Chapter 17: Halftime

Brighton, England. July 19th, 1815.

If James was keeping track correctly of his one-on-one private outings with the ladies of the Selection, his afternoon with Lady Rebecca Howard was the tenth one. Considering the three ladies he had not met on the first day had all been sent home without meeting him because they were all sick or wanted to go home to convalesce, he had done more than half of the outings. Which put him in a rather excellent mood for his outing with the lady in question. They were strolling down Main Street side by side, the sun high in the sky despite the afternoon hour.

Lady Howard was wearing a soft blue dress of which the skirt was blowing in the wind, showing off her silhouette quite generously if one was watching. Her blond hair had been curled just so, with the front pieces tied back in an elaborate braid and held back with a hairpiece that could have been considered a piece of jewelry in itself. The lace parasol she was carrying over her shoulder to protect her unblemished pale skin matched the lace of her gloves.

Next to her, James was wearing a navy-blue suit with a matching top hat and a white cravat, along with shiny riding boots. Nothing too extravagant, of course, but it was dressy enough for promenading in town. And a few paces behind them, of course, was their Chaperone for the afternoon, Valery.

"Do you often come to Brighton, Your Highness?" Rebecca asked, keeping the conversation going.

"I used to come every summer growing up," he replied. "It has become my second home."

"Then we are most honored to be sharing the pavilion with you, sir." Her smile was most gracious, but James knew these kinds of smiles. He had been born and raised in the London Gentry, learning from a very young age the signs of practiced smiles and fake empathy. And from what he understood, Lady Howard had also been born and raised in that cruel jungle, learning the ins and outs of being a proper lady, claws and teeth and all.

"Of course, I am delighted to share my second home with you." He could actually feel Valery rolling her eyes behind them as she was listening to their conversation. She loathed polite small talk and fake smiles. He knew she would rather fake being ill than socialize in their usual circles and parties unless Marianne was in attendance.

"Oh, a bookstore," Rebecca said, pointing to their left and bringing James back to reality. "Would you mind greatly if we went inside? I have not set foot in a bookstore in such a long time."

"Of course," James replied. He went ahead of her to open the door for her and let her in as she closed her parasol and made her way to the wall covered in brand-new books. He watched her as she ran her gloved hand over the shiny spines, only stopping here and there to read a title or admire the craftsmanship of the binding.

"Do you read, Highness?" the lady asked, picking a book from a shelf and carefully paging through it.

"I can read, yes," James replied. He was in a teasing mood, ready to play a game of wits with Rebecca if the need arose.

"That was not what I meant," she said with an airy laugh. "What kind of literature do you read?"

James rested his shoulder against a small piece of uncovered wall. "Books." He tried not to laugh as Rebecca fought not to roll her eyes at him as he hoped the sarcasm in his voice was not too plain.

"Fine," she said, putting back the book. "You do not wish to converse with me. And I will be right all along, mark my words."

"Whatever about would you be right, Miss Ho- Lady Howard?" he asked, making the mistake on purpose. To be honest, he was having a lot of fun playing at her own game. Surely, she did not expect a gentleman to play by her rules.

The mistake in her title startled her quite a bit, but she recovered quickly. "You detest all of us and will only marry the one you hate least." With that, she turned on her heels and went out the door. Through the window, he saw her open her parasol and go across the street to the modiste. Near the door, Valery was covering her mouth with her gloved hand, trying not to laugh.

"You are in quite a good mood," she said. "I have not heard you tease someone like that in a long time."

James shrugged and shifted his hat on his head. "You are correct, I am in a good mood for once." He opened the door for her and followed her outside. "Val, I would wish to speak to you and Henry this evening about an important matter."

"Of course. Henry is still a little mad at you, so you better bring something to eat to ease his ire."

"Consider it done. We shall have a second desert together." They nodded at each other and crossed the street to wait for Rebecca just outside the shop. She came out a few minutes later with a parcel wrapped in brown paper and string. "Ah, Lady Howard," he said. "What delightful item have you found at the modiste?"

"I needed new evening gloves since Miss Delaney spilled wine on mine the other night." She popped open the parasol and the trio walked down the street without a word until they reached their carriage and drove back home. If Rebecca had it in mind that James detested them all, then he shall act like it with her. Whatever had gotten in her mind to think such a thought? He did not detest them. He simply was slow in getting to know them. Of course, there were some he preferred above others, but that did not mean he hated them.

/ / /

Private Parlor, Pavilion, Brighton, England. July 19th, 1815.

Later that same evening, Henry and his sister were waiting for the prince to come to join them in the parlor. He still was slightly mad at his friend for faking his runaway, but if he came with cake, he would forgive him.

"Do you have any idea what Jamie wants to talk about?" he asked Valery who was looking out the window at the lake. The moon had again broken into a million pieces like floating diamonds and Henry knew it was one of her favorite views of all time.

"No, not the slightest idea," she replied. "But I do think he wants to make amends with you."

"Why are you here, then?" he said. "No offense, but if he wishes to be forgiven by me, why does he need you here?"

"None taken," Valery assured him. "Again, I do not know–"

"I apologize for being late," the prince said, coming into the room. "One of the ladies was telling me a story about something or another and it would have been rude to just leave."

"Who was it?" Henry asked, as gossip was one of his favorite things. "And what was she saying?"

"Henry," Valery said. "Do not pry."

"Right, sorry." The Earl cleared his throat. "I see you brought cake. Excellent." As soon as he had said that he noticed his friend and his sister sharing a glance, but he did not make anything of it, already setting the late-night dessert on the table and cutting thick slices for them to eat. Val and Jamie joined him on the couches around the small coffee table and Henry gave them both a small plate with a piece of cake on it and a silver fork. "So, James, what did you want to talk about?"

The prince cut a piece of cake that he popped into his mouth. When he was done, he cleared his throat. "Two things," he said. "First, I wished to formally apologize for my runaway prank. I thought it would be fun to see how far you would go on your threat to have redcoats run after me. I see now that it was a most unwelcome prank, and I am sorry."

Henry nodded. "I have to admit that it is funny, now that we speak of it, but not so much during the moment. Apology accepted."

"Thank you."

The trio was silent for a moment, eating the cake, and waiting for the second thing James had come to say. But since Henry could not wait for a second longer, he had to ask.

"And what was the second thing you wished to talk about, my friend?"

"Ah, right." James put the half-eaten cake on the table and crossed his legs. "I think we should host a ball."

"A ball?" Henry exclaimed. "What a tremendous idea! I shall hire the best ensemble in Brighton to entertain with the music; and Val, you can see with the kitchen and the cooks to make the most sumptuous dinner yet! And– Oh…" he trailed off.

"What is it, brother?"

"We have but one problem," Henry replied, looking from Val to James to Val again. "We are seriously lacking in men." He looked at James. "You cannot possibly dance with all of them on your own and have everyone watch you dance, or…?"

"No, of course, not," James said. "But there is you as well, so that makes at least two of us, and do not tell me you will not dance because you love balls." He paused, but not long enough for Henry to pipe in. "And I am certain Clinton will provide us with some of his redcoat friends for the occasion. Lord knows they also need a break from time to time, do you not think?"

"Of course, yes," Henry said. "But the Ball should focus on you, so if the other male partners are simple soldiers, it should work!"

"Excellent," James said. He picked up his plate again to finish his cake. "I would also wish to have the ladies know so that they can prepare accordingly," he continued. "Think of it as a rite of passage: I wish to see how they fare in a formal ball setting, how good of a dancer each one of them is. One of them shall marry me, correct?"

"Yes, of course–"

"Then she will have to attend more parties and balls for a single lifetime. She needs to be adequate for the task."

"Yes!" Henry said. "Do not worry one bit, I will take care of everything."

"And we shall do it at the beginning of August. Say, August second?"

"Third!" Henry suggested. "It is my birthday, and I would be delighted to host that ball on the same day."

"Of course, August third it is, then."

"The only thing I ask of you," Henry said a little sheepishly, "is to convince your Captain Clinton to lend us some of his friends– the ones who can dance best, preferably." He paused. "That Captain has always frightened me quite a bit."

James nodded. "Consider it done." He took out his pocket watch and checked the time. "I shall retire now," he said, standing up. "Thank you for doing this." He bowed to both Henry and Val and was on his way. But just when he arrived at the doorframe he stopped and turned. "And Captain Clinton does not bite, Henry. He is actually quite docile most of the time."

"Heh," Henry laughed anxiously. "Most of the time… see? That is the problem." He watched as James smirked and walked away, leaving him and his sister alone with the rest of the cake. "Another slice, Val?"

"No, thank you."

"A ball." Henry laughed. "James asking for a ball? What has gotten into him?"

"I do not know," Valery replied, nibbling on her first piece of cake. "But he was in quite a good mood this afternoon, it is best to make the most out of it." She paused. "But you are right: James demanding we organize a ball is quite odd. Do you wish me to talk to him?"

"No!" Henry said, his eyes wide. "He demanded a ball, and a ball he shall receive. Let us not tamper with our luck just yet." He ate the rest of his second piece of cake in silence when suddenly an idea struck him. "Val, I have had the most brilliant idea! Let us invite the King and Queen to the ball!"

Valery's cheeks paled quite a bit at the mention of the monarchs. "No, the ladies are not near ready to meet them, and I am not certain James would be happy about the news."

"It shall be a surprise for everyone. As James said: a rite of passage! Let us see how the ladies fare in such royal presence." He paused. "And you still have two weeks to prepare your pupils for such an event." He stood to leave. "I shall go write to His Majesty right this minute and send the invitation first thing in the morning." And just like that, Henry was gone, leaving his sister alone in the parlor.

/ / /

Pavilion Grounds, Brighton, England. July 20th, 1815.

After spending so much time with other people and making sure everyone around her was feeling alright, Frederika Vaughan's own self-care reservoir was quite low and she needed some time alone to replenish herself. And there was no better way than an early morning ride to clear one's mind and lungs. As soon as dawn had made its appearance in the East, Frederika had hopped out of bed, put on a blue riding dress with black riding boots, and loosely braided her long dark brown hair down one shoulder. She would not need a hat for she was not going to meet anyone, anyway.

She was about to call for Flora, her Spaniel, when she remembered once again that she was not in Brighton with her. She had had to leave her with a broken heart back in Oxfordshire. Shaking her head at her silly forgetfulness, she opened the door as quietly as she could and tip-toed down the long corridor where all the other ladies were still sleeping; well, most of them anyway. She made her way outside to the stables and was surprised to see a groom or two already there, working.

"Good morning, Milady," one of them said. "Shall you be needing a horse, then?"

"Er, yes, please," she replied. She had been ready to saddle a horse herself, but since there was someone to it for her, the better. She watched as the young man took out a dark brown mare from a box and quickly and efficiently saddle her. in a matter of minutes, the horse was ready and Frederika was given a small stool to help get on the animal despite her long dress. She thanked the man and headed towards the lake and the woods.

Crickets and frogs had already started their morning song, but there was a light fog clinging to the dewy grass. She rode slowly, wanting to take in every second of her alone time as best she could, letting her horse go down the dirt path at its own pace. Frederika was completely lost in thought, though, and she did not hear another horse approaching.

"Lady Vaughan," the prince said, as she recognized his voice. "I did not expect to meet someone this early."

"Neither did I, Your Highness," she replied. "I heard you were an early riser, though."

"I usually am, yes." They rode side by side for a while, letting their horses walk however they wanted. "I do hope our deal still stands, Lady Vaughan," the prince said.

"Of course," she replied. "And I have kept notes on each of the ladies, keeping my ears and eyes open for you, just as you asked."

"Excellent. Shall we discuss this now, or do you need your notes?"

"Oh, no, we can most assuredly discuss this now, if you wish," she said. "I have a mental list of the most and the least suitable for you, sir. Depending on how they are with and around the Duchess, and also during etiquette lessons and other free moments."

"Oh, that is a quite complete observation, then," he remarked. "I shall ask Valery if she made the same lists as you."

Frederika laughed at that. "To be completely honest with you, I do not know whether to trust her judgment or not on the ladies. She seems a little… how do I put it…" she trailed off, looking for the right words.

"Unfocused?" the prince offered.

"Yes," Frederika agreed. "As if her heart and her mind are not entirely in the Selection."

"You are correct," Prince James said. "They are not. When my wife died, Valery lost her best friend as well. She has not been herself ever since."

"A have you," Frederika said softly. Having lost her beloved husband, too, she knew exactly how one felt after such a loss.

"Indeed."

They were silent for a moment, riding side by side as the sky slowly lit up and became pinker and brighter. She could feel the prince glancing at her from time to time, but she was content to simply be silent and let him restart the conversation when he was ready to do so.

"So, this list we were talking about?" the prince prompted.

"Yes," Frederika nodded. "Most of the ladies seem to be quite at ease with the Duchess; many of them have also lost a parent and they know what is it like, so those are perhaps closer to her. They relate more easily with your daughter. I believe Lady McLeod already told you that?"

James snorted. "She did, yes." He paused. "Though she was not wrong, I hate to be told I am not doing something right."

"Don't we all," Frederika murmured. "Miss Tudor is very fond of her as well, but I think you already know that too since you went on an outing all three of you." The prince nodded so she continued on her mental list. She paused, thinking. "But now that I think of it, the only lady who comes to mind that has very neutral feelings towards the duchess is Lady Rebecca Howard. I do not think I have seen her spending time with her."

"Hmm," James simply replied, as if he had expected as much of the lady in question. "And as for potential princesses?" he asked. "Do you think any would fill the role well?"

Frederika laughed. "For one who does not wish to marry again, you seem to be very inclined to finding a lady, sir."

"I will have to marry," he said. "But it will not be a love match, so I will see who fills best the requirements."

"I see," the Dowager replied. "You are looking for a business partner, then."

"Something in the like, yes."

Frederika quickly went through her mental list. "Then if you want a lady who will adapt well to royal life and be adequate for the role of princess of England, I would suggest Lady Rebecca Howard, Lady Louise Grierson, Lady Letitia Davies, or Lady Yvaine McIntyre." She paused, watching the prince's expression at the mention of each of them – one from each country, no less – but he remained quite stoic. "I am certain there would be a few others, but those are the first who come to mind."

"Thank you," he said. "I have yet to go on a private outing with Lady McIntyre, so I cannot agree or disagree with you on her, but the others I could understand your reasoning." He paused and looked at her. "What about you?" he said, his brown eyes boring into hers. "I suppose you have not put yourself in either list of yours."

"Me?" she said, quite surprised. "I thought I told you I did not wish to marry again."

"Neither do I, but here I am."

Frederika looked ahead of her, her cheeks somewhat turning hotter by the second. Of course, she had not considered herself; she was merely a spy for His Royal Highness. She decided she would not consider herself because she would rather stay a widow and Dowager Countess than be the princess of England. "I do not wish to be considered."

"Very well," prince James said rather flatly. Was he disappointed? Frederika thought that was a silly thought and quickly pushed it away.

"What about you, sir: any favorites?" she asked trying to veer the conversation in another direction.

"I have yet to meet everyone properly," he answered. And with that, the subject was closed and they rode in silence for quite some time, already circling back around the lake and towards the pavilion. Upon arrival at the stables to give their horses back to the grooms, Prince James murmured some sort of thanks for the company and then he was on his way, leaving Frederika alone.

She still could not decipher the prince's flat answer and why the conversation had so abruptly stopped. Now she dreaded meeting the prince again for their private outing they had yet to do. Would he still keep his end of the bargain and give her back her place in society untouched? Only time would tell…

/ / /

Pavilion Kitchen, Brighton, England. July 20th, 1815.

For the next private moment with one of the ladies, James had been quite surprised to see what Henry wrote on his list next to the lady's name: The Lady wishes to bake a cake with you. I'm dreadfully sorry.

James snorted. The last time Marianne has suggested they bake her mother's recipe for plum pudding, it had turned into a pudding battle in the palace kitchens and the cooks had not been very happy about it. Of course, his father had heard about it and he had not been happy at all either.

James was not sorry to bake a cake, for it could be rather fun and a nice change of scenery. But for Henry? He would much rather eat the cake than bake it. Getting his hands dirty was the last thing on his list.

So that was why he was waiting just outside the kitchens for his companion to join him. Soft footsteps echoed down the hall and he looked up as the young blonde woman came his way.

"Lady Herbert," James said, bowing his head to her.

"Your Highness." Dorothea curtsied. To his surprise, she was not wearing trousers for once.

"I see you have opted for the traditional dress," James said, teasing her.

"Yes," Dorothea replied, straightening the skirt. "I wear as much one as the other." She paused. "But to be honest, all my trousers and waistcoats are with the laundry maid, Miss Sylëa."

"Ah, I see." He pushed the door open for her. "Shall we?"

Dorothea nodded and they entered the kitchen, where the whole staff was already waiting for them in two straight lines. They bowed and curtsied in unison to the prince and the chef approached them.

"Highness," he said. "It is an honor to have you in our humble kitchen. Mister Campbell, here, my second, will guide you through the baking of the cake, just as his Lordship requested."

"Most kind of you," James said to the Second in Command.

The redhead second nodded without a word and urged them to follow him out of the main kitchen to a smaller one. "The staff needs the big one for tonight's dinner," he said, "but we will be using the servant's kitchen this afternoon."

"Excellent," Dorothea said. "We would not want to be in the way."

"Of course not," the man said rather dryly. From what James could read between the lines, he was not very happy to babysit them both for the afternoon. But unless lady Herbert knew her way around a foreign kitchen and knew how to bake a cake from scratch, they would most definitely need his help if they were not going to burn the whole palace down and make something somewhat edible.

"Do you have the recipe written down somewhere?" the lady asked. "And if you gave us all the ingredients, I am certain we can do without your help."

It was not meant to jest, merely to take away the babysitting duty off the poor man, but he eyed her suspiciously. "His lordship expressively demanded I stay with you both the whole afternoon. For chaperoning and all that."

"I see," James said. "Well, I outrank Lord Windsor, so if I tell you we do not need to be chaperoned, you may leave us."

The chef snorted. "Is that a royal command, then, sir?"

"Would it help it if was?" James asked.

"Yes."

"Then it is a royal command."

"Very well," the cook said. He took out the recipe from his pocket, showed them all the ingredients that had already been laid out for them on the wooden table, the utensils they would need, and put his hand on his hips, eyeing them both. "I will be right over there if you need anything," he said, "and I will come to see how you are doing from time to time." With that, he bowed and went to the big kitchen, leaving James and Dorothea alone in the small one.

"That was easy," Lady Herbert said. "It must come quite in handy to be able to brandish royal commands all the time."

James leaned against the table. "I do not use it all the time like that," he admitted, "but he was already getting on my nerves and I could plainly tell he did not wish to be here." He paused and looked at the torture instruments on the table. "Do you even know how to bake a cake, Lady Herbert?"

She looked at the bowls and whisks and spoons, and then the eggs, flour, sugar, and milk. "How hard can it be?" she mumbled. She took the recipe and read the first line, which was to measure 250 grams of flour. Without a word, she went about to do just that while James watched in silence as she worked also in silence, following the recipe.

"You know," James said. "I would not have thought an artist such as you would want to bake a cake."

"Why ever not?"

"Following a recipe does not let your mind wander." He paused. "Did you not tell me you lacked inspiration at the moment? Or have you found it again?"

Dorothea shrugged. "You would be surprised how doing something very organized yet simple helps with clearing the mind. And doing something out of one's comfort zone also helps."

"I see. I have never tried that."

"Then you should." She handed her an egg. "Do you want to crack it?"

James eyed the brown egg. "No thank you." So his baking companion simply shrugged and did the dirty work herself. He let her work in silence until the batter was mixed and poured into the ceramic baking pan. Dorothea then called the chef.

"We are done and ready to bake it, sir."

Chef Campbell looked at the uncooked cake and at the ingredients on the table. "Did you put salt in it?"

"Of course not. Why would we?"

The man sighed. "Because it is written right here," he replied, pointing at the line on the recipe.

Dorothea looked at the paper and frowned. "I must have skipped that line– why would there be salt in a dessert?"

"To bring out the rest of the flavors. Your cake is going to be bland." He plastered a fake smile onto his face and took the pan. "I shall put it into the heated oven in the big kitchen and it should be ready in about an hour."

"Thank you," James said, dismissing the annoying man. When he was gone and they were alone again, he shook his head in dismay. "Would it kill him to be at least polite?"

"Can you believe there is salt in a cake?" Dorothea said, ignoring his remark.

"No, I have to admit it is quite surprising." He sat on the wooden bench he had just pulled from under the table and leaned his elbows on the table. "So, did baking a cake trigger your inspiration?" he asked.

Dorothea pulled out the other bench and sat across from him, mirroring his position. "Not really, no."

"What do you usually like painting?" he prompted, trying to see if he could help her find some semblance of inspiration during her stay in Brighton.

"I love ancient legends – such as Ancient Greek tales or fairytales – and wildlife." She paused. "My last painting was of Apollo and Daphne, but I have not painted in months since."

"I see." He rubbed his chin which was becoming quite itchy– he wondered when was the last time he had shaven and it must have dated back a couple of days. "Would a tour of the pavilion help? While the cake is baking, I mean."

"Yes!" she said, perking up. "That would be just what I need, I suppose." She followed him out of the kitchen and they walked around the places that were not private, especially the rooms adorned with wall frescos, paintings of all kinds, and even ancient vases and foreign statues.

"My grandfather was a collector of arts," he explained at some point, to which Dorothea replied that he must have been a very interesting man. "He most certainly was." They continued their tour, and Dorothea stopped in front of a large framed painting of a monarch dressed in the fanciest outfit, with a lady sitting in a chair a little to his left in front of him, and he had his hand on her shoulder.

"Who is this?" she asked.

"That was my great-great-great grandfather and his wife, King Albert the Second and Queen Antonia of Prussia." His eyes fell on the young woman in the painting. "I believe it was painted between 1660 and 1670, around one hundred and fifty years ago."

"They look so innocent and young," she said almost reverently.

"They were," he replied. "If my memory serves right, it was painted when they came back from their honeymoon, just a couple of years before being crowned King and Queen.

They were both silent as they looked at the painting for a long moment. "You know," she finally said, breaking the silence. "I think I have an idea of what to paint."

"What is it?"

"If you will allow me, I wish to paint you as Prince Charming, and the woman you shall marry as Cinderella."

James tried not to laugh: she did not need to know he had no intention of marrying, let alone finding a 'Cinderella'. "Is that even an ancient legend?"

"You would be surprised how old a tale Cinderella is," she said. "Will you allow me, then?"

"Of course."

/ / /

Pavilion Gardens, Brighton, England. July 21st, 1815.

James had spent an hour with Miss Felicity Hathaway, drinking tea on a checkered blanket in the gardens, under a large tree for shade. She had worn his ear off talking about her four sisters who all got married after only one Season. She talked lengthily about their matches and their weddings, and James wanted to tune her out, but it would be quite rude, indeed. She did not speak about herself, but James remembered quite distinctly that she had mentioned having participated in four Seasons already without finding a match. Or was it Valery that had told him? He could not remember.

After a while, though, he knew he had to do it. "Miss Hathaway," he managed to say in the midst of her monologue. "I know you came here to find love and marry, but you will not find that with me."

"I–"

"True love is a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and mine has already come and gone," he said. "I do not wish to bring your hopes up."

"Of course, not," Felicity replied. She looked away, swallowing tears. "I knew it was a long shot, coming here, and competing with many other ladies." She smoothed out a pleat in her skirt. "I thought coming here would help me find a good match when I came back home, but now I am afraid that being rejected by a prince will make it even worse. Because if I am not good enough for a prince, then who am I good enough for?" She looked up at James then, unshed tears brimming her eyes, which made James' stomach clench. She was not wrong, but of course, he could not tell her that.

"True love is worth waiting for, Miss Hathaway," he said instead. "And I am certain yours will come along at a moment you will not expect."

"Thank you," she replied. "But I am beginning to think it will never come." She paused. "Should I go pack my trunk, then?"

James pursed his lips. "I am afraid so, yes." He paused. "Miss Hathaway, I am dreadfully sorry, but you must have known only one would marry me; the rest would go home, right?" No use telling her he had a group of friends coming over to marry some of them, now. He doubted any one of them would fancy her anyway, which was quite awful to think about.

Felicity nodded. "I know, yes," she said softly.

James stood and offered her his gloved hand to help her get up as well. "I shall ask Henry to organize a carriage and an escort back home."

"Thank you," she said again, meekly. She curtsied and walked away without looking back, her head held high. James, on the other hand, felt awful and he needed a strong drink. Felicity had been the first one he had sent home without it being a family emergency or an illness of some kind, and he was glad there would not be many more. At least he hoped not, since he was counting on his friends coming to his aid. At least some of them, anyway…


hiii! ooof, another long-ish chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it! also, did you see the little cameo for the 100th review? hehe.

anyway, thanks for reading, sticking with me, and reviewing! let me know what you thought of these dates and these impromptu moments and late-night desserts ;) see you in the next chapter! byeee!