Page 83 of The Taste of Deceit

“I don’t even know what to say.”

“You’ve been saying ‘oh my God’ for the last thirty seconds.”

“I know!”

She laughs, grabbing both of my hands.

“I don’t care.”

She pulls me a few steps closer to the edge of the patio.

“Luca.”

“Yeah, Baby Girl?”

She looks out at the ocean again, her eyes wide with wonder.

“It’s beautiful.”

The concierge begins explaining the villa behind us, pointing out amenities neither of us is listening to. Sarah has already wandered toward the edge of the patio, stopping before the sand. The breeze lifts the hem of her sundress as she hugs herself and stares out over the water like she’s trying to memorize every shade of blue.

The concierge finishes showing us around before wishing us a pleasant stay. Once we’re finally alone, I carry our luggage into the bedroom and set it beside the walk-in closet.

My attention drifts to the larger suitcase for a moment. Beneath a week’s worth of clothes, hidden inside the zippered compartment, is a small velvet box that hasn’t left my thoughts since we walked out of the jewelry store. I know exactly where it is, and in a few days, if everything goes according to plan, it won’t be there anymore.

I leave the suitcase where it is and look back through the open patio doors. Sarah is still outside, taking her time as she walks along the edge of the patio. She stops every few steps to look at something else—the pool, the beach, the water stretching out in front of the villa. She hasn’t even set foot inside the bedroom yet.

I don’t blame her. If I weren’t carrying an engagement ring around in my luggage, I’d probably still be standing out there too. I head back outside to join her.

An hour later, we’re seated on the terrace overlooking the ocean, and although the restaurant is busy enough that conversation drifts between the tables in a dozen different languages, the sound of the waves rolling onto the beach below never disappears beneath it.

The waiter greets us before pouring our water. He hands us our the menus and disappears as quietly as he arrived.

Sarah glances over the cocktail list before closing it again.

“I think I’m going to get a piña colada.”

I fold my menu shut.

“I’ll have an Old Fashioned.”

The waiter returns a minute later, takes our drink order, and leaves us alone once more.

Sarah rests her forearms on the table before looking out toward the water, where the last of the sun hangs above the horizon, painting the Caribbean in streaks of gold that ripple with every passing wave.

“I still can’t believe we’re here.”

I look at her instead of the view.

“You deserve it.”

Her eyes soften.

“So do you.”

Our drinks arrive before either of us opens the menus again, and Sarah takes a sip before setting her glass back on the table.

“Good?”