**

“Oh, my!”, Mister Brown says, looking at me and chewing slowly.
“Whatever flavor is this?”.
I smile, opening my mouth to answer.
“No, no, don’t tell me”. Mister Brown waves his hand in the air, “Let me think now… Uh…”.
“It isn’t apples…”, Mister Coleridge mutters, frowning.
“You make something with apples?”, Alice whispers into my ear.
I raise my eyebrow, slowly shaking my head.
“No”, Helena cuts in politely, “Unless you mean baked apples?”.
“Prunes?”, Mister Brown hints.
“No, wait a minute…”, Mister Coleridge says, thoughtfully.
I exchange an understanding glance with Shane. She blinks, sending me love and pride vibes.
“…This is a very special taste…”, Mister Coleridge continues, “….Raisins!”.
Mister Brown shakes his head.
“It isn’t pears…”.
They all look at me.
I smooth down my napkin, shrugging slowly and smiling seductively.
“Uhm… Fresh figs with…uh… a little cognac…”, I say, slowly.
Mister Coleridge slaps his hands on the table.
“Figs! I never would have thought of figs!”.
Mister Brown seems equally impressed.
“I never would have guessed”, he states, shaking his head.
I chuckle, feeling a little embarrassed.
Especially because Alice’s hand is now brushing Helena’s thigh under the tablecloth. And she is getting dangerously close to a very hot area.
“It’s fantastic, isn’t it, Helena?”, Al says, raising her eyebrow.
Helena glances at her sexily.
“It’s absolutely spectacular…”.
I stare at Shane, mentally communicating with her.
She clears her throat and takes the bottle of Veuve Cliquot.
“Mister Coleridge, more wine?”.
“Yes, please”.
He raises his glass, observing it attentively.
“Your crystal is lovely, Carmen…”, he observes.
“Thank you”, I reply.
“It’s not Waterford”.
“Baccarat”, I correct him gently.
“Then we’re paying our photographers too much!”, Mister Coleridge laughs.
I raise my eyebrows, tilting my head.
“Actually, we got it quite reasonably”, I say.
“Yeah…”, Shane chimes in politely, “…It’s…it’s kind of an interesting story”.
She smiles at me, lovingly.
“Why don’t you tell it, Carm?”.
I smile back at her, feeling shivers going down my spine just because she’s grazing me with her penetrating gaze.
“Well…”, I start narrating, “…We were in Paris…”.
“It was our first anniversary”, Shane points out.
“…We’d had lunch in this wonderful place in the market district, called the Pa-day Crishon…”.
Shane chuckles.
“Pied de Cochon”.
“Thanks”, I say, giving her a mini-gaze of death.
“We were wandering around and we came upon the…”.
“Rue de Paradis”.
“…Where the Baccarat has its factory and museum. I didn’t know about this before I met Shane”, I mutter, pensively, glancing at her, “…My mother bought her glasses at the A&P. You know, the kind with the raised flowers that always chipped off after a few weeks”.
I chuckle, trying hard not to watch Alice’s manoeuvres into Helena’s panties.
“They were always yellow, remember?”, Shane exclaims, going along with me.
I nod my head in approval.
“Anyway…”, I sigh, “…here we were in this immense room filled with all that Baccarat ever made. A field of crystal. It was so… so beautiful. And suddenly, from the next room, we heard the sound of glass breaking”. I shrug. “Well, I looked at Shane and Shane looked at me and then… Well, to make a long story short, a couple had ordered a design for their anniversary. When it was ready, they were getting a divorce. The woman had smashed her half, and I convinced the man to sell us his half cheap, just to spite her”.
Everybody laughs.
Shane looks at me with shining eyes full of something unreadable.
I shrug.
“And… uh… that’s our Baccarat story”.
“Carmen…”, Shane says, “Can I talk to you for a second?”. She puts her napkin aside and gets up.
I watch her, perplexed, getting up myself.
“Yeah, sure. Could you please excuse us for a minute?”.