“Where are we going?” I whispered.
“There is a garden just around the house. The Levins light it with lanterns at night. I thought you would like to see it.”
As we rounded the corner, the light from the party dimmed. Was this a good idea? Running off alone with Peter with so many eyes watching?
“What if we are seen?” I tugged back his hand.
Peter slowed, glancing over his shoulder as he contemplated the thought. I watched as realization grew in his eyes. Of what could happen if we were caught alone together at a ball.
“Your mother,” he said slowly, solemnly.
My mother hardly knew my father when they kissed on the balcony. Peter would not be so careless with me. If there was anyone in the world who made me feel safe, it was him.
“We can turn back.” He shook his head as though he thought himself daft for recommending the garden.
“No,” I heard my voice say before I could stop it. “Let’s not.”
Peter studied my eyes with intensity, as though searching for something unsaid. A slow smile spread across his lips, and he laced our fingers together.
My heart fluttered wildly in my chest, and I felt like a child—free, fearless, and completely happy. As though nothing in the world could harm me. As though life had shown me no sorrow.
Peter hurried his steps, and moonlight swept over his features. He became my shadowy companion, only our hands connecting us, until the first lantern appeared at the entrance to the garden. The scene before me was breathtaking in its beauty, captivating in its perfection.
The lantern lit the rolled gravel footpath beneath it, casting light upon the soft peach-colored roses blooming nearby. Peter said nothing, only watched me as I smelled the first rose I came upon, and I could not help but laugh in delight as we walked into this secret, hidden place. Another lantern hung a few paces ahead, even with the height of the flower bushes, which had grown taller upon walls of cedar wood.
“Look up,” Peter said after we’d been walking hand in hand for a time, and I obliged.
A million stars shone above us, and I drew in a breath of surprise at the majesty of their endlessness. We were encompassed entirely by beauty without description, and I spun on my toes to take it all in. When I looked to Peter, he was leaning against the nearby wall of flowers under a lantern, chuckling to himself.
“Are you laughing at me?” I asked, defensively.
“At you? Not in the least.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?” I crossed my arms, but he only smiled bigger.
“Come.” He stood from the wall and reached for my hand. “The best is yet to come.”
I narrowed my eyes at him playfully as he grasped my hand again. The garden was endless, or perhaps our pace was so slow it felt like we journeyed for miles. Peter pointed out his favorite flowers, and even showed me a constellation named Cassiopeia.
Distant music met our ears, and I knew we had reached the edge of the garden again. Peter slowed his steps and turned to me. Under the light of a lantern, his features glowed, his eyes near desperate and full of some emotion I could not name.
“Amelia,” he said suddenly, swallowing.
He clearly meant to tell me something, something serious that intimidated him, and a strange nervousness overcame me. Why was Peter looking at me as though none of the beauty around us mattered? Like I was the only thing his eyes could see? Watching him hesitate, I felt as if I could see some storm raging within him, just under the surface. I had an inkling of what he wanted to say, but I could not be sure. All I knew was that I wanted to hear the words behind the look he gave.
My voice came out soft, barely above the whisper of music floating in the breeze. “I have had the best fortnight of my life with you, Peter.”
Peter lifted my hand between us, and, turning it over gently, he lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss in the center of my palm.
“I love you,” he said, as tenderly as I’d ever heard his voice.
My heart flew into my throat. “Peter—” My voice cracked.
“Please let me speak. I must or I shall regret it all my life.” He took both my hands and pulled me close, kissing them again, his own hands shaking.
I could not breathe. Love, or the illusion of it, had ruined my parents. It had forced them into a choice they might not have otherwise made if they had had time to sort out their feelings sensibly.
But would I not make this choice with Peter? Again and again and again? I loved him with every bit of me. Could I choose my own future regardless of the risk?
