Your Perfect Year(39)
She wore the small gold shrimp earrings Simon had once given her for Christmas, and for the first time since her teens had delved deep into her makeup bag and searched out the “smoky eye” eye shadow. She had read somewhere that the look was particularly mysterious and sensual with green eyes like hers.
But looking in the mirror, it had struck her that bank robber might be a more apt description. She had removed it all and used a more subtle palette of natural colors, rounded off with a touch of lip gloss. She felt much better, more genuine, that way, and she had no desire to give Simon the slightest excuse to associate marriage with a prison sentence.
As her boyfriend had requested, she had put on her best dress for the occasion. The choice had not been too difficult, since she only possessed one. In her everyday life there were few situations that weren’t best faced in a pair of pants, so it had taken her a while to find the little black number in the farthest corner of her closet, before unearthing a pair of tights without runs at the very bottom of her sock drawer. She had last worn her black pumps for Simon’s mother’s funeral, but she hoped that if he noticed at all, he wouldn’t automatically think funeral shoes. In any case, she sincerely hoped that her boyfriend would have other things on his mind that evening than what she wore on her feet.
“You look amazing too!” Hannah said as Simon returned from hanging up their coats. It was true: she rarely saw him looking so elegant. He’d become rather neglectful of his personal appearance since losing his job.
Tonight he was wearing a dark-gray pinstriped suit that highlighted his tall, slim figure to perfection. The collar of his white shirt was crisply ironed, he had on a burgundy tie, and silver cuff links shone from under the sleeves of his jacket. He had obviously paid a quick visit to the barber, as his dark-brown hair was tamed back into something that could be called a style. His narrow face was clean-shaven, so that Hannah could once again enjoy a full view of the attractive dimples on his cheeks. Simon had even left his glasses at home and was wearing contact lenses, which Hannah knew he usually reserved for especially important occasions, such as an interview with an A-list celeb. Maybe also for a marriage proposal?
“Buonasera!” A waiter approached with a friendly smile. “I’m Riccardo.”
Wow, the owner himself!
“Good evening,” they replied in unison.
“Do you have a reservation?”
“Yes.” Simon nodded. “Klamm.”
“Please follow me,” Riccardo said without hesitating for a second, or suppressing a smile or betraying any other reaction to Simon’s name—a rare occurrence, since most people seemed unable to resist making some comment when Simon introduced himself. Hannah took this to be an indication of a wonderful evening to come, because “funny” quips such as “Clam? I’m sure you’ll appreciate our seafood menu, ha ha” gave rise to little more than a yawn from either of them. Maybe it was simply that the man was a foreigner, to judge from his accent, and the meaning of the name simply didn’t occur to him. But whatever the reason, it was a good sign!
The waiter led them past six occupied tables to the back, whisking aside a curtain to reveal a private booth.
“Oh!” Hannah exclaimed. A small table was laid for two, with highly polished wine and champagne glasses sparkling in the light of three candles in a silver candelabra. The cutlery was also silver, the tablecloth of starched white damask, and the cloth napkins deep red, a shade that perfectly matched the single long-stemmed rose lying on one of the two china side plates.
“Are you sure you haven’t brought me here to celebrate you getting a new job?” Hannah looked at Simon in delight mixed with an equal dose of bewilderment. “Come on, you can tell me—you’re the chief editor of the Spiegel as of today!”
“Sadly not,” Simon replied, smiling. “It’s something else.”
“I’m on tenterhooks. Can’t wait!” If Hannah had still been harboring the slightest doubt about Lisa’s guess, it dissolved the moment she saw the romantic table laid out before her. It could only be a proposal; anything else was unthinkable. And if it was something else, she would have something to say about Simon’s sense of humor!
“Signora?” Riccardo drew back the chair on the side with the rose and gestured for her to sit.
“Signorina,” she corrected, taking her seat with an arch smile. It might have been silly, but she couldn’t resist the little tease, giving Simon a conspiratorial wink. He didn’t seem as if he had understood her innuendo or was at all amused.
On the contrary, as he took his seat, also drawn back for him by the waiter, he looked horribly serious, his features tense, almost grim. Hannah decided to avoid cracking silly jokes for the rest of the evening, since Simon seemed excessively nervous. Which was, of course, understandable, since it wasn’t every day a man was called upon to propose marriage.
“Champagne?” Riccardo asked. With a clink, he drew a bottle from the ice-filled cooler next to the table.
“Thank you, that would be lovely!” Hannah held out her glass but immediately withdrew it, flustered, when she saw the astonishment on the restaurateur’s face. Clearly that wasn’t the thing to do; such behavior was for bars, not elegant restaurants.
With a slick gesture and a quiet pop, Riccardo opened the bubbly, poured some into first Hannah’s and then Simon’s glass, put the bottle back in the cooler, and nodded discreetly before vanishing through the curtain without another word.