Page 48 of Tiger's Quest
I picked up his gift from the desk and handed it to him.
“It’s pretty lousy when you compare it with earrings and roses. It turns out rich tigers are hard to shop for.”
He tore through the paper, and there was my lame present, a book.
I explained, “It’s calledThe Count of Monte Cristo. It’s about a man who was falsely accused and put in prison for a long time, and then he escapes and seeks revenge against his accusers. It’s a very good story that made me think of you being in captivity for hundreds of years. I thought we could take a break from Shakespeare and maybe read it together.”
“It’s a perfect gift. Not only are you offering me a new piece of literature, which you know I appreciate, but you’re also offering me hours and hours of reading with you, which is the best gift you could give me.”
With scissors, I clipped a rosebud from the bouquet and tucked it into his lapel. Then we were off to dinner, which had been arranged in a private dining room.
After we were seated and waited on by no less than three personal servers, I whispered, “A normal restaurant would have been perfectly fine for me.”
“A normal restaurant is where hundreds of men are taking their hundreds of dates tonight. It’s not special or private. I wanted to have you all to myself.”
Ren captured my hand and kissed it. “It’s my first Valentine’s date with the girl I love. I wanted to see you sparkle in the candlelight. Speaking of which . . .” He pulled a sheet of paper from the lapel of his jacket and handed it to me.
“What’s this?” I opened it and recognized his handwriting. “You wrote me a poem?”
He grinned. “I did.”
“Will you read it to me?”
He nodded and took the page. He began speaking, and the timbre of his voice warmed me. He read . . .
I lit a candle and watched the flame.
It danced and twisted
Wild and unfettered.
It captured me and flickered in my eyes.
When I passed my hand over it
It stirred.
The flame rose higher, burned hotter.
When I pulled my hand away the heat diminished,
grew fainter, and extinguished.
I stretched out my hand again to savor the burn.
Would it singe and scald? Blister and blaze?
No! It tingled and warmed,
Smoldered and glowed,
Setting me ablaze, body and soul.
It was glimmering, luminous, radiant
The fiery blush of her cheek.
—Ren
