“Arkady!” I shoved his hand down, out of view of anyone else. “Do you want people to assume we are some pot-shotten derelicts?”
“Your dress costs half a year of the average working wage. Trust me, no one thinks that.” He looked unimpressed with my word choice, then held it up again. “Take a sip, relax.”
I straightened myself, holding the parasol low over my face. With a swipe of the hand, I held it close, gingerly flicking open the cap. The liquid was cold yet stung my throat with a floral sweetness.
“Gin?” I glanced up at him.
“Isn’t it fitting?”
“I suppose it’s ... immersive. Why walk in the gardens when you could drink them instead?”
“That’s the spirit.” He took the flask back, taking a sip himself. “I may need educating when it comes to your world, butyouneed lessons inloosening up.”
“Iamloose.”
He rocked the boat slightly.
I gripped the edge quickly, nearly dropping my parasol.
“Right.” He laughed.
“Please, Arkady,” I begged, my stomach beginning to sour, “I’ve entertained your outing. I’ve done all you ask. Please, can we go home?”
He sighed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know, do you deserve it?”
I lowered the parasol to the side, hiding our faces from shore. The shade from the fabric made his eyes so bright between his dark lashes, his tanned skin. As I leaned forward, we were almost nose to nose. “Can I earn it with a kiss?”
“Depends on the kiss.”
“I was hoping for one as sweet as the marmalade in our basket.”
“Perhaps. I’ll need a reference.” He reached down, digging the small jar from the basket at our feet.
He popped the lid open with a snap, his eyes never leaving mine as he did so, locking me in a trance. He dipped his finger in, then brushed it across my lip. The aromatic jam made for a sweet balm.
“Will you taste just as sweet,” he whispered, “or will you be bitter?”
“I suppose you will have to tell me,” I breathed, closing my eyes.
His lips were always so soft, though when I felt his tongue dancing in the marmalade, my stomach fluttered, heart pumping loud in my ears.
He cupped my face in his rough hand, our kiss mingling with the fruity taste, made all the richer by each other’s taste. His cologne of figs and cedar heightened the palate, making me hungry for more.
As soon as the sweetness faded, he broke the kiss but not the contact.
I opened my eyes hesitantly.
He smirked, his thumb running over my cheek. “You make it very hard to be in public when you look at me like that.”
“I’m not—”
“We better get you home before our appetites get us in trouble,” he joked, pulling away.
I rolled the parasol in my palms, fighting it upright again above my head. “I don’t know what you mean.” I licked my lips, brushing a finger at the corners to check for leftover jam.
Chapter Thirty
The Artisan
