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Michel and I took the drinks brought by Gilda. He complimented the beauty, and the fragrance, of my garden. I did not tell him that I had just noticed it, too. He picked a gardenia and held it out to me. Without thinking I put it over my ear. During our talk I dropped my silver cup. It clattered to the bricks and rested against my foot. Michel sprang to pick it up. He held both the cup and my ankle, only for a moment. But in that moment I felt the heat rise and as he handed me the cup I saw it in his eyes, too. He sat back on the marble. My gaze stayed on the cup in my lap until my composure returned. I told him that many men propose marriage. "It relieves me to know that I am like the rest." His voice had taken on a softness. "Yet it embarrasses me that I am so easily known."
"Does it disturb you to think that you will become known for things more embarrassing?" I asked. "It disturbs me, but does not deter me from seeking your counsel," he said. "I will know every secret of yours, Michel, secrets you do not wish to be known, secrets you do not know you hold." "I am ready for this," he replied. "It will be a solace to bare them in your presence and to benefit from your counsel." "There is no counsel from me," I said. "The counsel is your own. I only help you get to it." A bird lighted between us, one I had never seen before, with a red throat and iridescence in its gray wings. It lifted and flew away. I said, "The sessions pass mostly in silence."
Michel's gaze perused the violet silk of my gown, held by a gold chain at my waist. I saw that the ring on my toe did not hold his attention. "Some men are not ready for this." I did not say that in his case I questioned my own readiness.