You're the One That I Want(95)

That night Robert had booked us into a restaurant for dinner, telling me to wear the smartest outfit I’d brought with me. We looked quite the dashing pair as we checked ourselves over in the hotel mirror before we left. Robert had put on a brown fitted tweed suit for the occasion and had even put a cream hankie in his breast pocket (extra posh), and polished his best black shoes so much that they gleamed. His short hair was waxed in a messy yet organized manner, finishing off the look nicely. Robert’s slickly groomed appearance was hugely different from the sweaty state he would come home in every night after a day of sports with the kids. He looked scrummy. I’d decided (after lots of deliberation) on a tight black below-the-knee dress that hugged my curves and showed just the right amount of cleavage – enough to keep Robert entertained if I were to lean across the table at dinner, but not too much that other men would ogle inappropriately. With my hair curled and pinned to the side so that it hung over one shoulder, little silver hoops in my ears, and killer black stilettos with silver heels on my feet, my look was complete. Yes, we really did look dashing. I couldn’t help but feel proud of how well we’d scrubbed up.

My jaw practically dropped as the maître d’ guided us through the high-ceilinged restaurant. The chic room was covered in gold – from the sparkly chandelier that hung from the centre of the gold-encrusted ceiling, to the candelabras placed on each table which caused the glasswear to twinkle in the candlelight. The majestic feeling was taken further by classical background music being played softly by a pianist and harpist in the corner. It was like nothing we’d ever been to together before – it was so grand and sophisticated.

We were taken to a window seat, giving us a spectacular, uninterrupted view of the iconic Eiffel Tower.

Taking into account that we were in Paris, that it was our anniversary weekend, and that we’d just been given the best table in the restaurant, it’s not surprising that I suddenly assumed Robert was going to be getting down on one knee that night. It had always been a topic I pondered over whenever we went away or celebrated a birthday or anniversary (or New Year’s Eve, or Valentine’s Day; anything that had a name attached to it, really). I was always speculating over when he might do it, but, sitting there amongst all that splendour, for the first time it seemed like it was likely to become a reality.

For that reason, the excited butterflies in my tummy went berserk, stopping me from eating or enjoying myself as I cheerfully watched Robert like a hawk for any further signs – checking to see whether he was quieter than normal, nervous in some way or acting shifty. I saw nothing. Robert looked calm and relaxed as he talked non-stop, ate off my plate (apparently making the most of my lack of appetite) and guzzled down the red wine. Each time our dirty plates were taken off to the kitchen, and we were left to gaze at the view, I’d stop breathing, thinking that it could be the moment Robert had planned to ask.

Nothing came after our starters.

Nothing came after our mains.

Nothing came after our desserts.

Nothing came after our coffees.

Nothing.

Once the bill was paid and Robert stood up to leave, I stayed sitting at the table in a state of shock.

‘Let’s stand outside and get another look at the Tower before we get a taxi back,’ he winked.

My heart almost leapt into my throat at the wink, thinking it was him being suggestive – that the proposal was on its way. I gathered my bag and coat in haste, before grabbing his hand and following him outside.

Robert wrapped his arms around me from behind and gazed up at the Tower, its twinkling lights creating a magical atmosphere as they danced along the steel structure.

Stood there, in an embrace, I was again sure the moment would come.

I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

‘It’s nippier than I thought!’ Robert eventually said in my ear. ‘Want to head back?’

He wasn’t proposing. The realization made me sad.

‘You okay?’ he asked, as we walked back towards the main road to find a taxi. ‘Have you had a nice night?’

‘It’s been wonderful. Thank you,’ I smiled, trying to ward off the tears that had been threatening to spill.

I’d never been so disappointed.

The following night, Robert suggested we take a walk and just see where we found that was nice for dinner. I was happy with that suggestion. Knowing how expensive the previous night had been, I expected Robert would be on the lookout for somewhere cheap and cheerful.

We wandered back down the Champs Elysées and through the Jardin des Tuileries (our feet seemed to automatically take us that way after having walked the route so often).