ISLA’s POV
Two waiters entered our midst, carrying our meals, and I let out a small breath of relief. The moment between Oliver and me had grown so intense that I didn’t know how to respond to his words. The plates were set before us with a flourish—roasted salmon for me and steak for Oliver. The aroma was heavenly, and I offered the waiter a polite thank you as he poured wine into my glass.
Oliver raised his glass slightly in my direction. “To us,” he said, his tone soft yet steady.
I hesitated for a moment before clinking my glass against his. “To us,” I murmured, though the words felt foreign on my tongue.
We ate in relative silence after that, the occasional clink of silverware filling the space between us. As I took a bite of the salmon, my mind wandered.
Had I started falling fo
