But factoring in all those things would mean he was following his head, not his heart. Gabriel wasn’t exactly known for making the smart choices where women were concerned. When it came to Serafia, none of those other things mattered. The minute he saw her out on the patio in Miami, he’d wanted her. And the more he’d had of her, the more he’d wanted. He wasn’t just flattering her when he told her the other women in Alma were no competition. It was the truth.
Serafia was smart, beautiful, honest, caring...everything a good queen should be. She was from an important Alman family—one with blood ties to the throne if that article could be believed. He saw more than one sign at the parade declaring the people’s support for her as queen. She was a good choice on paper and a great choice in his heart.
He wasn’t in love with Serafia. Not yet. But he could see the potential there. In any other scenario, he would’ve anticipated months or years together before they discussed love and marriage, but as king, he saw this as an entirely different animal. He was expected to make a choice and move forward. With Serafia, he had no fears that their marriage would be a stiff, arranged situation with an awkward honeymoon night. It could be the best of both worlds if they played their cards right.
He just had to get her to stay past the end of the week. If he could do that, then maybe, just maybe, she would agree to be his queen someday soon.
“This looks like a good spot. Drop the stupid anchor and get over here. I’m lonely.”
Gabriel checked the depth sounder for a good location. They seemed to be in an area with a fairly level depth. He lowered and secured the two sails, slowing the boat. It took a few minutes to get the anchor lowered and set, but the boat finally came to a full stop.
He turned off any unnecessary equipment and made his way over to where Serafia was lying out. She was on her back, her inky black hair spilling across the sandy blond wood of the deck. She had her wide, dark sunglasses on, but the smile curling her lips indicated she was watching him as he admired her.
Gabriel dropped down onto the deck beside her. He slipped out of his shoes and pulled his polo shirt over his head, leaving on his swimming trunks.
Serafia sat up, grabbing her bottle of sunscreen and applying some to his back. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the feel of her hands gliding across his bare skin. After she finished his back and arms, she placed a playful dab on his nose and cheeks. “There you go.”
He rubbed the last of the sunscreen into his face. “Thanks. Are you hungry?”
“Yes,” she said. “After everything this morning, I couldn’t stomach any breakfast.”
Gabriel reached for the picnic basket and set it closer to them on the blanket. Opening it, they uncovered a container filled with assorted slices of aged Manchego and Cabrales cheeses, and cured meats like jamón ibérico and cecina de León. Smaller containers revealed olives, grapes and cherry tomatoes dressed in olive oil and sherry vinegar. A jar of quince jam, a couple fresh, sliced baguettes and a bottle of Spanish Cava rounded out the meal. His stomach started growling at the sight of it.
Serafia started unpacking the cartons, laying out the plates and utensils Marta had also included. “Ooh,” she said, lifting out a package wrapped in foil. “This smells like cinnamon and sugar.” She unwrapped a corner to peer inside. “Looks like fruit empanadas for dessert.”
“Perfect,” Gabriel said.
They scooped various items onto their plates and dug into their meals. They took their time enjoying every bite in the slow European fashion he was becoming accustomed to. In America, eating was like a pit stop in a race—to quickly refuel and get back on the track. Now, he took the time to savor the food, to really taste it while enjoying his company. He sliced bread while Serafia slathered it with jam. She fed him olives and kissed the olive oil from his lips. By the time the jars were nearly empty, they were both full and happy, lying on the deck together and gazing up at the brilliant blue sky.
Gabriel reached out beside him and felt for Serafia’s hand. He wrapped his fingers through hers and felt a sense of calm and peace come over him. He didn’t know what he would’ve done without her these last few days. In that short time, she had become such a necessary fixture in his life. He couldn’t imagine her going back to Barcelona. He wanted her here by his side, holding his hand just as she was now.
“Serafia?” he asked, his voice quiet and serious.
“Yes?”
“Would you...consider staying here in Alma? With me?”
She turned to him and studied his face with her dark eyes. “You’re going to be fine, Gabriel. You’ve improved so much. You’re not going to need my help any longer.”