Page 158 of The Silver Fox Brother

The staff has everything ready. The table is set with crisp white linens, polished silverware, fresh flowers in a low arrangement that doesn't block the view. The chef appears briefly to greet us, assuring us everything is piping hot and prepared to perfection.

Knox pulls out my chair and I sit down, still buzzing from what just happened below deck. My body feels satiated, alive, completely wrapped up in the bubble we've created over the past two days.

The sun has just finished setting on the horizon, leaving only a thin sliver of gold peeking through the darkening sky. The water reflects the last of the light, creating this perfect romantic scene that feels almost too beautiful to be real.

The first course arrives—an amuse-bouche, delicate and artfully plated. I take a bite and the flavors explode on my tongue. Knox is watching me from across the table. He reaches his arm out and takes my hand, lifting it to his lips. He kisses the back of my hand gently, his eyes never leaving mine.

"This is incredible," I say.

"Good."

The staff brings out the second course—lobster tail with drawn butter and microgreens. The wine they've paired with it is fantastic, crisp and perfectly chilled.

Knox sets down his fork and leans back slightly.

"Have you traveled much? For pleasure, I mean. Not just work."

"Some. Paris a few years ago. That's where I fell in love with French cuisine. The food there is just..." I pause, searching for the right word.

"It's an experience, not just a meal."

Knox nods. "I spent three months in Japan about ten years ago. Best food I've ever had. There's this place in Tokyo, tiny restaurant, seats maybe eight people. The chef makes sushi right in front of you. Every piece is perfect. I still think about it."

"Three months? That's a long time."

"I was younger. Figuring things out. Decided to just disappear for a while and see the world."

"Where else did you go?"

"South America. Argentina, Chile. Europe—Paris, obviously. Barcelona. A few Michelin-starred places in Copenhagen." He takes a sip of wine.

"What about you? Where else have you been?"

"Italy. Rome, Florence, the Amalfi Coast. That was incredible. The architecture, the art, the food. I couldn't stop taking notes."

Knox smiles.

"Of course you were taking notes."

"I'm a designer. It's what I do,” I say, proudly.

The third course arrives—filet mignon with roasted vegetables and a red wine reduction. The meat is cooked perfectly, practically melting in my mouth.

The music playing softly in the background shifts to something even more mellow. The yacht rocks gently with the motion of the water. Everything feels calm, easy, like we're suspended in this perfect moment.

Knox is listening to me talk about a gallery I visited in Florence, asking questions that show he's actually paying attention. It's refreshing. Different.

I've seen Knox be confident, arrogant, full of bravado in professional settings. But in these intimate moments, I can see something else. He's thoughtful. Kind. He knows how to take care of someone who means something to him.

But what does this all mean?

The question lingers in my mind as I take another bite of the filet. Knox sets down his fork and looks at me.

"What's on your mind?"

I meet his eyes. "I guess this is coming to an end soon. The trip."

Technically, we're supposed to be flying back to New York tomorrow.