Nightcap

Kael’s POV.
The restaurant looked like something out of a dream-hidden away on a quiet street in Paris, its exterior simple but elegant, with polished stone walls and faint golden lighting that hinted at the luxury inside. But the real magic was beyond the tall glass doors.
Once we stepped inside, it was like entering another world. The lighting was dim, casting a soft glow over everything, while chandeliers sparkled overhead like captured starlight. Waiters in perfectly tailored tuxedos moved gracefully between tables, their white gloves adding an extra touch of refinement. The quiet hum of conversations in French and English blended with the soft melody of a live pianist playing in the corner. Everything about the place screamed wealth and exclusivity.
Aria walked beside me, her green eyes scanning the room. She wasn’t gawking like most people would in a place like this, but there was a quiet curiosity in her gaze. It was like she was trying to figure out why anyone would spend this much money on a meal when there were simpler, less extravagant options out there. I couldn’t tell if she was impressed or just confused.
I led her toward a table near the window, where the Eiffel Tower sparkled in the distance. The view was stunning, the perfect backdrop for a romantic dinner. Not that Aria seemed to care about the effort I’d gone through to set this up. She followed me silently, her expression neutral as she took her seat.
“This is… extravagant,” she said after a moment, her voice calm but tinged with unease as she glanced around the room.
“Extravagant is the whole point,” I replied with a smirk, sitting across from her. I leaned back in my chair, gesturing to the view behind her. “Nothing’s too much for my fiancee. You should get used to this kind of treatment.”
She frowned slightly, giving me a skeptical look. “You keep saying that like it’s supposed to mean something to me,” she said, her tone flat.
I raised an eyebrow, studying her for a moment. “It should,” I said simply, leaning forward so my voice dropped a little. “You’re about to marry into a world most people only dream about. A world of power, wealth, and influence. You’ll have everything you could ever want.”
Her lips pressed into a tight line, and she looked back at the menu in front of her. “Do you ever stop talking like this is some kind of business transaction?”
I let out a low chuckle, tilting my head as I watched her. “Isn’t it?” I shot back. “You and I both know this isn’t about love or fairytales. It’s about alliances. Power. Appearances. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be for both of us.”
She didn’t respond immediately, her eyes fixed on the menu as though she was trying to block me out. After a long pause, she sighed and said, “This menu doesn’t even have prices on it. That’s never a good sign.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at that. “If you have to ask how much it costs, you can’t afford it,” I said, still grinning. “But don’t worry-I’ve got it covered.”
She glanced up at me, her expression unreadable. “Lucky me,” she muttered under her breath before looking back down at the menu.
The waiter arrived a few minutes later, standing tall and poised, his French accent thick and polished as he listed off the evening’s specials. Before Aria could say a word, I spoke up.
“She’ll have the lobster,” I said smoothly, cutting him off. “And I’ll have the steak. Medium rare.”
Aria shot me a sharp look, her eyebrows raised in disbelief. “I can order for myself, you know,” she said, her tone icy.
“I know,” I replied casually, handing the menu back to the waiter without even glancing at her. “But I don’t have all night for you to decide.”
Her jaw tightened, and she folded her hands in her lap, clearly trying to keep her temper in check. “You’re unbelievable,” she said through gritted teeth.
“You’re welcome,” I said with a smirk, leaning back in my chair as the waiter disappeared to place our order.
Silence settled over the table after that. I drummed my fingers lightly against the edge of the tablecloth, watching her as she stared out the window. The soft glow of the Eiffel Tower reflected in her green eyes, but she didn’t seem as enchanted by the view as I’d hoped.
“You could try smiling, you know,” I said after a moment, breaking the silence.
She turned her head slowly, fixing me with a cold glare. “Why? To make you feel better about yourself?”
I laughed at that, a low, amused sound. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “Because you look like you’re at a funeral. Lighten up a little. We’re in Paris, the most romantic city in the world.”
“Romantic,” she repeated, her tone dry and unimpressed. “Right.”
The waiter returned with a bottle of wine, pouring me a glass before setting it on the table. I swirled the glass lightly, holding it up to the light before taking a sip. The rich flavor filled my mouth, but when I looked across the table, Aria was reaching for her water glass instead.
“You don’t drink, do you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No,” she said simply, taking a small sip of water.
“Of course you don’t,” I muttered under my breath, setting the wine glass down with a little more force than necessary.
She looked up sharply at that. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, her tone defensive.
“Nothing,” I said quickly, forcing a tight smile. “You’re just… predictable, that’s all.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she turned her attention back to her plate as the waiter arrived with our meals. The rest of the dinner passed in awkward silence, broken only by the occasional clinking of silverware and my half-hearted attempts at conversation.
—
By the time we returned to the hotel, I was more than ready to call it a night. The limousine pulled up to the grand entrance, and I stepped out first, holding the door open for Aria. She stepped out gracefully, her face calm but distant as she followed me into the lobby.
The hotel was as extravagant as everything else that day-marble floors, gilded accents, and a massive chandelier that sparkled like diamonds overhead. We rode the elevator in silence, the tension between us thick and unspoken.
When we reached her suite, I handed her the keycard. “This is your room,” I said, gesturing toward the door.
She took the card but hesitated, her green eyes studying me carefully. “And where are you staying?”
“Just down the hall,” I replied smoothly. “Close enough if you need me.”
“Right,” she said, her tone dripping with skepticism.
She stepped into the room, and I lingered in the doorway, holding up the bottle of champagne I’d brought from the restaurant. “Care for a nightcap?”
She paused, her hand still on the door. “I told you, I don’t drink.”
“Come on,” I said, my voice dropping to a coaxing tone. “One glass won’t kill you. We’re in Paris, after all. Live a little.”
“No, thank you,” she said firmly, her voice steady and unyielding.
I clenched my jaw, forcing a tight smile. “Suit yourself,” I said, trying to mask my irritation.
Without another word, she closed the door in my face, leaving me standing in the hallway with the champagne bottle still in my hand. I stared at the polished wood for a moment before turning away, my mood souring.
This night wasn’t going the way I’d planned.