Anon prompted: "A first date maybe", once-upon-a-writer said: "Rumford is happy about being matched with belle", and anon asked: "Belle didn't want a Match. Rumford finds out that she wanted no part of the Match process, unlike other girls. What is his reaction?"

It isn't until 11:58 AM on Saturday when I realize my mistake. I'm a fool. There is no way in hell I'm ready for our first date, and even if I was, I'd still be freaking out.

Two minutes. Two minutes until Rumford arrives on the doorstep and leads me out of the house. We'll have hours to ourselves—hours to eat, talk, and maybe even canoodle. Though, I think today the kissing should be put on hold. I was right about the hickey, and it was very unfortunate when my sister Rose pointed out the bruising at dinner on Monday night. Mom and Dad had gone pale.

Still...Rumford needn't suck on my neck.

"You're not bringing anything, sweetheart?" In my nervousness, I don't hear my mother until she speaks right behind me. Why she thought she had to sneak up and startle, I have no clue.

"He told me not to," I tell her.

She nods and eyes my clothes, looking confused. Her fingers trail to the hem of my turquoise blouse and then point to the close-fitted khaki jeans I'm wearing. "Aren't you dressed a little too casual?"

"Mom, we're going on a picnic, and he said to wear comfortable clothing. Don't you trust me enough to dress myself properly?"

Before she can answer, the doorbell rings and I step forward to open the door.

I don't know what I expect. But when my eyes meet his and gradually descend from his head to the shoes he's wearing, I smile. It appears he's taken his own advice because he's wearing a buttoned down burgundy shirt with sleeves rolled up to his forearms and dark jeans. He looks good. Handsome even. And confident.

"Rumford." My father materializes out of nowhere. I'm thankful he at least tries to sound civil.

"Mr. French, Mrs. French," he says, nodding to both in turn. "I promise to have your daughter home by four." There's a glint in his eyes daring my parents to challenge him. They don't, and Rumford's gaze shifts to mine. He's smiles. "All ready to go?"

"Yes." I want to hit myself for sounding so breathless. Yet I can't help it; he has such a powerful presence here in this household. He holds out his hand for me to take and I'm struck by how natural the action is. Before I can think properly, I slip my hand into his, feeling reassured. And when he tugs gently to bring me to his side, I don't fight. I give in.

"Four o'clock," my father chokes out.

"No later," Rumford agrees. He lets me step down the front porch's steps first and that's when I see the car he's driving... Holy god. It's one of those cars only the fabulously wealthy can afford—all sleek, fast, and wind-resistant. "Something wrong?" I turn to see him watching, gauging my reaction. He looks pleased. Smug.

I gesture wordlessly to the car. "Isn't this overkill?"

"Not when I'm trying to impress you," he answers, leading me to the passenger side and opening the door. He waits until I am settled before closing it and getting into the driver's seat. "Did it work?"

The inside of the car is just as amazing. All black leather. "Yes," I admit sheepishly. With a laugh, he starts the car and pulls out of my driveway. I turn to look at the two small backseats and see our picnic basket resting securely on the floor. Beside it is a blanket.

It's the sight of the blanket that makes me breathe unevenly. There are so many activities two people can do on a blanket when alone... No, no. I need to get my mind out of the gutter. There's no way that's what the blanket is for and Rumford wouldn't be that presumptuous. Anyway, the Society deems it illegal, and his father is one of the Society's most powerful men. So the blanket must be only for the picnic. "You look beautiful, by the way," he says, interrupting my thoughts.

I color despite my best efforts not to. "Thank you. You look...rebellious."

He quirks an eyebrow and briefly takes his eyes off to road to look at me. "Oh really?"

"Casual compared to your usual," I clarify. "I like it... Where are we headed?"

"Ah ah. It's supposed to be a surprise."

This gentle teasing is new. Now that we've overcome our boundaries and have touched and kissed, conversation flows more easily between us. There is no longer a barrier keeping us at bay, holding us back.

I like it.

We banter back and forth for a while until the scenery begins to change and I can't help but look out the window. Slowly, the scenery shifts from the city's tall buildings to rolling hills and vast forests. "It's beautiful..."

"We're almost there." He pulls the car onto a quiet, untouched road and travels miles through vast forest before coming to a slow stop, pulling over, and saying, "This is where we get out." He exits his side and opens my door. "I'll carry the basket. How about you get the blanket?"

"Okay." My sense of ease has all but vanished now that we're outside the car. We're in the middle of nowhere, and there's probably no one within ten miles. It's not a good feeling...but Rumford seems perfectly at ease, which helps. "Have you been here before?"

He hands me the blanket before picking up the basket and closing the door. "Yes. When I was little, my parents took me to where we're going many times. It's not a far trek. Not even half a mile."

He leads the way into the forest like he's done this a million times. I follow beside him, careful to walk on his empty side lest I accidently hit the picnic basket. Overhead, birds chirp merrily and the trees swish back and forth in a gentle breeze. The breeze is warm on my face, not too hot or too cold.

At one point I'm so distracted by peering up at the trees that I don't look where I step. My foot catches on a root. Rumford's free hand strikes out and keeps me from falling. "I'd rather like it if you don't get hurt on our first date," he teases. "What would my parents say?"

Laughter breaks through my lips and makes him grin.

He's so altered when we're alone. It's like I'm the center of his world and he'll only show me what's beneath his skin. And I want to know what's lurking just below the surface. I want to know him like he knows and understands me. Hell, for the past week he's the only person who's been on my mind. "My parents wouldn't be surprised. They know I'm a klutz."

"You are," he agrees. He dodges my playful shove and pulls me close. "We're almost there, so close your eyes."

"What? Why?"

"I want it to be a surprise," he explains lowly.

I close my eyes and feel his arm slip around my waist. We walk about one hundred paces before the ground shifts, roots and foliage no longer under our feet. Without my sight, I can't tell where we are or what's changed, and I nearly jump when Rumford's hot breath tickles my ear. "Open..."

I open my eyes slowly and gasp. We're standing in a field blooming with wildflowers, and I see violet corn cockles, golden marigolds, and blood red poppies spattering the grass... The forest surrounds the little field, like its protecting and sheltering the flowers that grow here. "It's beautiful!" Before I can stop myself, I walk forward and pluck a marigold from the earth, bringing it to my nose so that I may smell its scent.

After a few seconds I twist and meet Rumford's eye.

He stares right back, contentedness plain in his features. "You like it, then?"

Is he blind? Did he not just see my reaction? For someone as smart as he is, he can be really stupid sometimes. "I love it," I correct him, taking his hand. He guides me to a patch of grass without flowers and sets down the basket. I spread out the blanket and sit right down. "Your parents used to take you here? How did they find it?"

He shrugs while he begins unpacking the basket. "One of the perks of being in the Society's Inner Circle," he explains. "The same perks you'll have when we're married through the Marriage Contract."

For the first time this trip, I feel extremely uncomfortable. While we've worked out some things, we definitely haven't spoken of the Society and the perks that I'll see when I marry him. It's awkward. Troublesome. "Oh."

My eyes flit to the items he is pulling from the basket. He takes out wrapped sandwiches, a container of lemonade, fruit, and a batch of cookies. Everything looks delicious. Guilt riddles me and I announce, "Well now I feel bad."

He pauses, his eyes flashing to my face. Worry is in his eyes. "Why?"

"I feel bad because you did all this," I say, waving my hand over the food, "and I did nothing."

Rumford shakes his head and looks amused. "Belle, I did everything because I wanted to do this right. Trust me. I enjoyed making this all for you."

Well...I can't feel bad about that. Plus, I'm charmed.

He offers me a sandwich and a small cup of lemonade, and I accept them with thanks.

We end up eating the sandwiches slowly, careful not to start out too fast. At first our conversation starts out timid and shy, but when I tell him about my parent's horror at the hickey, he laughs. It breaks the tension and we're able to talk about other things. Our lives. School. Even children. And since he is part of the Society's 'Inner Circle', he can have any number of offspring—unlike the rest who can have only two.

"I don't have siblings, though I wish I did." We were onto the fruit now. "How many children do you want to have, Belle?" The question catches me off-guard and I choke on a grape.

"Well," I splutter, trying my best to appear calm and not flustered or embarrassed. God, I must look like a fool... "I always planned to have two, though now that I can have more with you—" Christ, this is so awkward. "—I expect I'll want three or four."

Rumford smirks and pops a piece of pineapple into his mouth. "We'll have ourselves a large brood," he says wickedly, eyes dark with the prospect. It surprises me (he always surprises me) that he plans for a large family. I had not pegged him as a large-family-man.

"We'll see," I agree, feeling the familiar, tell-tale heat in my cheeks. It's so strange! We have less than a year to go before we're married and can start adding to our family. The realization is mind-boggling.

Absently, I take a bite of a strawberry and look out over the field of wildflowers. They burst with color under the sun, showing off their petals and stalks. No doubt the warm rays of sunlight give them life.

"You have juice coming down your chin." When Rumford's hand tenderly grips my jaw and guides my face to his, I shiver. His tongue skims my chin, lapping up any errant juices from the strawberry. He takes a moment to taste it on his tongue before giving me a chaste kiss and adjusting so I sit with my back against his chest. His arms loop around my middle. "Are you happy, Belle?"

The question feels like a slap in the face because he's read me so well this past month and he's doing it again right now. Am I happy? Can I be happy? He desires to know, and for a brief moment there is such clarity in my feelings for him I feel as if my heart might burst. This has to be the beginnings of love. Of ardor.

"I'm not unhappy," I whisper, placing my head against his shoulder. "I...I think I could be happy, that we could be happy..."

He strokes my hair. "Did you always think so?"

I snort, recalling the night of the Match Banquet. "No... To be honest, I didn't want a Match to begin with, and when we were Matched, I was in denial. But when you looked at me with such affection after we'd received our silver boxes, I thought it could work. I thought I could be happy and love you."

A shaky exhale is his answer. Soon, I feel his lips press against the back of my neck, then his hot breath when he says, "You make me happy, my Belle." The possessiveness of his address has me reeling—not in a bad way but in a good one—and I twist my head to press a few swift kisses to his lips. Just as I sense his arms tightening and one of his hands creeping up my stomach, I wriggle away and grab a cookie.

He goes for one, too, but I decide to tease him and push it away from his reaching hand. The heat I've seen in his eyes this past week returns and he lunges again. Quick as lightning, I poke the plate of cookies away but instead of going for the tray cookies, like I first thought, he playfully shoves and pins me to the blanket. The cookie I took is lost somewhere in the grass. "Hey," I object, experiencing a rush of excitement when I try and sit up and am unable to do so. I can feel his lean, muscular frame against my chest. There's no doubt he can feel my body as well.

My heart thrums wildly when his right hand skims down my side. He bends down for a kiss and I figure it'll he languid and slow. I'm completely wrong.

The kiss Rumford gives me is all teeth and tongue, vivacious and hasty. It's wonderful, and I immediately hum in approval and join my tongue in the dance.

He pulls back too soon, smirking wildly. "Too easy," he murmurs and explains by taunting a cookie in front of my eyes. He must have snatched one while we were kissing.

"Oh you!" I giggle, trying to steal it when he rolls off. He sticks the whole thing is his mouth and raises his hands in surrender.

Once we settle down again, I recall his words. "You're truly happy I'm your Match?" I ask, plucking a corn cockle from a wild patch.

Rumford tucks a loose curl behind my ear. "Truly, I am." I turn to offer him another kiss but am interrupted by a soft alarm. He looks at his watch and frowns. "So soon?"

"What?"

He holds his watch out for me to see.

According to its hands, it's three o'clock. We have to start packing up if he wants to get me home by four like he promised. "I think your father would be very displeased if I got you home late," he says, "though I'm tempted to keep you here all day. You're cute when you admire the flowers."

I blush and he laughs, standing to offer me his hands. When I'm safely on my feet, he lets go and begins to repack the picnic basket. It will be considerably lighter to carry this time.

Just as he's about to pick it up and let me fold the blanket, I wrap my arms around his neck. He raises his eyebrows but doesn't object. "This was wonderful, Rumford. Thank you," I whisper, kissing him fiercely before pulling away.

"I—I'm—glad," he manages. It's hilarious when he clears his throat.

"You're cute when you're flustered."

"Oh don't you start."

Our laughter rings out in the meadow.