Burning Moon (Wattpad Version)

Chapter 5

“It’s not like I’m going to play footsie-footsie with you under the table or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

God, I was torn! I started mentally making a list of pros and cons, but my stomach wasn’t having it. I was starved. Oh what the hell, I guess, besides, maybe I could get someone to take a picture of us and post it on Instagram with a soft focus romantic filter and make Michael jealous.

“Ok, give me a minute to get ready.”

***

There’ve been a few moments in my life when I’ve been overwhelmed by something so beautiful, that it literally took my breath away. Like when I tried on my wedding dress for the first time, or met my baby niece for the first time. And right now was one of those moments. Looking around, I could see that this location had been carefully planned, manipulated and manufactured for optimal romance.

“100 percent romance guaranteed or your money back.”

The actual setting was magnificent; the dinner was laid out on a table for two on a sandy embankment about 10 metres off the shore. You had to walk through warm, ankle-deep water to get there. In the middle of the embankment, in the middle of a heart made of candles placed on the sand, was a tent-like structure. It was open on all sides and draped with thin white curtains that were waving rhythmically in the warm breeze. The small table was scattered with pink flowers and more candles and was flanked by two chairs also draped in white fabric. All in all, the most romantic thing I’d ever seen.

It was stunning, and the feelings that it evoked in me were very overpowering; it simultaneously stole my breath away, while reaching deep inside and tickling every one of my senses. It really was… it was… Well, it’s really hard to describe, I don’t even think I have the adjectives to do it justice. In fact, feel free to insert them yourself.

It looked like a ………(insert adjective)……… and it made me feel like ………..(insert adverb) ……….etc, etc.

I hope I’ve painted this picture accurately enough, because it’s important for you to visualise it correctly, in order to understand why my next reaction was so surprising. Because despite it's manifold beauty described by the endless bounty of adjectives, all I could do was look at it all and laugh.

And oh, how I laughed. I laughed like a pack of hyenas.

My shoulders shuddered as I struggled to get enough air into my lungs, gasping in between the shrieks. This was not a normal laughter either -- this was hysteria. And I wasn’t able to stop it. In fact, the more I tried to control it, the worse it got. The laughter escalated until I had tears rolling down my face and I was whimpering -- at some stage I think I heard myself snort. My ribs hurt, my stomach and my mouth hurt. I looked up at Damian -- expecting him to be backing away from me with a look of terror on his face, clutching a fork in case he needed to stab and subdue me -- but he wasn’t. He was also laughing, and then he said something that made me realise that he got it.  

“I was about to say something witty about irony, but I see you’ve saved me the trouble.”

And then we both laughed.

There’s that corny saying about laughter being the best medicine. But it really is, because when our laughter had finally tapered off, I felt better than I’d felt in days! But I was bloody hungry too. However, after reading the menu several times, it soon became clear to me that I had absolutely no idea what they were trying to serve us.

The menu claimed the dishes were 'An adventure in molecular-gastronomy', and the kinds of foods on offer included ‘Seared tuna on a bed of deconstructed salad, served with a ginger mousse.’ I kept reading and the word deconstructed appeared three more times, along with other confusing phrases such as ‘sweet and sour tangerine veil’, ‘lychee bubbles’ and ‘edible sea sand foam’.

“Um…” I looked up at Damian, hoping he was feeling the same way and that I wasn’t just some uncultured slob with no appreciation for the art of modern cooking.

“Is it me or is this a little…” I was searching for the words.

“Disdainfully avant-garde, a pretentious wank!”

“Wow, you don’t pull any punches.”

“Well, I have very strong feelings about this type of food,” his face was totally serious when he said this.

“Pray tell,” I was intrigued again.

“Well, my parents LOVE this kind of cooking, it's expensive and denotes good taste and culture, you see,” he said this last part in a very posh sounding accent, which made me laugh. “We once went to this restaurant in France where they actually served crab ice cream.”

“No they didn’t.”

“It’s true, you can Google it.”

We smiled at each other and our eyes locked for a few seconds. I felt the strangest feeling rush through me, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it and as I was trying to, Damian broke eye contact.

“Hi.” He waved his arm in the direction of the waiter, “Hi, please can we have your other menu.”

“I beg your pardon.” The confused waiter looked at him blankly.

“You know, the one with the normal food on it.”

 I tried to hide my snigger. I certainly didn’t want to offend anyone.

But still the blank look.

So he tried again, “Put it this way, can I get a hamburger with chips and, Lilly, what do you want?”

“The same thanks.”

The waiter, although thrown, smiled cordially and walked off, splashing through the water as he went and finally disappearing over the beach and into the hotel.

And then I realised we were totally, I mean totally, alone. 

Alone.

In the most romantic place in the world.

Oh, did I mention we were totally alone and that it was ridiculously romantic?

I shuffled in my seat a bit. We exchanged a few awkward smiles, drank a bit of champagne, and moved our serviettes around on the table lot. At one stage I picked up a flower and smelt it…

 …AND …

…And then something terrible happened...