Page 177 of Titus

Our table overlooked rolling gardens that stretched toward the foothills. Beyond them, tiny lights from Montecito sparkled as dusk settled over the valley, and farther off in the distance, the ocean shimmered beneath the fading sunlight.

The view was breathtaking, the kind of view people spend thousands of dollars traveling to see, and yet, here I was, sitting beside a man who looked considerably better.

A waiter appeared almost immediately, pouring water and offering menus. Fresh bread arrived, still warm from the oven, alongside olive oil and sea salt.

Titus instantly grabbed a piece of bread. “Butter, mi amor?”

“Si,” I said, answering him in Spanish with a smile. “That smells amazing,” I said after he offered me a buttered piece. “Mm…” I closed my eyes, savoring the delicious flavor of the bread.

“Lord,” Titus said with humor, “I’m not sure we’ll make it through our main course if you keep that up, preciosa.”

The starter arrived a short while later.

Creamy burrata surrounded by heirloom tomatoes in shades of red, yellow, and deep orange. Fresh peaches had been sliced and layered throughout, while basil leaves and olive oil completed a dish that looked more like artwork than food.

I took one bite. Then closed my eyes. “Sweet Jesus.”

A low laugh sounded across the table.

I opened one eye.

Titus grinned, “That good, eh?”

“It really is,” I responded. “I’ve enjoyed many exquisite dishes prepared by numerous talented chefs. I have to say, this dish stands out.”

Titus took a bite, nodded, and said, “I’m impressed as well. Perhaps I can hire their chef as our own.”

“You do that, and I’m moving in with you,” I teased.

“Then consider the chef hired,” Titus laughed as we continued eating, waiting for the main course to arrive.

Our intimate dinner continued at an unhurried pace. It wasn’t until halfway through that I realized something unusual. Titus’s phone wasn’t on the table, vibrating or lighting up. For perhaps the first time since I’d met him, the entire world seemed to have lost the ability to reach him.

It was also quite pleasant that no one had approached Titus, despite recognizing at least two well-known faces in the restaurant. He was surrounded by people familiar with him or aware of his identity, but everyone was here enjoying their privacy and peace.

It was as if everyone understood the unspoken rule… people came here to disappear.

And tonight, that included us.

The main courses arrived.

A perfectly prepared local halibut rested atop seasonal vegetables, while a lemon beurre blanc added just enough richness without overpowering the fish.

I watched, intrigued, as a server prepared Titus’s Steak Diane tableside for him. When the flames briefly leaped from the pan, my eyebrows lifted in amazement, while the server remained completely unfazed.

Titus casually took a sip of wine while waiting for his steak to be served. I smiled, watching him look so casual and relaxed. It’s as if he were an entirely different person—not some wealthy and powerful man who ran an empire.

As the evening progressed, the conversation wandered effortlessly from childhood memories and favorite places we’d traveled to stories about Amelia, Natalia, and Jessica, then casually shifted to Titus’s increasingly ridiculous plans to buy the ice cream shop we’d stopped at earlier. Just silly, light, and fun conversation.

Dessert eventually arrived. A chocolate soufflé—with two spoons for sharing—arrived warm from the oven, with vanilla bean ice cream melting slowly beside it.

The first bite was sinfully good, and the second somehow even better. The third never made it to my mouth because Titus stole it.

“Sir,” I feigned drama.

“I know it is most likely taboo to steal a bite of chocolate from a lady,” he winked at me.

I pointed my fork at him. “You’re safe. It was somewhat sexy.”