Nice Day For A White Wedding

Babushka nods her head dutifully although she is clearly very disappointed. “I understand, Alex.” She turns to me then, her eyes twinkling. “Just don’t wait too long or Cindy might get bored of waiting and find someone who’ll move a little faster.”

I laugh, but I shake my head. “Oh, no chance of that. Alex is the one for me.”

This gets another mumbling in Russian from one of the ice sisters. I don’t know which one and quite frankly, I don’t care. I’m already over their spoilt little asses. I do wish I spoke Russian now though. It would be good to know what they’re saying, and then just drop in a casual comment in Russian later on and let them know I know everything they’ve been saying about me. The conversation turns to more casual topics. The general state of the world economy. I work my way through the wood pigeon, all the while telling myself it’s not one of my pigeons. My pigeons are safe in England.

Then Babushka says, “I thought we’d give you a choice for dessert. You can either have Eton Mess or a traditional Russian dessert call chak chak. It’s fried dough coated in honey.”

“The chak chak sounds delicious,” I say decisively.

Babushka smiles at me. “You won’t regret your decision. Our chef is particularly good at making it. We eat it at celebrations so it seemed fitting that we have it tonight to celebrate my boy finally finding a woman who can put up with his bad habits.”

“Alex has bad habits? Pray tell me more.”

This gets a laugh from Babushka and a quick shake of the head from Alex.

“Don’t do it, Babushka,” he warns with a laugh. “Not if you want the wedding to ever go ahead.”

A plate set before me holding several small sticky balls and a scoop of delicate rose ice cream.

I slip a spoon of chak chak into my mouth and find it to be every bit as good as Babushka said it would be.

“How did Alex propose to you, Cindy?” Babushka asks.

I swallow and throw Alex a cheeky look. “I really should let Alex tell this story. It’s a really good one.”

Alex gives me an indulgent look, but underneath there was a subtle warning. “It was our three-month anniversary. I took Cindy to the same Italian place where we had our first date. Can you believe I was so nervous Cindy had to keep asking me what was wrong. I kept saying I was fine, but she must have known I wasn’t because I was being so clumsy.”

He lifts his glass of wine, takes a sip, and watches me from over the rim before continuing. I hope he doesn’t overdo it because I can’t imagine him being nervous around a woman.

“I knocked a glass of wine over and must have dropped my fork on the floor at least three times. Even so I managed to wait until after we’d finished our meal because I knew the manager would be playing our song. I took Cindy by the hand and asked her to dance with me. She was horrified.”

He looks at me and smiles. “Do you remember how horrified you were?”

By now I am as enraptured by his story as Babushka, but I catch myself, and nod my head. “Yes, how could I forget?”

Where is he going with this story? I don’t know but I am as eager to hear the end as everyone else. I think my delighted look will help convince Babushka we’re in love, that I’m hanging on Alex’s every word, and enjoying reliving the moment he asked me to marry him.

He turns back to Babushka. The whole table is listening, no doubt shocked that Alex would ever be so romantic and sentimental. Even the ice sisters are engrossed in the story.

“I told her it didn’t matter if no one else was dancing. That maybe those people didn’t have a reason to dance, but we did. I led Cindy out into the middle of the restaurant. She was wearing a beautiful silky pink dress, and she had never looked more beautiful to me than she did in that moment. I took her in my arms and we danced. And when the song ended, Cindy was laughing. She no longer looked embarrassed. I got down on one knee and asked her to marry me. She said yes, obviously.”

Babushka looks delighted with the story. I can understand why. My own heart is fluttering at the thought of being proposed to in that way. I can almost feel my supposed embarrassment and then my joy. It makes me see a new side to Alex. The side that maybe isn’t quite so dark.

“Oh, look at her,” Babushka says, clapping her hands. “She looks even more love struck than she did before, and she already looked like she was about to swoon.”