I’d been in my fair share of taxi cabs and ride shares before, so sitting in the back seat with a driver up front wasn’t exactly a new experience. The uniformed driver and the car itself, however, turned a mundane ride into something almost magical. I felt like a fairy-tale princess, rescued from my hovel to slip through the city in a chariot covered in buttery-soft leather, brought out beyond the world I knew.

Dense greenery and spacious lawns flew past the window, and every so often I would glimpse a palatial mansion, tucked far back from the road. Beyond them, Lake Michigan glittered in the evening light.

Unable to resist, I rolled down my window to breathe the clean air in through my nose, inhaling the perfume of a million blooming flowers. My hair whipped behind me, tousling my carefully-combed curls, but I couldn’t find it in me to care. It was all too beautiful, too perfect. The sun and the water and the acres upon acres of green harmonized together, calling me out into nature.

For a brief moment, I almost regretted accepting the dinner invitation. I would much rather run barefoot through the miles of green than sit in a loud, stuffy restaurant trying to make conversation with the all-powerful Mr. Dane.

The car pulled off the road onto a private lane lined with willow trees. Their ancient, dusty aroma filled my nostrils, lulling me into a happy calm as we traveled deeper into the hidden property.

Between the trees, I caught glimpses of hedges, statuary, and water, and with a pang of guilt, I wondered how much a dinner for two in a place as hidden and elite as this would cost. Chuckling at my own ethical quandary, I reminded myself that Mr. Dane could have bought the whole of Chicago if he had a mind to. A simple dinner would not put a dent in his bank account.

“Here we are, miss,” the driver said as we pulled into a circular drive at the end of the lane. “Oh, no, allow me!”

I froze halfway to the door handle, then awkwardly put my hands in my lap. I had never been accustomed to having doors opened for me, and I wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it. Once he had opened my door and taken my hand to lift me out, however, the question vanished. I had been transported to a fairy wonderland, and it was all I could do to take it all in.

“Thank you,” I said vaguely.

He tipped his hat and returned to the car. Before I could ask what I was meant to do, he had pulled around the cul-de-sac and was driving away.

I forgot my anxiety as I stepped forward, toward a beautifully gnarled cherry tree. It was one of many which lined the paved circle, spreading their branches over intricately designed white benches and small tables. I was drawn through them toward the bubble of trickling water and the overwhelming aroma of flowers in full bloom.

The path I walked glittered with shells and crystals, emphasizing the luscious extravagance of these gardens. I turned a soft corner in the path, and my breath caught in my throat. There he was, striking and dripping with class, checking an antique pocket watch beneath the bowl of a massive fountain carved into the shape of a pair of lovers, caught in the second before a passionate embrace.

“Mr. Dane?” I said hesitantly.

He looked up at me and his chiseled features split into a grin. “Right on time,” he said with uncharacteristic warmth. “Welcome.”

“Where are we?” I asked.

All I wanted to do was look at him, but my eyes were filled with the biggest roses I had ever seen, and jewel-colored humming birds zipping to and fro between lazy lacy butterflies. The deep azure of the evening sky set the perfect backdrop for the splashes of color, giving me the illusion that I had stepped into a painting.

“My gardens, of course,” Mr. Dane said, shining with pride.

“Your gardens?”

I couldn’t believe it. I was dreaming, I had to be. Real life never worked out like a fairy tale. Although, I admitted, a fairy tale would only end one way. Somehow, in spite of the magical moment, I couldn’t imagine that Mr. Dane was the Prince Charming in my own personal narrative. He and I weren’t even close to being on the same level.

My favorite little black dress and low velvet heels seemed shabby beside his expensive blue suit, and dull beside the abundance of flowers. I was very much out of my element, but I didn’t mind all that much. I could easily grow comfortable in this gently managed wilderness.

“Yes,” he said with an easy smile. “My house is this way. Do you mind walking?”

“Not at all,” I breathed, still absorbing the beauty around me. “Have you always lived here?”

“I have lived in many places around the globe,” he said, offering me his elbow. “But yes. Dane Park has always been my home.”

I wouldn’t have thought him capable of the comfortable aura he exuded in these gardens. The intense energy I had felt in his presence that morning had retreated, flowing like an undertow beneath his contentment.

I suddenly became acutely aware of a desire to explore those depths and find out everything that made this man tick. I had assumed, as most of us at work did, that Mr. Dane was a fierce, spoiled man, and invariably shallow. Within moments of meeting him where he lived, that illusion had begun to fade.

“It’s so beautiful,” I sighed happily as bluebells overflowed their plot to caress my ankle. “I can see why you call this home.”

He smiled at me, a spontaneous expression free of calculation. Thin lines crinkled around his silvery eyes, drawing my focus there. His eyes were like mirrors, reflecting the colors of the garden around us, illuminated from within.

What is your light, Mr. Dane? What is your darkness? The questions trembled on my lips, and I swallowed them. Indecipherable, invasive questions would put a quick end to this experience, I believed, and I wanted it to last.

His arm was cool electricity beneath my hand, vibrating with understated power. Around the next bend sat an intricate table, twisted into a white trunk topped with a tangle of branches which held up the crystal-lined glass top. Two cushioned chairs sat on either side of it, each looking over a dome-lidded silver platter and a bottle of wine chilling in a bucket of ice. Great oak trees rose up on two sides of the table, protecting it beneath their tightly-woven canopy of green.

“I enjoy having my meals outside whenever I get the opportunity,” he explained as he pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit. “The sky view from my office doesn’t quite fulfill my need.”

“This is perfect,” I breathed, gazing up at the natural ceiling. “Much better than a stuffy, overpriced restaurant.”

Mr. Dane chuckled. “I agree,” he said. “I avoid those places like the plague. No five-star chef can compare to my Mrs. Collins, and I much prefer to eat in peace.”

He poured my wine and removed the lid from the platter before me. My mouth instantly began to water. A fresh salad topped with small cubes of fruit and clusters of candied nuts competed with buttery scallops and lobster tail for my attention, while small dishes framed the core of the meal. Grapes, stuffed olives, wedges of citrus, and berries nestled in clouds of whipped cream sparkled around the edge of the platter, enticing me with their sweet and sharp scents.

“Is the food acceptable?” Mr. Dane asked with a worried frown. I realized that I had been staring at the platter for an awkward length of time.

“Oh, yes! It’s perfect,” I told him earnestly. “It’s just that I’ve never seen so many good things all in one place before.”

“Don’t strain yourself to finish it all,” he said with a smile. “Mrs. Collins has a tendency to go overboard, especially when my dinner companion is a charming young woman. I do believe she’s trying to marry me off.”

Well, it’s working, I thought as I sampled the magnificent salad. All it would take now would be two glasses of wine and a proper proposal, then I wouldn’t be able to resist.

“I generally avoid talking shop at the dinner table,” he said as he started his lobster. “But I value your opinion in this case, and I feel that a casual conversation over dinner is sometimes more fruitful than a formal interview. Do you agree?”

“Oh, yes,” I said with an emphatic nod. “I never could keep a secret from my mother if she put a plate of something delicious in front of me first.”

His eyes twinkled brightly, and my heart skipped a beat.

“The problem I am facing is one of image,” he continued. “And unfortunately, it is beginning to affect my sales. My executives tell me that I need to appear to be a warm, approachable, family man, which is nearly the opposite of how the public perceives me currently.

“I took the liberty of looking over your work history with the company. You seem to have a knack for understanding people beneath the surface level—children especially—but also their parents.

“So tell me, Miss Marshall…if I were your newest project and your goal was to make me not only a palatable product, but a desirable one, to mothers and fathers, how would you go about it?”

I washed down a bite of rich lobster with the last of my wine, and he immediately refilled my glass. The garden, the food, and the warm buzz of alcohol had lowered my defenses and emboldened my tongue, and I studied him carefully from across the table.

“In your case—in most cases, actually—simply rebranding the product will not help. The things you want can’t be affected; they need to come from the heart.”

He glanced away, the shadow of a scoff crossing his face. It ran deeper than disagreement, and piqued my curiosity; still, I pressed on.

“I mean it,” I insisted. “If you blossom overnight from a severe business mogul to a cuddly family man, without any sort of visible evolution, without any real changes to your life, people will see right through it. Nobody will believe that you have changed, and the deception alone will tank your sales farther. People don’t like to be deceived, Mr. Dane.”

“That, I can agree with,” he said, tipping his glass to clink mine. He stroked his perfectly shaped, strong jaw. “As a matter of fact, it was that spark of reality which drew me to you for the part of the mother. Do you have children, Miss Marshall?”

“No,” I admitted with a regretful sigh. “But that spark wasn’t conjured. I want children desperately; I always have. I’ve seen myself as a mother-in-training since I was barely out of diapers myself.”

He raised his eyebrows, and the glint in his eyes took on a new layer of interest. “So, if I may be so bold…why haven’t you had children?”

I sipped my wine, slowly and deeply. The buzz rising from my belly to my head loosened my tongue on my secrets, the power differential between myself and Mr. Dane momentarily forgotten.

“My plan was always to do things the traditional way,” I said, absently stirring berries around in their cream. “Fall in love, get married, have children, stay home with them. But these days, finding men who want the same thing is difficult; and those who have wanted it, wanted it for all the wrong reasons. They wanted the economic power, the control which they imagined they would have in that dynamic. Some of them were upfront about it. Some of them…”

I shook my head at the painful memory.

“Some of them don’t show their true colors until it’s almost too late. After my last disastrous relationship, I started playing with alternative ideas. Adoption, genetic donation…but those are expensive alternatives, and I am terrible with managing money. Managing anything, really,” I finished ruefully, picturing the cluttered disaster in my apartment.

“I finally accepted the fact that I am not cut out to be a single parent. I can barely keep my own ducks in a row. Adding ducklings to that just seems like a recipe for failure.”

“So, what you need is a man who will allow you to master parenting and managing a house, who is secure enough to not oversee your every move, and who will provide for the children he gives you.”

“It doesn’t sound like much, does it?” I asked with a wistful smile. “But I guess it is.”

He watched me thoughtfully for a long moment, and I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. I realized suddenly that we had shifted gears from his problems to mine, and I wasn’t entirely sure how that happened. I frowned at my champagne flute, blaming it for my confusion.

“Are you satisfied with your meal?” he asked me.

“Oh yes, it was wonderful, and incredibly filling. I can’t eat another bite.”

“Neither can I. Let’s take a walk while it settles, shall we?”