My assistant tried to help. “Sir, I can coordinate the decorations, the menu, the music…”
“No.”
“But…”
“I'll do it.”
She remained silent, confused. “Okay.”
And I did it, everything… The food, every dish, every ingredient. I sat down with the chef.
“What does she like?” he asked me one afternoon when I had to lie to Clara to come with the chef. I smiled, because I do know. I know everything.
"She likes things simple… but well done."
I described everything to her, every detail. What she asked for before, what she left, what she avoided. Because I know her, because I've always known her. I just… stopped paying attention.
The wine… I chose the same one from that first night, because I remember how she tasted it. How she smiled, how she said she liked it. The music. Nothing ove
