À Deux

He glanced at his watch “only 15 mins late this time” Thane ran his fingers through his hair one last time and entered the heavy wooden doors of Chez Paul.

“Your table is waiting, sir” grinned the maître d’ with a classic bow he led Thane through the dim golden glow wrapped mahogany tables, french perfumes mingling with filet mignon until they reached the back corner.

The candles, a quarter down, flickered on the back wall, not, as he expected, Cerise. His first thought was humor, on a night where he himself had been…indisposed…she too was late. What if she had an alter ego, too? He chuckled aloud at the thought.

“Sir?” Said the maître d'

“Oh yes, thank you. I’ll have the Bordeaux - we both will.” Tonight was THE night. He’s been planning it to perfection for months. Except for the being late part. He had not intended this to be the night his arch enemy, Causerella, would pick for their stand off. But he’d beaten her, literally put his hand into her eye, an action she could not undo since he’d recently discovered her weakness - bug spray with deet. Unknown to her he’d covered his fist in bug spray, the scent of which still lingered softly around him. Her defeat made tonight even more perfect than he’d dreamed.

Cerise arrived, in no less than that stunning black dress with the plunging neckline he loved. She wore the diamond necklace he’d given her for Christmas, his favorite pair of Jimmy Choos and movie star sunglasses. Heads turned as she walked past so he knew it wasn’t only his pants feeling tight.

Thane stood and pulled out her chair, his hand brushing across her shoulder.

“Mmm” she said softly, “what is that scent?”

“A new cologne I wore for you this evening” he cooed

He sat back down and looked across at Cerise, who was still wearing her sunglasses.

“You going to take those off? I’d love to see the candle light mingle with the love lights in your eyes.”

“Oh, these?” Her fingertips grazing the stems, “I had an accident this evening, tripped over my cat again.” She tittered softly, “he’s always in the way.”

It should have given Thane pause at that moment but Cherise was often banged or bruised up, the woman was clumsy, it was a feature not a bug.

They looked over the menu, though both had known before they walked in what they’d order. The sommelier brought the Bordeaux, which Thane approved of before the glasses were filled. Cherise sipped wine, her mind replaying the evening.

“What did you say that scent was? Cologne?” She asked, “it reminds me of the woods…it reminds me of…” she trailed off not letting on what she knew.

She knew Thane planned on proposing tonight, and she knew what that action would cause, and the one after. She knew Thane was actually her arch enemy, Ricochet, who not one hour earlier had punched her in the face. She hadn’t known for long, a week at best, that’s why she’d picked tonight for her attack - if only he hadn’t learned about bug spray with deet she would have been the victorious one this evening. Mais, c’est bien. She was about to land the coup de grâce.

They laughed over the fish, canoodled over the salad, nibbled the cheeses and then came dessert. On the tray was not the Mille-feuille they had requested but a small, blue box. Cerise’s eyes jumped from the box to Thane as though she’d practiced this action a hundred times.

“Cherise,” he began “these last three years have meant so much to me. You are the perfect woman and I’d love for you to do me the honor of becoming MY woman.” He got down on one knee and opened the box. Inside was at least two and a half carats with diamonds all around a platinum band.

She paused, glancing around to make sure everyone was watching from at least the corner of their eyes, and then, in what to Thane felt like slow motion, instead of reaching for the ring, she reached up to her sunglasses unveiling the damage he’d inflicted.

He knew in an instant. His stomach dropped. His Bordeaux felt like it was coming back up mingled with the fish. No “cat based accident” could have left the damage his fist had in her beautiful face. “Causer…” fell out of his mouth as she put the glasses back on, turned on her Jimmy Choo and walked out, leaving him agape with everyone in the restaurant staring.

She’d play that action over and over, watching him suffer more deeply than any smashed face. Perhaps he could bounce back off surfaces but - she suspected - he would never bounce back from this.