She sighed. “The first week or so I was cranky and pouty. I can see why Connor wanted to send me away while I was going through withdrawal. I lived on fish and chips, ate them twice a day most of the time. A little place around the corner from Lakr makes the best ones in London. At least my palate tells me so. Others might disagree. Deep-fried foods were my passion besides makeup and a rich dessert. Mmm. I ate ice cream by the carton after a day’s hard work, and every day was hard. Every day was a struggle, a fight to make my company a success.”

He squeezed her hand. “You made it a success. You should be proud. But at what expense? You wore out your body. Who do you spend your free time with?”

She stared out over the lake, soaking in its tranquility. “I don’t have a boyfriend if that’s what you’re asking. Never took the time.” She turned to him. “Our honeymoon dates are the first ones I’ve had since university.”

He brushed a hand down her cheek. “I’m honored. I hope they’re measuring up to your expectations.”

She leaned into his touch. “Exceeding them in every way.” She got lost in the brown flecks of his eyes reflected off the lantern light.

The babble of tourists quieted. They’d wandered to a less populated area of the path around the lake. They didn’t have to fight for walking space. In fact, there was no one nearby.

Camille kissed the scar on the back of his hand and held his palm to her cheek. Her other hand skimmed over his chest. She felt a shudder move through him.

They were so close. Mere inches separated their lips.

She studied his eyes. A panorama of emotions flickered through them, like images on a slide show: longing, pain, desire, regret, amour.

This was the moment of their first kiss. She felt it with every fiber of her being. She closed her eyes and leaned forward to connect her lips with his.

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