One Perfect Summer

cream-coloured mansion punctuated with row upon row of arched windows. Snow is melting on the roof and I can make out occasional flashes of red tiling underneath. The lawn and flowerbeds are covered with snow, but nonetheless, after our trip to Wimpole Hall all that time ago, I know that the lawn edges will be perfectly trimmed, with scissors.
    ‘It’s beautiful,’ I murmur in awe.
    ‘It’s home,’ he says drily.
    The driver pulls up and comes around to open my door. I step onto the snow-crusted gravel and look up at the enormous house. I see movement at one of the windows, but when I look harder there’s no one there. I shiver inadvertently. It’s cold and I took my coat off for the journey. Lukas joins me at my side of the car and guides me towards the door. I’ve had my hair cut – although it still comes to well past my shoulders – and a hairdresser blow-dried it straight this morning before our flight. I’m wearing a long, chocolate-coloured woollen skirt, with brand-new brown leather boots that Lukas bought for me especially for this trip, along with a designer coat and scarf. He wants me to look my best, but I’m under no illusions that his family will fall for my charms.
    The door opens before we reach it. A man in his forties, smartly dressed in a black suit, bows and welcomes home ‘Herr Heuber’ and his guest. We step into a grand, double-height hall. The ceiling glints with gold and I look up to see figures carved in stone around the edges. I feel like I’m dreaming.
    Lukas speaks in German, but I understand that he’s asking the whereabouts of his parents. From what I gather, they’re joining us for tea later. We follow the butler – if that’s who he is – up the sweeping staircase and along an opulent gilded corridor. He opens a door and I’m taken aback to see that my suitcase is already in the room. The driver must’ve taken a short cut through another part of the house. Lukas says something to the butler and he bows his way out of the room. I hurriedly thank him in German before he closes the door.
    ‘Wow,’ I say to Lukas, sinking down onto the bed. ‘Where’s your bag?’ I ask with confusion.
    ‘I’m in the family wing at the other side of the house.’
    I instantly feel a pang of homesickness. I’ve been here only five minutes, but I already miss him.
    ‘Are these the guest quarters?’ I ask.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Are we not allowed to sleep in the same room, then?’ This feels like a lonely place to be.
    ‘No. Not until we’re married,’ he says poignantly.
    Since that day, back in September, he hasn’t spoken of marriage. At first it was a relief, then it just felt surreal, almost as though the conversation had never happened. He hasn’t brought up Joe, either.
    I walk to the window and look out. I’m bothered by the room revelation. His mother knew we’d been sleeping together when she came to visit almost two and a half years ago. She hasn’t returned since, but surely she knows we’ve been living together for nearly two years. Things are obviously serious between us. I take a deep breath and try not to let it get to me. My room overlooks the back gardens. There’s a rectangular, man-made lake directly behind the house, and beyond that is a natural lake that seems to reach for miles.
    ‘We go waterskiing in the summer,’ Lukas says and I jump at his voice because I didn’t realise he was right behind me.
    ‘Sounds fun.’
    We’re going skiing in a few days. I’ve never skied before and I’m slightly dreading it. I’m not sure I’d fare any better at waterskiing. I look back at the lake in the garden. It’s frozen and there are swans walking on it.
    ‘Hah!’ I point. ‘Look at those swans!’
    He chuckles and pulls me away from the window.
    ‘I’d better go and get changed,’ he says. ‘I’ll come and get you before we go downstairs.’
    ‘I’m scared,’ I admit.
    ‘Don’t be,’ he says gently, kissing me on my nose. I kiss him on his lips, not wanting him to leave. He slowly pulls away.
    ‘Can I come with you?’ I ask desperately.
    He regards me with amusement.
    ‘Do you really have to get changed?’ I know I sound a bit manic. ‘Am I supposed to get changed? I hope not, because this is my best outfit.’
    ‘You look beautiful,’ he says.
    ‘You look fine too,’ I tell him. ‘You don’t really need to change, do you?’
    I kiss him and push him onto the bed. He starts to laugh and tries to get up again, but I keep