Everything else fades away. It’s just us, floating in a world of our own where nothing can touch us, consuming one another like an unquenchable fire. The tension builds and builds, reaching an unbearable peak, until we both fall over the edge together, clinging to each other as one.
When we finally pull apart, sweaty and breathless, our eyes meet, speaking volumes without a single word. Remi runs a hand through my damp, tousled hair, smoothing it back before pressing a feather-light kiss to my forehead.
“You’re so beautiful…” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Even after all this time, I still can’t believe you’re mine…”
These rare moments of vulnerability, when Remi lets me see all of him, are so precious they etch themselves into my heart, each one a reminder of how lucky I am to have someone like him, someone who loves me exactly as I am, and whom I love just the same.
“You know I’m yours, Remi… I always have been, from the moment I first saw you. Even if I didn’t know it yet, you’d already stolen my heart… and my pink suitcase, apparently, just to make sure we’d never be apart.”
We both burst out laughing, thinking back to our first meeting, and the infamous fuchsia trolley that’s still faithfully travelling with us on every trip.
After cleaning ourselves up and making ourselves as presentable as possible, we leave the dressing room cautiously, hoping not to bump into anyone, though I’m fairly certain one look at us would give away exactly what we’ve been up to.
Luckily, most of the audience, including our friends and family, have already made their way to the reception upstairs, so Remi and I head for the foyer, grab our coats, and slip out of Wigmore Hall almost unnoticed.
“Well, Mr Elliott,” I tease, lacing my fingers with his as we walk, “I must say I thoroughly enjoyed dessert… but where exactly do you plan on taking me for dinner?”
“Mr Arnette,” he replies, grinning as he kisses the back of my hand, “as I mentioned, it’s a surprise, just trust me.”
We’re only a few steps away from the entrance to Regent’s Park and, as I suspected, Remi’s leading me right there.
“Ah, reliving our greatest hits, are we?” I say with a smile. “Wigmore Hall and Regent’s Park, classic combo. Brought us good luck last time, didn’t it?”
“Exactly,” he replies, without offering further explanation. Still smiling, he guides me down a familiar path, retracing the steps of that fateful night two years ago.
We arrive at the same secluded bench where we shared our first kiss. Remi stops and makes a courtly gesture, inviting me to sit. The evening is mild and clear, just like it was back then. Intrigued, I settle onto the bench, but instead of joining me, he walks behind it and heads straight for a large bush, starting to rummage through the dense foliage as if searching for something.
Just as I begin to suspect he’s lost his mind, he emerges with his blond hair even more ruffled than usual, and a wicker picnic basket in his hands.
I can’t help laughing. “Remi, what on earth? Did you seriously hide a picnic basket in Regent’s Park?”
He immediately pulls a mock-offended face, which I find unbearably adorable. “Laugh all you want, Seb, but I had a romantic gesture in mind. I had a gourmet picnic prepared, just for you…”
“Let’s hope the squirrels didn’t get to it first,” I giggle, still breathless from laughing.
“They’d better not have! My mum and Maude came by earlier to hide it just before the concert started.”
“Oh, so you had accomplices!” I shoot him a cheeky wink, my heart melting. “You’re too sweet, you know that? Everyone thinks you’re all gruff and prickly, but really you’re the softest man I’ve ever met. How am I supposed to resist you, Remi?”
“You’re not meant to,” he replies firmly, finally sitting beside me. After placing the basket between us, he cups my face in his hands and kisses me again, as if we hadn’t just made love only minutes ago.
I melt into the kiss with just as much urgency, but after a moment, Remi pulls back with a sheepish chuckle.
“You’re addictive, baby… If I don’t pace myself, we’ll skip the actual dinner and go straight to round two.”
“You’re not planning anything indecent in public, are you?” I ask, feigning shock.
“I think your dressing room antics were quite enough… for now. But don’t think we’re done, once we get home, I have very specific plans for how I’d like to end the evening.”
“In that case, let’s eat quickly!” I grin, fully on board with whatever those plans may be.
I open the basket to find not only food containers, but also a bottle of champagne, ceramic plates, silver cutlery, two crystal flutes, and a picnic blanket.
“It’s beautiful!” I gasp as Remi helps me lay the blanket down and arrange the meal: fresh oysters and Catalan-style sturgeon as starters, followed by a lobster and crab salad for the main.
And the dessert, an exquisite Charlotte aux Framboises, is so delicately presented that I almost feel guilty about eating it.
“How did you know this was my favourite dessert when I lived in France?” I ask, overwhelmed with emotion.
