She felt slightly off center, somewhat unsteady on her feet, and guessed that her water had indeed been laced with something.

The sporadic exterior lights revealed that the property held five expansive greenhouses and what appeared to be an office building. Through the glass of the greenhouses, she could see that one of them was filled with mannequins.

What’s going on here?

“Blake’s waiting for you inside.” Her driver pointed toward the office building. “You first.”

He didn’t pat her down. Didn’t even bother.

She didn’t see any sign that Greer had followed her.

Good. He was doing his job and staying out of sight.

++++

Our wine arrived.

In keeping with Christie’s tradition, we ordered dessert first while we considered our entrée options. I chose the Délices d’amande, which the translation app on my phone told me was “almond delight.” The menu described it as Roasted almond mousse, whipped vanilla cream, shaved almond, and tuile.

I didn’t know what “tuile” was, but everything else sounded good, and I figured that at this price, whatever tuile was, it would fit in there with those other items in a tasty way.

Christie chose La douce évasion, the “sweet escape,” which the menu told us was Warm chocolate ganache, brandied cherries, and Tahitian vanilla ice cream.

Benjamin looked a bit confused. “And you are saying that you wish for me to bring the dessert out before the main dish?”

“Yes. Please,” Christie told him.

“And no appetizers?”

“If we have room we’ll order them after our meal.”

“Yes, of course.” He spoke respectfully but was clearly curious about our backward ordering process. “As you wish.”

After he left, I offered a toast. “To our future together.”

Christie paused slightly, but then she smiled and tapped her wineglass against mine. “To our future together.”

After we’d both taken a drink, I said, “Well?”

“Well?”

“The wine. What do you think?”

“I think it’s worth the price.”

I wasn’t entirely convinced, but she was much more of a wine connoisseur than I was, so I took her word for it.

“Oh.” She took out her phone. “I wanted to show you some pictures from the monastery.”

She scrolled to them and was about to hand the phone across the table when she must have realized that it would be easier to describe the photos if she was seated next to me, because she scooted her chair around the edge of the table until she was by my side.

The first picture showed the inside of the church—a simple, vacant space with an area up front designated for the monks and another, farther back, for parishioners or those who might be worshipping with them.

“Did you join the monks in their chanting and prayer times?” I asked her.

“Not too much.”

“Were they in Latin?”