“In the giardino degli aranci.” Zoë pronounced it slowly and deliberately, her gaze inward, her head bobbing to count off each syllable. Then she looked up and smiled. Our chorus erupted around her. Oh! Oh! we cried. So perfect! So romantic!
She extended her left hand; the ring is a black pearl, set in a tiny frond of white gold.
Oh, Dylan! Oh, Zoë! Oh!, everybody went nuts. Continue reading