“You must be hungry,” I announce suddenly, sitting up with renewed energy. “All that... activity has given me quite an appetite. And I want tonight to be special. Really special.”
I carefully help him sit upright, adjusting his restraints so he’s comfortable but still secure. The new position is perfect for what I have planned. I want to see his face, want to watch his expressions during our first proper romantic dinner together.
“What are you doing now?” Carlo asks warily as I produce a lap tray from under the bed.
“Setting the scene for our first official date,” I announce happily, my heart practically singing with excitement. “Now that we’ve taken that beautiful step together, it’s time to do things properly.”
I reach down and pull the storage box out from under the bed. It’s stuffed full of everything I need. I hum happily as I remove the lid.
I spread a pristine white tablecloth across the tray, smoothing out every wrinkle with dedicated care. It’s real linen, imported from Italy because Carlo deserves nothing but the finest things.
“Ginni, what exactly do you think you’re doing?” he asks, watching as I begin arranging the table setting with museum-level precision.
“Creating the perfect romantic atmosphere,” I reply, positioning each piece of silverware exactly where it should be according to proper etiquette. The real silver catches the lightbeautifully, polished to a mirror shine that reflects the warm glow of the overhead lighting.
I place the crystal wine glasses with accuracy and reverence. These belonged to my great-grandmother, hand-blown in Venice and worth a small fortune. The single red rose in its delicate crystal bud vase adds just the right touch of classic romance.
Carlo watches all of this with an expression of complete bewilderment, like he’s witnessing something from another planet.
“This is insane,” he mutters, but there’s less venom in it than usual. More resignation, like he’s beginning to accept that this is simply who I am.
“This is romantic,” I correct, moving around the room to light the scented candles I’ve strategically placed on every available surface. Soon the air fills with the warm scent of vanilla and bergamot, transforming the basement into something magical and intimate.
I take my time with each candle, ensuring each one is positioned for optimal ambiance. The candlelight flickers against the walls, casting dancing shadows that make everything look softer, more ethereal. Even Carlo’s confused expression looks beautiful in the golden glow.
“There,” I say with deep satisfaction, stepping back to admire my handiwork. “Perfect.”
The transformation is remarkable. What was once just a basement bedroom has become an intimate dining room worthy of the finest restaurant in Paris. The candlelight catches on the crystal and silver, creating a warm, romantic cocoon that feels completely separate from the outside world.
I skip off to the kitchen, humming happily as I heat up the mushroom risotto I made yesterday. It’s Carlo’s absolute favorite. I know because I’ve spent years observing him at familydinners, noting which dishes he always finishes first and which ones he merely picks at to be polite.
The risotto is creamy perfection, each grain of arborio rice cooked to exactly the right texture and infused with the most expensive truffle oil I could find. I’ve added fresh herbs from the garden upstairs and a generous helping of aged Parmesan.
I arrange it artfully on my grandmother’s best china, the Limoges pattern with the delicate gold rim that she only used for the most special occasions. The presentation is restaurant-quality, but infused with the kind of love and attention that no professional chef could replicate.
The wine selection requires careful consideration. I choose a Barolo from a vineyard in Piedmont, the kind of vintage that wine enthusiasts wait years to taste. I’m not sure my love’s palette is that refined, but nevertheless, Carlo deserves only the finest things life has to offer.
When I return to the bedroom carrying the perfectly arranged tray, Carlo’s eyes widen at the presentation.
“Alexa, play romantic dinner music,” I command, and immediately the room fills with soft jazz, the kind of sophisticated background music you’d hear at an exclusive Michelin-starred restaurant. The saxophone melody blends perfectly with the candlelight and wine, completing the transformation.
“This is...” Carlo begins, then trails off, seemingly at a loss for words.
“Romantic?” I suggest hopefully as I settle gracefully on the edge of the bed. “Thoughtful? Exactly what you deserve after such a beautiful afternoon together?”
I pour the wine with practiced elegance, having spent hours perfecting the technique so the deep red liquid flows in a perfect arc, catching the candlelight as it fills the crystal glass. Thesound is satisfying and sophisticated, like something from a film about beautiful people living impossibly elegant lives.
“To us,” I toast, clinking the two glasses together and then bringing a glass to Carlo’s lips since his hands are otherwise occupied. “To new beginnings and dreams finally coming true.”
He takes a sip, and I watch his throat work as he swallows. Everything about him is so perfectly masculine, from the strong line of his jaw to the way his Adam’s apple moves. The wine stains his lips slightly, and I resist the urge to kiss it away. There will be time for that later, when the evening reaches its natural conclusion.
“This wine...” he says, sounding surprised. “This is extraordinary.”
“Only the best for you,” I beam, thrilled that he appreciates the quality. “I’ve been saving it for a special occasion, and what could be more special than our first official date?”
I spear a perfect forkful of risotto, making sure to get the ideal ratio of rice to herbs to truffle. The aroma alone is intoxicating, rich and earthy and absolutely divine.
“Now,” I say brightly, “dinner is served.”
