It was in a grand space, to say the least, where a romantic room was offered. An oakwood table took up most of the vast space, covered with a spotless tablecloth. Two tall silver candelabras commanded attention from the center of the table, holding thin and smooth red candles whose wax never dropped. The newly polished silver cutlery was heavy, shining brightly in the evening light.
Marvel and I were sitting across from each other. In front of us were red wine in the glasses and beautifully rose-shaped folded napkins. The servers, all young people dressed in white tunics, moved with a warm smile to our table, presenting fine cuisine.
Even without telling, it was soon common knowledge that Marvel and I were lovers - it was in the way they gazed that lingered on us. What should I call this feeling?
