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I was as giddy as a schoolgirl with a crush when I spotted Declan hovering near the pool. For the first time in my life, everything was going all right. Perfectly, in fact. I was the luckiest girl under the stars.
Declan waved at me to come over. He’d had the hotel’s staff set something up on the patio. An outdoor dining experience complete with a chef who would cook our food tableside.
Oh, my goodness.
Declan hadn’t been kidding. It was so romantic, it felt like something out of a sappy chick-flick movie. The table was swathed in crisp, white linen and illuminated by white candles. Luxurious china and wine glasses were set out perfectly. The napkins were folded into paper cranes, origami style, and accented with white gardenias. It seemed that Declan had thought of everything, down to the smallest details. I knew him as a perfectionist at work, but I’d never thought he would apply those skills to a matter like this.
He took my hand and kissed it like a true gentleman. My heart fluttered. I felt like a princess.
“You’re so beautiful,” he told me. “Love your dress. It suits you very well.”
“Thank you.” My sleeveless, mid-calf dress had come from a clearance rack at Target. But hey, if Declan said I was beautiful, who was I to object, right?
He led me to the table and pulled out the chair for me. I settled in like a baroness. A waiter poured water into the crystal glasses. Another came in with a golden bottle buried in an ice bucket. He showed Declan the bottle’s label. Declan gave his approval. It was Louis Roederer 2004 Cristal Brut. The sommelier uncorked the champagne and poured it into tall, fluted glasses.
We toasted. I sipped the drink. The lig
ht amber liquid caressed my tongue like a long-lost lover, leaving an explosion of flavours, rich and dense with strong hints of sumptuous fruits. I didn’t have to guess that this shit must have cost a lot of money.
“Good evening, sir and madam. My name is Nyoman and I’ll be your waiter for the evening. Shall we start you with the appetisers?”
“Please,” Declan said.
“Excellent, sir.”
The chef and his sous-chef beamed at us and got busy with their knives. Five feet from our table, a long, rectangular butcher-block island had been converted into a portable kitchen. The pan sizzled with hot oil. Sharp blades flashed and chopped. The smell of shallots caramelised in olive oil wafted through the air. I craned my neck to see the magic being performed by professional chefs. I’d been used to eating microwaved food. I’d never had real chefs cook especially for me, in my presence.
They worked fast. I’d barely finished my champagne before the appetiser arrived. Nyoman brought beautiful dishes to our table. The food was almost too pretty to eat. Declan motioned for me to take a bite while Nyoman eloquently explained what was on our plates—toasted baguettes topped with thinly sliced seared bluefin tuna and shaved chives, drizzled with olive oil and the chef’s special butter sage and shallot vinaigrette.
Goodness. The tuna crostini were out of this world. The delicate taste of the bluefin nicely complemented the salty-crispiness of the baguette.
“I’ve never tasted anything this good.” I savoured the crostini to the last morsels. “I hope you won’t mind, but I’m going to be unladylike and totally pig out.”
It brought a small chuckle from Declan. “This is one of the many things I love about you. You’re unlike other women, who pretend to be something they aren’t just to impress their date.”
“You mean you like a fat gal who can’t resist the allure of good food?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Fat is such an ugly word. A real woman has curves and I like my women lush. There’s no fun in fucking skin and bones.”
I almost choked on my champagne.
Nyoman glided over to us. “Are we ready for the next course?”
“Yes, we are.” Declan let Nyoman clear the plates. “Compliments to the chef.”
The tuna crostini was one out of five courses of the ultra-romantic dinner Declan had arranged. Two more bottles of expensive wine filled in between the courses and by the time Nyoman announced it was time for dessert, I was tipsy.
“I think you’ve had enough drink.” Declan took away my glass and motioned for the waiter to bring me water instead. “I don’t want you to get drunk. The night is young and I still have plans.”
“Oh? What plans?”
“You’ll see.” Declan cast me an all-knowing, devilish-looking smirk. “Ah, here we go, dessert.”
Nyoman put a white, square plate before me. On it was a small sculpture of highly intricate sugar art perched on a brown rectangular cake. The plate was garnished with red and orange sauce, painstakingly drizzled as if the chef had been painting his masterpiece.
“Here we have black sesame pain de genes, paired with a sour cherry crème and praline tower, highlighted with cherry and passion fruit reduction,” Nyoman explained. “Enjoy.”
I didn’t know what the hell Nyoman was saying, but the whole thing tasted so damn good. I didn’t utter a word while I demolished the dessert. I would have licked the plate if I hadn’t thought it would embarrass Declan. Some other time, maybe.
