|Sunday Afternoon on the Island of the Grand-Jatte, by Georges Seurat|
Veronique nonchalantly twirled her parasol as she surveyed the picnickers before her. They were all there. The Smith family, with their snotty, rude little boy, was just a few yards to her left. To her right were the Blot sisters, gossiping, no doubt.
"Sweetheart, there's my friend Marie," she said. "Would you mind watching the dogs for a moment while I go say hello?"
Beneath the chafing wire of her hoop skirt, the bomb was heavy, its weight pulling the lace of the corset that affixed it to Veronique's body. She handed the leashes to her husband and smiled at him gratefully before stepping away, glancing around her, looking for the perfect grassy spot to sit down.