General Fiction posted August 14, 2017

This work has reached the exceptional level
Romance Contest

Luxurious Love

by alvina224224

Two ripened teenagers entered the bridal suite at the luxurious Grande Hotel in Monte Cristo The hotel was white inside and outside, and breathed romance into all its guests.

John and Carol Freeman had been married for sixty years and their anniversary coincided with Carol's eighty-fifth birthday. "Oh, John," she whispered in awe. "It's beautiful."

"So are you," he said, drawing her into his arms. "And there is going to be a celebration tonight we'll never forget." They kissed warmly, and the porter carrying their luggage in, smiled discreetly.

After settling in, they decided to take a stroll, holding hands, along Monte Cristo's beautiful beach. John, with his inimitable humour, used to reassure anyone who commented, that he always held her hand to stop her running into every fashion shop they passed.

Within minutes, however, they walked with arms around each other, the sun bouncing off the curls in his glorious white hair, and making Carol's grey hair glisten as though sprinkled with stardust. They stopped long enough to enjoy the froth of a cappuccino coffee.

"The sun on the blue water is almost magical," Carol observed with a soft smile..

"Wait until you see the moon shimmering on it," said John. "From our balcony, you will see the waves dancing."

Later that evening, John tucked the black satin cummerbund into place before he shrugged into his white tuxedo jacket. He looked in the mirror to adjust his black bow tie, and smooth back his hair. The curls however, sprung back into place and he spoke to his image ruefully. "Never tame it, although you don't look too bad for a ninety year old."

A tap on the door announced the arrival of the room waiter. "Entre" he called, then turned to see Carol had also entered from the ornate bedroom.

She looked a little coyly at him, knowing he'd not seen her wear a white draped jersey evening gown before, and she touched the double row of pearls he'd given her earlier. John stood mesmerised, his blue eyes glowing. "How do I look?"

Taking no notice of the waiter bustling around, he enfolded her in his strong arms and kissed the tip of her nose. "Like the Princess of Monaco, my love."

Soft music drifted from the big patio below through the French doors the room waiter had opened. On their round balcony, the waiter had laid out the table with everything including a decadent butter statue of an open oyster shell with a tiny pearl-handled knife at its centre. A mermaid built of ice balanced on the edge of a silver bucket that contained a bottle of Verve Cliquot champagne.

John gently led her to the table, before he seated himself opposite. The waiter flapped their table napkins free before laying them across their knees, then he skilfully popped the champagne bottle and poured the delicious bubbles into crystal flutes that twinkled under the strands of tiny lights above them.

"Sweetheart," Carol whispered, after they'd clinked their glasses and taken the first sip, "I can't remember such luxury in all our sixty years together."

The waiter carved four slices into the chateau briaund steaming on the silver platter, then prepared to leave them. "Will that be all, m'sieu?"

John slipped two notes into his hand, and nodded. "I'll send for you later."

After they'd eaten the delicious dinner, and revisited memories that were precious to them, they danced to the orchestra playing on the floor below. Then John refilled their champagne flutes and they leaned on the balustrade to see the moonlit sea, which was breath-taking.

Carol's blissful sigh floated on the warm breeze that drifted over them, and she laid her head on his shoulder. "I wish this night would never end."

John's Geordie accent then called, "Y'dinner's on the table. Don't let it go cold!"

Carol punched the Save button and huffed as she headed for the dining room. "I guess I'm very lucky to have a husband who does all the cooking for me."

A bit of fun! Not sure of the spelling of chateau briand...breand...brieaund but it is three o'clock in the morning, and I'll Google it in the morning, or my Geordie will be calling out "When are y'coming t'bed, hen?" (That's Geordie for 'my woman')
And for you non-Brits out there, Geordie is a name given to people who were born in Northern England, right next to the Scots.
This, by the way, is nearly a true story, except it was our sixth anniversary and we were in Western Super Mare!
Pays one point and 2 member cents.

Artwork by avmurray at

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