Under the Chandeliers
He surveyed the dining room.
The candles were lit and the glasses scintillated like diamonds under the pale light of the chandeliers.
Even the dining room in that TV series was better lit, he thought, but he didn’t suppose that the other diners would be complaining. It was after all one of the most popular restaurants in Edinburgh, although clearly a case of style over substance.
She turned the pages of her menu back and forth, tutting and frowning. She obviously couldn’t read French but here with the romantic sheen of the dining room, it wouldn’t matter.
He was sure she would make the same order as the last time they were reunited in the dining room.
She was petite and he looked down at her from across the table. The highlights of her long blonde hair caught the candlelight and framed her delicately powdered features. Her eyes sparkled and her lips were the deepest of reds; plump and inviting.
He wanted to stroke her cheek with the back of his hand, but restrained himself as he knew it would be grossly inappropriate.
He just smiled and waited patiently.
“Is Madame ready to order?” He inquired, with that elegant Edinburgh accent he had acquired over years of service.
This week I’ve written a story to my own photo prompt for this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers which is strange!