As we step onto the grand staircase leading down into the dining room, I half expect trumpets and a herald with a monocle to announce our arrival: “The right honorable Damon Wade and his bride . . .”
Still I feel like Cinderella as we sweep down those stairs. Clusters of small tables are set with china in brilliant white with gold edging. The waiters are dressed in tuxedos, the waitresses in matching black gowns. Two massive windows on either side of the room give us a view of the water as the setting sun glazes the waves pink.
I am officially a princess.
Jen always insisted princess was not a real job description. I’m tempted to text her a selfie of me at this table with the caption, “Who’s unrealistic now, Jen?” Of course I’d add a winky emoji. Don’t want to come across as a jerk when I’m saying, “I told you so.”
Our waiter is charming and has a bright smile and a slight accent. He introduces himself as Matteo. “Where are you from, Matteo?” Damon asks.
“Italy, sir. So I know about good food. I’ll be your culinary guide for the rest of the week.”
Apparently the menu changes every night. There are three options for appetizers, three for salad, five for entrees, and five for dessert. I had no idea you could even make that many different kinds of salad. There’s garden, Caesar, side, marshmallow . . . That’s all I’ve got.
These are a bit fancier than Delia’s six-layer salad (half the layers are Nutella). I barely recognize most of the words on the menu.
Mussels Provencale
Toothsome Grouper with Pepper Coulis
I’m fairly sure a grouper is a fish, but toothsome? That sounds terrifying. I don’t think I’d like to meet a toothsome fish, even if it is dead on my plate.
Farfalle with Creamed Asparagus
Farfalle sounds like a language. Or maybe a mountain range. Are they sure this is English? They didn’t accidentally give me the menu translated into Greek or something, did they?
Until now I’ve been happy not to have any phone service out here at sea. Makes it easier to escape the world. Now I want to quickly Google farfalle and find out if it is, in fact, edible.
Damon tells Matteo we need a few minutes to consider the menu. The second our Italian is out of earshot I whisper, “What is farfalle?”
He smiles. “Pasta.”
“Pasta?”
“The kind that’s shaped like a bow tie.”
“It’s bow-tie pasta?” I scoff. “Why don’t they just call it that? Save us all the confusion?”
“Chefs are all about their fancy words.”
I guess Farfalle with Creamed Asparagus does sound better than Bow-tie pasta and that vegetable nobody likes. I refer to Damon on several points of interpretation before picking a menu:
Appetizer: Langoustino Cakes (Norwegian lobster—who knew?)
Salad: Endive (a Mediterranean vegetable) with Cucumber Ribbons
Entrée: Alaskan Snow Crab with Baby Greens (I’d rather it was Alaskan snow crab with curly fries, but that wouldn’t be nearly as elegant.)
Matteo hurries away with our selections, and I sip my lemon water. All around the room diamonds flash and sequin gowns glitter beneath the lights. I’ve never felt so fancy.
“This is like a ball in a fairy tale.” Realizing Damon is watching me, I add, “Sorry.”
“For what?”
Abashed, I shrug. “Being silly. You didn’t know you were marrying a grown woman with a five-year-old’s maturity level, did you?”
“Of course I did. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”
I’m taken aback by that. “What?”
“Yeah.” Damon grins. “I’ll admit when we first met I thought you were . . . a little childish. But when I got to know you I realized there’s a difference between childish and childlike. You’re not really immature, you’re just . . . innocent. You still see the magic in life.” He pauses, studying the sunset. “You know I didn’t get much of a childhood. After Dad . . . I grew up fast. I thought I was done with all that kid stuff.”
His eyes meet mine, and a smile fills his face. “You gave it back to me. I’ve known a lot of women who are tough and unflinching—very adult. But I’d rather have the girl who drags me outside to make snow angels, wants to chase fireflies, and thinks Disneyland is for everyone. I’d rather live in magic. With you.”
I’m speechless, holding his gaze.
Damon catches my hand across the table. “That’s my Jack. So don’t ever stop being silly, okay?”
Choked, I manage a nod. “Okay.”
While we wait for our entrees, I butter a dinner roll. Even the butter is fancy and shaped like a flower. “How would you feel about abandoning your career and becoming a sailor?”
“You mean a sailor on this ship?” Damon chuckles, and I’m struck for the millionth time by how handsome he is when he laughs. His whole face softens. “I don’t think this counts as sailing, babe.”
“We’re on a boat, aren’t we?” I shrug. “I’d be willing to swab the deck if I got to do this every night.”
“I doubt the employees are treated the same as guests.”
Deflated, I wipe butter off my chin. “I guess not. You want to get a massage again tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow we land on Nassau,” Damon says. “We’ll be leaving the ship for excursions.”
Oh. I’d almost forgotten the whole reason for taking a boat was to take it to places. “Right! Remind me what we’re doing on Nassau.”
He looks briefly startled that I still haven’t memorized the itinerary the way he has. “Snorkeling excursion.”
“Cool! I’ve always wanted to go snorkeling.”
“Never have?”
“Not unless you count diving for treasure at the bottom of the community pool. Spoiler alert: it was loose change.”
“I think this might be a little different.”
Suddenly a thought occurs to me. “We won’t see any . . . sharks,
will we?”
“I doubt it. Probably just fish, coral reefs—that kind of thing.”
I can handle that as long as none of those fish have a dorsal fin or giant teeth. “So snorkeling tomorrow,” I say. “What else is on the docket for tonight?”
“After dinner there’s a show at the theater.”
“They have a theater here?”
“Yeah, it seats a couple hundred people.”
“Wow. They seriously have everything!”
Damon nods. “They do different shows every night. Comedians, singers, dancers. Tonight there’s some Broadway revue.”
“You could literally live your whole life on this boat,” I muse. “Good food, entertainment, shopping. How do they get people to leave?”
“Maybe it gets old after a few days.”
Just then a ray of light blazes over the water outside the window. We watch it ripen to orange, bathing the waves in topaz.
“Nope,” I say, reaching for another dinner roll. “I don’t see that happening.”