Chapter 262

Emilia wore a fitted white crop top. Low-rise, light-wash jeans that sat loosely on her hips. Brown loafers. Small gold hoops, a delicate necklace, and a shoulder bag barely large enough to hold her phone, wallet, and the lip gloss she’d already applied twice.

Her hair fell around her shoulders, and her makeup was light enough to look like she hadn’t spent any time on it at all.

She’d been aiming for effortless.

Whether she’d achieved it was another question.

Adrian appeared behind her in the mirror.

He wore black trousers, a dark button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, and a silver rolex watch.

His hair was styled, although a few strands had already fallen across his forehead. He looked annoyingly handsome.

His gaze travelled from her face to her outfit, then back to her eyes.

A smile tugged at his mouth. He stepped closer, slipping one hand around her waist.

Emilia’s back met his chest, and her words dissolved into something considerably less useful when he lowered his head and brushed his lips against her cheek.

"Hello to you too, beautiful."

She fought a smile.

He turned her gently in his arms.

She looked at him for another second before rising onto her toes and kissing him.

It was supposed to be brief.

A hello kiss. A little reward for the way he’d looked at her in the mirror.

Instead, Adrian’s hand settled more securely at her waist, and the kiss deepened just enough to make her forget that she’d been wearing lip gloss.

When he finally drew back, she blinked at him. "Don’t ruin my lipgloss."

She straightened his collar, though it didn’t need straightening, and patted his chest.

"Come on, Mr. Ashford. I have a reservation to keep."

He took her bag from the console table before she could reach for it and held out his other hand.

She studied him for a moment, remembering how naturally he’d begun doing things like this for her. Not because he thought she was incapable, but because he liked taking care of the little things when she let him.

She slipped her hand into his.

........

The restaurant was tucked along a quieter stretch of the city, behind tall windows that reflected the evening lights and the slow movement of traffic outside.

Warm golden lighting spilled over dark wooden tables. Small arrangements of flowers sat between candleholders, and the soft murmur of conversation mingled with the gentle music drifting through the room.

It was elegant without being intimidating.

Emilia liked it immediately.

She stopped just inside the entrance, taking everything in. "Oh, this is nice."

Adrian glanced down at her. "Nice?"

"Very nice and beautiful."

"I’ll inform the management that they’ve received your approval."

She elbowed him.

He smiled and guided her towards the host, who greeted her and Adrian before leading them to a table near the windows.

Emilia slid into her seat and placed her bag beside her.

The table was intimate, with enough space between them to feel comfortable but not so much that she couldn’t reach across and reach for his face, or a kiss.

Which, she decided, was an important consideration.

Adrian took the seat opposite her.

He watched as she looked around again, her expression bright with interest.

"You like it?"

"I do." She smiled. "The pictures online did no justice to this place."

She rested her elbows on the table, then immediately lowered them when she noticed the candle arrangement between them.

Adrian’s mouth twitched. He leaned back. "You’re unfairly beautiful. Esoecialy those eyes."

Emilia smiled. She picked up the menu. "Well, that’s convenient. I dressed for you."

His eyebrows rose. "You did?"

"No. But you don’t need to know that."

He laughed again.

She smiled down at the menu, pleased with herself. Then she opened it, and promptly frowned.

Adrian noticed. "What is it?"

"Why are there so many things on here that I can’t pronounce?"

"Would you like me to help?"

"Coming."

He waited.

Emilia looked at the menu more closely.

She recognised some dishes. Others seemed to have been assembled by a chef who’d decided ordinary food names were beneath him.

She turned a page, and then another.

Finally, she looked up again. "Adrian."

"Yes?"

"What is burrata?"

He considered her. "Cheese?"

She stared at him, with her jaw slightly to the floor. "That is the least helpful answer you’ve ever given me."

"You asked what it was."

"I asked because I wanted to know what it was, not what category of food it belongs to."

"It’s a fresh Italian cheese with a soft, creamy centre."

"Oh." She glanced down at the menu again. "That sounds nice."

"It is."

"Have you had it?"

"Yes."

"Do you like it?"

"Yes."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Then we’re ordering it."

Adrian looked amused. "You’re ordering it because I like it?"

"I’m ordering it because I want to try it. Your opinion is simply a useful coincidence."

"Of course." He nidded with a smile.

She pointed at him with the menu.

The waiter returned with their water, and Emilia asked a handful of questions about the dishes she’d marked. Adrian let her take the lead, occasionally offering an explanation when she looked particularly suspicious of an ingredient.

When the waiter left, Emilia put down her menu with the satisfaction of someone who’d successfully negotiated an international treaty.

Adrian folded his hands. "What have you decided?"

"We’re trying the burrata. And the roasted carrots."

He glanced at the menu. "The carrots?"

"Yes."

He chuckled. "I think you’re about to discover that you don’t like roasted carrots."

"How dare you."

"You’re welcome to prove me wrong."

"I will."

He leaned forward. "I look forward to it."

Emilia narrowed her eyes.

This was going to be a very competitive dinner.

The burrata arrived first.

Emilia studied the plate as though the kitchen had sent her an exam paper.

The cheese sat in the middle of a shallow dish, surrounded by tomatoes, basil, and a drizzle of olive oil. A few slices of toasted bread rested along the edge.

She looked at Adrian. "All right."

He lifted his glass of water, and cheers. "All right."

"We’re doing this."

"We are."

She picked up her fork, carefully cut into the cheese, and watched the creamy centre spill onto the plate.

Her eyes widened. "Oh."

Adrian smiled. "Go on."

She took a bite.

For a moment, she said nothing. Then she reached for another piece of bread.

Adrian’s smile widened. "Well?"

She pointed her fork at him. "I would prefer that you stop being right about food. It’s becoming a problem."

He laughed, and she took another bite.

"This is actually incredible."

"I know."

She stopped chewing. Slowly, she turned to him.

"You know, I was having a very pleasant evening before you started being insufferable."

"You were having a pleasant evening because I brought you somewhere with good food."

"You brought me somewhere with expensive food. I discovered the good food."

"You really are food centered."

She pushed a small piece of burrata towards him. "Here. Eat."

He accepted the bite from her fork.

She watched him chew. "Good?"

"Very."

He reached across the table and took her hand. "Can I hold you while we eat?"

The teasing smile on her face softened.

For a second, the restaurant seemed to quiet around them. She turned her hand beneath his and linked their fingers.

He brushed his thumb over her knuckles.

Emilia picked up another piece of bread. "So, tell me about the carrots."

Adrian closed his eyes briefly.

She burst out laughing, and the evening carried on.

By the time their main course arrived, Emilia had established three things.

First, she liked the restaurant.

Second, Adrian was far more willing to experiment with food than she’d expected.

And third, she was dangerously good at convincing him to do things he would ordinarily have dismissed as unnecessary.

The roasted carrots, for example.

She’d insisted he try them first. He’d taken a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and nodded.

"They’re good."

Emilia had stared at him in triumph. "Say it properly."

"They’re good, Emilia."

"No. Say, ’You were right, my love, and I should never have doubted your excellent judgment again.’"

He set down his fork. "That seems excessive."

"Then you don’t get any more carrots."

He looked at the plate, then at her. "You’re withholding vegetables from me?"

"Until you apologise."

He leaned forward. "You were right, my love."

She waited.

He rubbed her hand. "And I should never have doubted your excellent judgment again."

She beamed. "Thank you."

"You’re welcome."

He reached for another carrot.

Emilia’s smile softened. She looked down at their joined hands, and squeezed his hand.

Adrian picked a carrot, reached forward, and fed it to her. Emilia took a bite, and smiled, tilting her head at him.