He tore his eyes from the view of the acropolis and turned to look at her-
And froze, seeing her not as Anne, but as his beloved, robed in silk and linen, flowers woven through her hair.
He stumbled to his feet, his tongue feeling swollen, incapable of speech. But even as he all but tripped to stand for her, his body reacted with the manners his mother had drilled into him as a child. "Anne," he whispered, pulling her chair out for her and offering her the flowers almost as if he wasn't sure which to do first. It was then that he noted that the woman in his vision, the woman that seemed to be occupying the same space as this stunning creature now seated at his table, was wearing the same flowers as were in the bouquet.