I walked elegantly into the restaurant, and for a moment, I just stood there, taking it all in. The air shifted—cool, scented with lavender and roasted duck.
Chandeliers sparkled like captured stars above, casting a soft golden glow on the marble floors. Glass walls framed a nighttime city skyline. Crisp white linens, sleek cutlery, and quiet string music gave the place a kind of hush that felt sacred. The lighting was warm and romantic, the kind that made everything look like a scene out of a movie. Every table was occupied by the polished and the powerful, the type of people who didn't check prices before they ordered. Every detail screamed wealth.
Christopher had told me it was the finest place in the city—and of course it was; he had asked me to dress appropriately.
I scanned the tables until a tall man in a charcoal uniform approached with a gentle smile.
"Good evening, miss. Welcome" he greeted with a soft smile.
"Thank you," I replied politely.
"Do you have a reservation, or are you meeting someone?"
"Christopher Hart."
"Ah, of course. Right this way."
Smoothing my dress, I followed him past tables dotted with tall crystal flutes and low murmurs. And then I saw Christopher.
He sat by a corner window, bathed in the city's reflected lights like he belonged in a glossy magazine spread. Impeccably dressed, jaw clenched, posture perfect. Dressed in a crisp suit, every inch the man people envied—successful, poised, and handsome.
His silver cufflinks caught the light, as did the glint in his grey eyes when he spotted me, gleaming with a mixture of admiration and something colder. Disapproval?
He looked... annoyed
"Thank you," I said to the waiter as I took my seat across from him.
"Sorry I'm late, honey. Really, I am." I reached for his hand resting on the table.
He didn't move. "Christopher, baby... don't spoil the mood. Smile. You're too handsome to be frowning."
I chuckled, trying to lighten the moment. I knew he hated tardiness. But I'd torn my closet apart looking for the wristwatch he gave me and still couldn't find it.
He used to whisper silly compliments when I smiled. Now, the only thing he noticed was how long I kept him waiting.
"I know you don't like waiting, but it was worth it, wasn't it?" I teased. "How do I look?" I asked. He sighed.
"Dashing," he said, finally lifting my hand and giving it a small squeeze. He wiggled his brows playfully, and I relaxed a little, giggling.
Then, his eyes dropped to my wrist.
His expression changed instantly, and his grip tightened.
"Ouch," I winced.
"Where's the watch?" His voice dropped, sharp and cold, causing my heart to race.
"I... I forgot it at home," I lied, knowing what was coming.
"You're lying."
"No, I'm not." I tried to pull my hand away. He let go, scoffing.
"You know I can always tell. We've been friends since we were kids. Now tell me the truth."
I sighed. "I couldn't find it. I searched everywhere for over an hour."
"What? You couldn't find it?" He cut in sharply. Heads turned. The string quartet didn't even seem loud enough to cover the edge in his voice.
"Christopher, calm down. I didn't say I lost it. I just couldn't find it. It's somewhere at home."
"Then why couldn't you find it? You knew I wanted you to wear it tonight. That watch was a symbol of my affection, Sarah."
"I'm not careless, you know that. Can we just forget about it and enjoy our evening?" I reached up to stroke his cheek gently. "Just us"
He exhaled and leaned back in his chair.
He was just stressed. He always got snappy when work was tough.
"Fine," he said flatly. "But you have to pay for disappointing me."
"And what price are we talking about?"
"A kiss," he said smoothly. "A passionate one."
"Christopher!" I laughed, trying to shake the tension away. Just like him to switch from rage to romance in a second.
The waiter approached with a courteous smile before I could respond.
"Are you ready to order?" he asked.
Christopher motioned to me. "Ladies first."
I glanced at the menu and saw dish names I could barely pronounce. Still, I matched his confidence.
"I'll have the butter-poached lobster risotto, please, and a side of grilled asparagus."
"Excellent choice," the waiter said. "And you, sir?"
"The Wagyu filet mignon, medium rare. Truffle butter on the side. And a glass of the 2010 Château Margaux."
The waiter nodded, noting it down before disappearing into the quiet hum of luxury.
"Champagne?" Christopher asked.
I nodded. He reached for the chilled Dom Pérignon already waiting in a silver bucket. He poured into both glasses with exaggerated care.
"To success," he said.
I clinked my glass against his. "And peace of mind."
"How's the hotel?" I asked after a sip. Trying to recover the mood.
"Fantastic. My grandfather wants me to start managing the resort soon too."
"Wow, I'm so proud of you," I said, smiling. "You'll handle it beautifully." I meant it. I always did.
"Of course," he said, taking a sip, as if my confidence in him were a given.
Soft piano music shifted into a slow, classic tune—Lionel Richie's voice floating through the room like velvet.
"Oh, I love this song," I murmured.
Before he could respond, a loud, joyful scream echoed across the restaurant.
"Oh my God! Yes, yes, yes!"
A woman in a royal-blue dress was being proposed to. She kissed her fiancé amid claps and cheers from the other diners.
"Oh my," I whispered. A soft smile crept onto my lips.
Christopher grimaced. "Ugh. So noisy. Show-offs." Christopher muttered as he took a sip from his glass.
"What! That was sweet."
"Disturbing everyone for attention is sweet?" he said
I shrugged. "I wouldn't mind something like that." I said dreamily.
The truth slipped out—quiet, wistful.
He didn't say anything, just gave me a look. The kind that made me feel... foolish for wanting too much.
The waiter returned with our meals on a trolley. The presentation was stunning—perfect portions, exquisite plating. I dug in immediately; the aroma was heavenly.
"Mmm, this looks amazing," I said, savoring a bite. "Is that nutmeg? I taste nutmeg!" I always liked a good meal; that was why cooking was a hobby for me.
"For God's sake, Sarah, don't talk with your mouth full," he said sharply.
I froze, embarrassed. My cheeks flushed. I glanced down at my plate, suddenly self-conscious; my fingers trembled as I clenched it tightly against my fork.
He always did that—corrected me, no matter who was watching. What was so wrong with expressing my delight with my mouth full?
"Would you stop glaring at me and chew properly? You're practically inhaling it!" he scolded.
"Ugh!" I fumed
"Would you stop ruining this night? You've complained since I got here, this was supposed to be a pleasant date but you keep getting irritated about everything" I snapped under my breath.
He rolled his eyes and returned to his food. We ate in silence, tension thick between us, and I tried to swallow the knot in my throat along with the food.
Maybe I'm just being oversensitive again.
Every couple fights. Not every night is fireworks and violins.
His phone rang. He wiped his mouth and reached for it.
"Hello? Max? What? You can't handle that yourself? I'm in the middle of something!" His voice grew louder. "Unbelievable. Why are you even my assistant?"
He ended the call with a sigh and looked at me.
"I'm sorry, Sarah. Something came up at the hotel."
I stared at him, my fork still halfway to my mouth.
I put down my fork.
"What is it?"
"A client's making a scene. I need to go. Come on—I'll drop you off."
I nodded slowly, setting my napkin down as disappointment pressed hard against my chest.
"Okay," I said quietly
I rose, heart sinking. Our nights together were rare, and even those were often cut short.
Another unfinished night. Another dinner where I smiled through the cracks.
He stood. I followed, sighing as my heels clicked behind him, mourning the time we didn't get to share. So much for a romantic night.