EVELYN
I didn’t know what to expect when Dante said we were going for a picnic, but this? This was not it.
Chandeliers dripped from the ceiling like glass vines, stretching as far as the eyes could see. An impossibly long dining table stood in the center, groaning under the weight of a feast. Waiters moved in synchronized silence, filling wine glasses and adjusting flower arrangements. Roses and lilies spilled across the table like something out of a dream or a very well-funded nightmare.
“We’re indoors,” I whispered to Dante. “I thought you said we were going for a picnic. This looks like a feast for a thousand people.”
He glanced down at me, the corner of his mouth lifting into a half-smile. “Did I say it would be outside?”
“You said ‘picnic.’ That implies blankets, sun, ants trying
