Page 57 of Venom's Sting
“What’s all this? Is there a party that I’m unaware of?”
“I guess a lot of the brothers had the same idea I did for a romantic dinner for two with their old ladies.”
I think for sure she’s going to guess what’s going on, because the whole restaurant is packed wall-to-wall with members of my club. Her mom is there with a new neighbor she’s made friends with. The middle-aged man is gray at his temples and has a neatly trimmed goatee. He’s into antique cars so I’ve already put him in touch with our auto repair shop making sure he gets the friends and family discount. They look good together and it’s nice to see her mom getting out and about.
If my woman is suspicious about my motives for taking her here tonight, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she just waves at people we pass as I lead her to the only empty table in the entire restaurant. It’s the same table we sat at the first time I brought her here, the one with the amazing view of the garden. One of my mom’s servers practically races back to take our drinks order. She’s all smiles and really excited. I subtly give her the dial it down look and she tries to smother back her wide smile. Everyone is staring at us. I swear to God, you would think these people have never seen a man propose before.
While Amy is looking over the menu, I slip the ring box out of my vest pocket and put it on the edge of the seat beside me for the server to take. We already have a plan in place, and I just hope she’s sly about picking it up. I immediately realize what a foolish expectation that was because the moment we give our orders and hand her back the menus, the server makes a big production of picking the ring box up.
“Oh, wow. It looks like I dropped something on the floor. Let me pick that up before someone steps on it.” She snatches up the ring, hiding it behind the menus. Amy gives her an odd look while I press two fingers to the bridge of my nose, wondering why I ever thought I could pull this off. What in God’s name was I thinking? My initial plan had been to write ‘MARRY ME AMY’ in rocks and take Amy out drone flying with me. Having her come across the proposal that way seemed ideal, but my mom convinced me that a romantic meal at her restaurant would be better. Truth be told, I think my mom and Carol just wanted to be able to witness the proposal firsthand. So, I went to work on plan B.
Suddenly, Amy’s hand lands on mine. “Are you okay? You seem a bit distracted tonight. We could have stayed at the clubhouse if you weren’t up to a night out.”
I freeze in place for a brief second, trying to think of something clever to say. I end up mumbling, “I’m fine. More than fine.”
She presses her lips together before telling me, “If fine stands for fucked up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional then maybe you are.”
“What the actual fuck does that mean?” I’m not angry, so much as floored that she would say something like that to me.
She raises an eyebrow, and I can tell she’s trying not to laugh. “It might mean that you can’t take a joke.”
Before I can respond, our smiling server comes back with our drinks and some bread for the table. I automatically reach for the bread. The basket is filled with baguette slices and there’s a ceramic dish of butter to accompany it.
“Rage might be addicted to my maman’s croissants, but I like her homemade bread the best.” I dip a piece in the fresh cream butter and cram the whole round in my mouth at once.
Amy dips the edge of her bread in the butter and nibbles at it like a civilized person. I can’t help but smile at how polite she is. It’s one of the many things I find endearing about her. Sitting here looking at her, I realize something. When I first met her, she had a much more forceful personality. Some might even call her pushy. The longer we’ve been together, the more chilled she’s grown. Don’t get me wrong, she’ll tell you off in a heartbeat if you cross boundaries, but she’s not so much on edge and ready to snap at people. Pride surges in my chest as I realize she doesn’t have to be so on guard. She’s got me for that now.
We make short work of our meal, for our starters we both had French onion soup, and for the main I had the coq au vin and Amy had the ratatouille. Amy praised my mom’s cooking to the sky. The restaurant isn’t fancy, it’s more the bistro-style that you’d find on any street corner in Paris, than fine dining. But the charm of those places is simple food cooked incredibly well, and that’s something my maman excels at.
Amy’s surprised when our ever-smiling server brings out a bottle of alcohol-free pink champagne and pours a flute for each of us. When our dessert comes out, it’s a mini profiteroletower with wreathes of spun sugar and garnished with fresh raspberries.
Amy looks at it with wide eyes.
Glancing up from the dessert to me, she comments, “This looks worthy of a Michelin star restaurant. You must have been one spoiled little boy growing up.”
I laugh, “At the time I didn’t realize I was eating fancy stuff, it was just mom’s experiments for the restaurant.”
She continues to look at the choux pastry tower in amazement, “My mom is a good cook, but her baking is limited to bread, apple pie and brownies.”
“Try it, it’s even better than it looks,” I pull off the top choux bun and offer it to her.
As she takes a delicate bite, I’m thankful she’s not a glutton like me, I’d have stuffed the whole bun in my mouth. As she swallows, I’m having second thoughts about my great idea, but suddenly after another bite she hesitates, then brings her fingers up to fish out the object.
I just smile as she dunks it in her glass of water and dries it off on her napkin.
She looks from the ring to me, her voice is shaky as she says, “I’m guessing your maman didn’t lose this when she was baking?”
“Do you like it?” I ask, eager to know if I chose according to her personal tastes.
“It’s beautiful,” she says as she bites her bottom lip.
Taking the now clean ring from her, I say, “You know that you’ve quickly become my whole fucking world, sweetheart. In addition to being my old lady, I want you to be my wife.”
“Absolutely. I want to be your wife,” as the tears run down her cheeks I slip the ring on her finger.
Then I hear my mom’s voice, “Did I hear correctly?”
Amy’s head whips around to look at my mother with a huge smile on her face and she replies, “Oui, belle-mère.”