back.
“Not yet,” I answer. “It only just happened and I need to hire a coordinator. We’ll send you a save-the-date card as soon as we have them. You’re first on the list.”
She offers a weak smile and nods.
I look for any sign that she’s unwell, but all I can see is that she’s old—really, really old. It makes me wonder if her body is shutting down rather than her actually being sick with something. Other than being tiny and weak-looking, she seems perfectly healthy to me, but I guess we can’t always see what’s going on behind the scenes.
“Dinner is ready, Mrs. Lewis,” the maid pops her head in and says.
“Well, looks like we’d better get up then.” She uncrosses her ankles and holds on to the arms of the chair. She pushes herself upward, but her knees give slightly and Matthew has to put his hand on her arm, helping her stand. Slowly, at her pace, we leave the lounge area and move into the formal dining room.
She takes her seat at the head of the table with Matthew and me on either side of her. The maid starts to bring the food from the kitchen, putting a serving on each of our plates as she makes her way around the table. By the time she’s done, I have a small side salad, roast with potatoes and carrots, a dinner roll, and some fancy-looking green beans. Wine is poured into a glass in front of me and I notice there’s no water or anything else to drink. Looks like I’ll be getting tipsy tonight. At least tomorrow is Saturday and I don’t have to work, but I do have a full spa and shopping day planned.
I stay as quiet as I can throughout dinner, letting Matthew have his time with his grandmother. I only ever talk if one of them asks me a direct question. I eat my dinner and have to wash it down with the wine. By the end of the glass, I already feel sparkly and happy. My face is warm and everything seems funny, but I know I have to control myself.
Our plates are cleared and I’m thinking we’ll finally get to head home, but no. More food is brought out and put in front of me—some kind of pudding that looks to be slightly toasted. There are graham crackers sticking out of it and it smells sweet and delicious. I can eat the dessert, no problem, but I’m concerned about the brandy glasses they’re now placing on the table. My eyes leap up to Matthew and he sees the panic written all over my face. However, he must have a quick flash back to his old self, because all he does is smile my way, knowing exactly how I feel.
Dessert starts and I dip my spoon into the pudding and take a small bite. It’s sweet, light, and fluffy. It’s not something I’ve had before, but it’s really good.
“Try it with the brandy, dear. It makes it all the better,” his grandmother insists.
I force a smile as I reach forward and pick up the glass. I take a sip and the alcohol burns my throat, but it brings out the sweetness in the pudding and it really does pull everything together. To my surprise, I eat the entire dessert and drink almost the whole glass of brandy.
Being this drunk and sitting this still is hard to do. I find myself spacing out as they talk—taking in the room more than paying attention to the conversation. I giggle to myself as I imagine the plates and candlesticks dancing around on the table singing “Be Our Guest.” This place could be straight out of Beauty and the Beast.
It feels like it takes forever, but dinner finally ends and the two of them stand in front of the table. My eyes jump up to Matthew. I cautiously push back my chair and stand, testing the strength of my legs as I hold on to the edge of the table. I turn and walk back toward the door slowly and carefully. At the end of the table, Matthew places his hand around my arm, steadying me.
He helps me to the door, keeping his hand on me to keep me steady. He helps me with my coat and we say our goodbyes to his grandmother. When the door closes behind us, I let out a long, dragged-out breath. He chuckles beside me.
“God, I thought it’d never end. What time