17. A Date?
1253 Words
The moment Emma stepped into Le Mirage, she knew something was different. After their activity earlier, when her stomach growled louder. Damien suggested dinner. And hence they were here.
The restaurant, usually buzzing with the city’s elite, was silent— save for the soft strains of a piano weaving through the air like a secret. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over empty tables, their pristine linens untouched. A single setting waited at the center of the room, bathed in candlelight, overlooking floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the glittering skyline.
Emma turned to Damien, her brow furrowing. “Why is it empty?”
The maître d’— a silver-haired man with a knowing smile— answered before Damien could. “Slow evening, madame. A rare treat for our most valued guests. Enjoy your date.”
Slow evening? For a restaurant like this? But Damien’s hand at the small of her back guided her forward.
And was it really a date?
“Skepticism doesn’t suit you, Bella,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Just enjoy it.”
She shivered, allowing herself to be led to the table.
As she looked at the menu, the server arrived again with a fine bottle of champagne. Emma felt a bit uneasy. This must cost a fortune and she didn't really have the money to pay for it all.
Before the server opened the drink, Emma stopped him, “can you please give us a moment first?”
The server nodded, “of course, Miss. This one is on the house. Please let me pour you a glass.”
Emma was surprised for a second.
Well I heard high end places give out free alcohol or starters. Maybe this is just the way they run the restaurant! She thought to herself.
“Thank you,” with a smile she spoke to the server.
As he walked away, Emma turned to Damien.
“Why did you choose this place? The prices are not even written on the menu but I am pretty sure it's gonna be in sane!” Emma asked promptly in a low voice.
“Relax! I know the chef so we will get a discounted price,” Damien winked.
The truth was, he owned half of the restaurant, along with the plaza. He called them earlier to keep the place empty just because he wanted to treat Emma to a good meal.
“So, what do you want, Bella?” Damien asked.
“What do you recommend?” Emma smiled at him.
Damien put down the menu, “in that case, you will have chef's special.”
He snapped his fingers and a server appeared again with a velvety butternut squash soup with a drizzle of browned butter. Emma dipped her spoon in, savoring the warmth. “Why does this taste like autumn in a bowl?”
Damien leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Because the chef sources his pumpkins from a farm in Provence. They’re roasted over open fire for twelve hours.”
Emma was beyond surprised, “how do you know that?”
“I know a lot of things.” His smirk was infuriating. “For example, you’ve got a freckle just below your—”
“Damien.” She threw her napkin at him.
He caught it, laughing—a deep, unfiltered sound that sent warmth pooling low in her stomach.
The entrée arrived—a perfect medium-rare filet mignon with a red wine reduction, paired with roasted heirloom vegetables. Emma cut into it, the knife sliding through like butter.
“Okay, seriously,” she said between bites, “how is this place empty? This food is insane.”
Damien swirled his wine, feigning nonchalance. “Maybe people have lost their taste.”
“This is insane!” Emma blurted, still unaware of the facts. “If I didn’t know better I would have thought someone had booked the place for the evening. Just to have a date!”
Damien's eyes narrowed, “would that impress you?”
Emma paused for a second. Then a slow smile appeared on her lips, “That would impress any woman!”
The conversation flowed—light, effortless.
At one point, Emma laughed so hard she snorted into her champagne.
Damien’s expression shifted—something unreadable flickering in his eyes.
“What?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious.
He reached across the table, thumb brushing a stray drop of wine from her chin. “You’re different when you’re not pretending.”
Emma’s breath caught.
Then the moment broke as the waiter appeared with dessert.
A chocolate fondant, its center molten, oozed onto the plate as Emma cracked it open. Vanilla bean ice cream melted alongside it, swirling into the rich pool. On top of that the server mentioned, “everything is on the house. Please enjoy!”
Emma was bewildered. Slowly she took a bite to the dessert.
“This is sinful,” she groaned.
Damien’s voice dropped an octave. “You have no idea what sinful is.”
Emma’s fork froze mid-air. Heat flooded her cheeks.
The piano music shifted—a slow melody she recognized.
Damien stood, extending his hand. “Dance with me.”
“Here?” Emma choked.
“Yes, right here, right now,” Damien pressed. And before she could take his hand, he grabbed her hand and pulled her straight on the dance floor.
His arms enveloped her, one hand clasping hers, the other splayed against her back, pressing her close. Emma’s heart hammered against her ribs.
“You’re tense,” he murmured, lips grazing her temple.
“I don’t dance.” Emma replied.
He spun her out without a word, then reeled her back in, her back flush against his chest. His voice was a whisper against her skin, "You do tonight,”
Then his arm slid around her waist, pulling her even close until their bodies aligned—chest to chest, hip to hip.
Emma’s breath hitched. "This wasn’t in the contract."
"Don't worry, Bella, I won’t charge extra," he murmured, his lips brushing her earlobes.
They swayed, the city lights blurring around them. Emma’s cheek rested against his shoulder, her heartbeat syncing with the music.
This feels real. Emma thought for a second. Like we are a couple!
The music faded, but Damien didn’t let go.
“Come with me,” he said, leading her to the terrace.
The night air was cool, the city spread below them like a glittering tapestry. Then—
Boom.
Fireworks exploded overhead, painting the sky in bursts of gold and crimson. Emma gasped, her face lighting up with childlike wonder.
“Fireworks? At this time of the year?” Emma frowned in disbelief.
“You didn't plan it, did you?” She whispered.
But how could he? For fireworks, you need permission from the city, and from another bunch of people, unless you are ok to go to jail. Also, it wasn't easily available either. I must be out of my mind thinking Damien could actually pull it out!
“Nevermind!” Emma sighed.
Damien didn’t say a thing. His eyes only watched her. The more he watched the more he wanted her. But why? She was just another woman! Why was she so special?
He kissed her then, slow and deep, stealing the words she couldn’t say.
When they parted, fireworks still blooming above them, Emma pressed her forehead to his.
Only if this weren’t just a transaction. Only if we could be a real couple!
- Writer
