Maya's POV
The main terrace glowed under carefully arranged candlelight, each flame dancing against the evening breeze. The table setting spoke of generations of Valentian hospitality with its heirloom china and silverware that caught starlight like scattered diamonds. Rich aromas of slow-cooked delicacies drifted from the kitchen windows.
Martha emerged balancing a platter of appetizers, dark olives glistening beside creamy local cheeses, paper-thin prosciutto, and cherry tomatoes that sparkled like tiny rubies in the candlelight.
"Buon appetito, signora," she beamed before disappearing back inside.
"She has truly outdone herself tonight," Sebastian observed, drawing back my chair with practiced elegance. "Martha reserves her finest cooking for the most meaningful occasions."
"Our presence here seems to qualify as quite meaningful to her," I replied, absorbing every carefully placed detail around us.
