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“Okay …” I hopped in the back of the SUV, curious about the change. “Where are we going?”
Marco drove, then glanced at me in the rearview mirror with a grin. “A different restaurant. You’ll see.”
Five minutes later, the royal SUV glided to a halt near the entrance of El Tiburon, aptly translated to “The Shark” in Spanish. Memories of my first date with August at this cozy Mediterranean waterfront restaurant, known for its exquisite tapas and paella, washed over me.
“This spot is even better, Marco.” I couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure, Your Highness,” he replied with a courteous nod.
Stepping inside El Tiburon, I paused, taken aback by the unusual silence. The dining area was devoid of patrons, a stark contrast to its usual bustling state. I had noticed a few cars in the parking lot, and just figured it was a slow night. Only muted sounds of activity drifted from the kitchen.
The owner, a jovial Spanish man with a welcoming smile, approached swiftly. “Welcome, Your Highness. Please, follow me.”
I trailed behind him, weaving through the vacant tables to the rear of the restaurant. He opened the back door, revealing the terrace, and pointed to a staircase leading directly to the sandy beach below.
“Just take those stairs to the sand below,” he instructed with a subtle smile. “Enjoy your evening.”
As I approached the stairs, the low rumble of a passing plane momentarily captured my attention. I glanced up in surprise, only to see an advertisement for Verdana Beer fluttering behind. I scoffed at myself for even thinking it might have been a proposal banner. I knew August was far more thoughtful than that.
Descending the stairs to the sand, my heart skipped a beat at the sight that greeted me. A path lined with softly flickering candles led to a small table by the water’s edge, where August stood waiting, a grin on his face. The soft strumming of a guitar playing Spanish melodies filled the air, adding to the magic of the scene before me.
August was always attentive to details—candles, the beach at night, the sound of the ocean mixed with music—these were all my favorite things.
“You went all out,” I said as I reached him, taking in the romantic ambiance. “I don’t think my last night here could have been any better. Thank you for this.”
“Just for you,” he replied, his eyes brightening as he took in my reaction, then kissed my lips.
I gestured to his arm. “How does it feel to have the cast off?”
“Much better,” he said, flexing his newly freed arm. “Although it’s a little skinnier since I wasn’t able to use it for a month.” He pulled out my chair so I could take a seat.
“Thank you,” I said as the server approached with two glasses and a pitcher of sangria, my favorite drink.
He served the sangria for us, then set the pitcher on the table. “Tapas are on the way. And, of course, the paella.” He bowed and walked away.
I shook my head in surprise. “You really thought of everything.”
“Everything for you,” August said, then raised his glass and added, “To us.”
“To us,” I repeated, then clinked his glass.
As we sipped our sangria, August confessed, “This place brings back so many wonderful memories, but I was a wreck on our first date here. I thought you were way out of my league.”
I laughed. “Please, I had thought the same about you.”
Our laughter mingled with the flamenco guitar, then my eyes suddenly caught on a small velvet box on the table.
My heart raced.
Was this the moment?
August noticed my gaze. “Oh, that?” He picked up the box, handing it to me. “Just a little something for you.”
No sane man would ever just hand his future fiancée a box with the engagement ring inside. This wasn’t the proposal, obviously.
Nodding, I masked my disappointment. “Oh … thank you. You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“Open it,” he said with a grin.
