Her lips lift into a smile that lights up her entire face. “You're very sweet, Fred. Thank you.”
Fred.
She narrows her gaze. “You’re not playing with me, are you?”
“Not in the least, I promise you,” I say vehemently.
“I don’t look like a curtain, then?”
“Only the most elegant of curtains,” I reply.
Did I just make a joke about curtains? Sure, it wasn’t exactly laugh-out-loud, but jokes and I have never exactly been on speaking terms before.
WhoamI?
Astrid laughs her pretty laugh, and suddenly my terrible joke seems totally worth it. “Only the most elegant of curtains,” she repeats, grinning at me. “You know what? I’ll take it. That’s significantly better than ‘time traveler from the disco era.’ Which is what I was worried about.”
“I’m sure the disco era had its merits.”
She grins. “I love disco. The outfits, the songs, the dancing. Those were the days, eh, Fred? Oh, to have been in our twenties back then.”
I open my mouth to reply, but nothing comes out.
“Fred?” she questions.
“Disco isn’t relevant to your dress, Astrid, I assure you.”
“Oh, I’m afraid you’re wrong. It’s extremely relevant. If you’re going to compliment vintage fashion, you really need to commit to the era.”
As I seem to find when around this woman, I don’t know how to respond. Is this banter? It feels like it should be labeled as such, but banter is for other people. Not me.
Lucky for me she then changes the subject. She holds up her left hand. “The ring looks especially good in the evening light. Don’t you think?”
She’s right. The ring sparkles beautifully, and on her delicate hand it looks twice as large as it did in that infernal box that refused to play fair this afternoon when I proposed.
Heat rises in my cheeks as an image of me flashes before my eyes. I’m on one knee, the edge of the coffee table virtually cutting off my circulation in one leg, offering the ring to a bemused Astrid. I know it wasn’t exactly romantic, but we’re not romantic, and I just needed to get it over with so that we could be officially engaged. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she was really rather unexpectedly sweet about it all.
I clear my throat. “We should go to dinner.” I offer her my arm, and she loops her hand over it. This close to her, I can’t help but breathe in her subtle floral scent. It’s nothing short of captivating.
Together, we walk the long hallway toward the state rooms. It’s impossible not to be acutely aware of her at my side, the fabric of her dress rustling softly as we move.
I sneak a glance at her. She wears a perpetual smile, as though the world itself delights her.
“Do you remember meeting as children?” she asks, her voice punctuating the silence.
“Of course I do.”
“I didn’t think you’d remembered me. I thought you saw me as far too silly to bother with at the time.”
I think back to when we’d first met. Astrid is a few years younger than me, and she’s right, I did think she was too silly for me. When you’re a newly-minted teenager, as I was back then, that counts for something. Or at least you think it does.
“I’m genuinely sorry if I gave you that impression,” I reply.
“Oh, it’s fine, Fred. I was young and silly. I thought I could charm you with all my silly jokes about my farmyard animals. I’m older now, even if evidence is to the contrary.”
“The spilled tea?”
“Oh, yes. The spilled tea,” she says, with a light laugh.
