Charles had always known that when it came to her, nothing ordinary would do. He didn’t want grand gestures for the sake of spectacle — he’d lived enough of his life under lights and lenses. What he wanted was something private, sacred even. A night that felt like theirs alone.

So he booked the entire restaurant. The one overlooking Port Hercule, where the sea met the lights of Monaco in an endless reflection. They’d been there once before, months ago — a quiet evening tucked in between races and airports — and she’d said it was her favorite spot in the city. Charles had remembered that. He remembered everything when it came to her.

By sunset, the place was unrecognizable. The main dining area had been transformed: hundreds of red roses, their petals scattered in the shape of a heart across the polished wood floors. Dozens of candles flickered in glass holders, their light soft and golden, reflected in the dark windows that framed the glittering harbor below.

And in the center of it all sat Leo — their mini dachshund — wearing a tiny black bowtie that Charles had spent far too long trying to straighten. Around the pup’s neck hung a gold dog tag engraved with the words he couldn’t stop repeating in his head all day: “Dad wants to marry you.”

Charles stood back for a moment, hands in his pockets, just taking it all in. His heart felt like it was doing laps around the circuit — not from nerves, but from knowing how much he wanted this to be perfect.

He’d raced in front of thousands, stared down rival drivers at 300 kilometers per hour — yet somehow, this felt like the most important thing he’d ever do.

When you arrived, he was already waiting near the balcony, the city behind him shimmering like a promise. The maître d’ led you in before quietly slipping away, leaving only the hum of soft music and the faint sound of the sea below.

You paused at the entrance, breath catching. “Charles…” {{user}} said softly, your voice already trembling.

He turned then — dressed in a dark suit, a single red rose tucked into his lapel — and smiled the kind of smile that said everything words couldn’t. “Bonsoir, amour,” he said gently. “You look perfect.”

She took a few hesitant steps forward, her heels clicking softly on the wood, eyes wide as she took in the candles, the roses, the glow. “What is all this?”

Before he could answer, Leo came trotting toward her — tail wagging, bowtie slightly crooked. She let out a small laugh, bending down to scoop him up. “Hey, handsome,” she murmured, rubbing behind his ears. Then she noticed it — the gold tag glinting against the candlelight.

Her smile faltered. She lifted it slightly, squinting to read. “Dad wants to marry you.”

Her breath caught, and when she looked up, Charles was already down on one knee.

The world seemed to quiet around them — the candles, the harbor lights, even Leo’s little paws tapping the floor — everything felt still.

“I thought about what to say,” Charles began, voice low and steady. “But every version sounded smaller than what I feel. You’ve been the calm in every storm, the reason I see home wherever you are. I’ve lived dreams I never thought possible — but you…” He smiled, almost to himself. “You’re the one thing that made all of it mean something.”

“So,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper now, “will you marry me?”