They both had their benefits. During the slower times, we talked and shared more. During full-throttle, our attention was focused on the physical.
I appreciated Rett’s patience, which I believed exceeded my own when it came to slow. However, this was our honeymoon and I was ready to speed things up again. Before leaving the house, I informed Ian that upon our return, I’d be back in my suite on the second floor. He assured me that when we got back to the house, all my personal items would be back where they belonged.
The SUV came to a stop at the corner of Gravier and Tchoupitoulas Streets.
Rett spoke as I stared out the window. “This is one of the older buildings in the Business District. It’s a nineteenth-century French-Creole building. There has been a recent turnover in chefs; nevertheless, they create some of the most unique dishes in New Orleans all focused on Louisiana ingredients.”
Ian exited the front seat and opened Rett’s door. A warm evening breeze fluttered my dress as I stepped out onto the sidewalk with my hand in Rett’s. Flags flew above the entrance as lights angled up to illuminate the building and streetlights came to life.
My high heels clicked on the sidewalk as we approached the opening doors. The hostess either knew we were coming or recognized Rett. Either way, as she introduced herself to me, Yvonne was lavish with her welcome.
The large dining room we passed was absolutely stunning with large chandeliers, gleaming hardwood floors, stately columns, and mahogany paneling.
My peek was quick as we were whisked upstairs, away from the other diners.
“The chef’s private tasting room,” Yvonne said as she led us into an equally opulent yet smaller room. “As you asked, Mr. Ramses, we have replaced the normal table with one more intimate.” She smiled my direction. “Congratulations on your nuptials, Mrs. Ramses.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you, Yvonne,” Rett said as we entered the private dining area.
The table they had waiting was not unlike Rett’s standard fare, white linen tablecloth, red linen napkins, a silver vase with a single rose, and two glowing candles. Once we were seated, Yvonne relocated an ice bucket on a stand, from the wall to us, revealing a chilled bottle of champagne.
“Compliments of Restaurant August.” She smiled. “It isn’t every day we learn that New Orleans’s most eligible bachelor has married.
Rett reached for my hand across the table as he nodded. “Thank you again. And please convey our thank-you for the privacy.”
Emma
Ismiled as I sniffed the aroma of the champagne Rett poured. We were in what I would learn was an unusual state of solitude. Yvonne had left us and our waiters were yet to arrive.
“I’m happy you’re amused, Mrs. Ramses.”
“I never thought of myself as the one to bag the most eligible bachelor.”
“Ah, what Miss Yvonne has yet to realize is that her congratulations were wrongly focused. You see” —he lifted his glass of bubbling wine toward me— “I am the one who should be congratulated.”
I lifted my glass. The two met in the middle near the rose and candles with a clink. “Pray tell?”
“Once your identity is fully realized, it will be noted that I’m the one who seized the most eligible bachelorette.”
I took a sip of the dry champagne. “Seize is an appropriate word.”
“Wooed, courted...”
“Kidnapped, held captive...”
Rett shook his head. “I know you’re joking.”
Was I joking?
“However, it is worth noting that I have some unpleasant news.”
I set my glass on the table. “What?”
“I spoke with a family friend today who happens to be a lead prosecutor, and he wants you to go to the courthouse with NOPD and make a statement regarding Underwood.”
The idea made my stomach twist. “When?”