Standing at the corner of the ballroom, ladies and gentlemen are crowding in the middle under the glint of the chandelier, ready to waltz around in a senseless romantic song. Your lips are already at the rim of your glass of champagne — not until a palm lowered the glass and held his arm towards you with a gentle smile to invite you to the middle, it seems.   But he dragged you out among the crowd to a quiet little place in the back garden of the mansion. A blanket was laid under a tree, and a picnic basket was a bountiful feast. He poured you a glass of wine, watching the pond reflect the mansion lights.   Then he goes and spoils it all by saying something stupid like, “I love you." He can see it in your eyes that you despise the same old lies he told you years before. You thought it's just a line when he left you all alone in the sombre of cascading water the night like this before.