Mari’s POV
As Ben held open the heavy wood door and we stepped into DeLuca’s, the rich, intoxicating scent of roasting garlic and slow-simmered ragù enveloped my senses. The amber glow of pillar candles and warm lanterns hanging on the exposed brick walls created an immediate ambience of intimate calm – a stark contrast to the chaos of our day.
We were shown to a circular table tucked away in the back corner, half-hidden by a potted olive tree. Ben pulled out the smooth leather chair for me, waiting until I was seated before gently pushing it in. It was a small, gentlemanly gesture, but one he hadn't performed in years.
A waitress in a crisp black apron approached. "Welcome to DeLuca’s. Can I start you off with a drink?"
"Champagne, please. A bottle of your house best," Ben told her, a
