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The cool air brushes against my skin, carrying the slight chill of the ocean.
The concrete rail is cool and rough against my palms as I grip it firmly, my gaze fixed on the expansive view before me. The full, silvery moon casts a mystical glow over the ocean's surface, illuminating the ripples and waves in a mesmerizing dance.
The salty sea air fills my nostrils, mixed with the fresh scent of the island. The faint smell of grilled seafood wafts up from the grill below, lobsters for him, steak for me, being prepared for our dinner, adding to the ambiance of the evening. I can hear the staff’s quiet chatter as they prepare our meal.
The anticipation of dinner makes my mouth water, as I can almost taste the savory aromas wafting from below. After all the sun and sea of the day, I'm starving. As my mouth anticipates the meal, I think of what could come for dessert and my body shivers, my pussy wet.
Should have worn panties.
There's a knock on the bedroom door. That will be the staff come to set out dinner for two on the balcony where I stand. I can't wait to see how they'll set the table, how they will create the ambiance for this romantic dinner I ordered for us.
I turn to face the door, my heart racing with excitement. I quickly make my way back into the bedroom and open the door. Standing before me is a young woman from the mainland, dressed in a crisp, white uniform. She greets me with a warm smile and introduces herself as Olive, the head server for tonight's dinner.
“Please, come in.” Several other young people dressed similarly carry in the goods they’ll need. The table is set with a white cloth and napkins, vases of flowers, red poppies that grow on the island, and taper candles that are quickly blown out by the breeze and replaced with fat white candles set in tall, wide, glass hurricane holders.
I stand in the doorway, watching as they glide around the balcony with ease, carrying silver trays filled with dishes of food. My mouth waters at the sight of steaming lobster tails, perfectly grilled steak, and an assortment of sides and sauces.
Olive dismisses the others and puts a few final touches on the table. I’m impressed by her attention to detail and professionalism. For a moment I’m reminded of Mom. She always sets a beautiful table.
It’s time for me to do those things now, for my own family, to carry on the tradition.
Finished, Olive turns to me with a friendly smile. "Is there anything else you need, Mrs. Bachman?" she asks.
I shake my head. “No, not Mrs. yet.”
“Oh! I’m so sorry. I’d assumed you and Paolo—he’s a friend of the family’s—I thought you were—it’s just you two together, you two look like the perfect—” She stops herself, realizing her unprofessionalism. “You know what, never mind.”
“It’s okay.”
But her words, her assumptions, they make a funny feeling join the butterflies in my tummy. As she leaves, I take a moment to admire the beautiful setup before turning back to face the ocean. I sink back into the cushioned chair, dwelling on my nerves. As I play with my bangles, I grill myself.
Is it too romantic? Have I overstepped? Was it silly of me to think he would want to have a dinner like this?
I look around the balcony. It's much more like a date than a dinner.Why have I done this for him? When I’m meant to meet another man, one I could marry and have a life with, have a family with. A man looking to settle down.
With one woman.
Instead, I did this for Savage, the serial non-monogamous dude with the heated gaze and magical tongue. There’s no more time to dwell on it, though, because now he’s standing there in the doorway.
I pop up from my seat. “I didn’t realize you’d come in. Sorry!”
He slips into the open seat across from me, taking in the table, the food, the flowers, and candles. “Wow. They really outdid themselves for you. Princess of the Mafia. I’ve never gotten this treatment when I’ve been here before.”
“It wasn’t…I mean…I?—”
“My favorite whiskey!” He grabs the bottle, looking at the label. “They thought of everything.” He pours a generous glass. And I just watch.
He’s dressed up tonight. For me? Or out of polite habit? He’s wearing a crisp white shirt, those gold cuff links I find so sexy. His ice clinks against his glass as he lifts it to his nose for a deep inhale. The smile he gives me has me trembling inside. “Heaven.”
I pour myself a glass of the white wine I’ve had chilling in the marble chiller. He takes a sip of his and I follow suit, letting the cold, tangy wine slide down my throat.
He holds the crystal glass in his hand, not ready to let it go. He swirls the amber liquor around as he assesses me. “You were looking pretty serious there when I walked in. What’s on your mind?”
You. Me. Nothing. Everything.
Time to change the subject. “I’ve got some good news,” I say. “Let’s eat first, though.”
I watch him as he enjoys the buttery lobster, the asparagus, the potatoes, all his favorites that I secretly researched and ordered for him. And him with no idea I’ve done this for him. I can barely touch my steak—cooked separately because of my seafood allergy—I’m so out of sorts with myself, wondering what it is I think I’m doing.
