THE DINNER DISASTER: LINES THAT SHOULDN'T BLUR
1487 Words
Nylah sat at the dinner table gripping her fork like it was a weapon.
Across from her, Zavian sat perfectly poised, somehow managing to make his crisp white shirt and rolled-up sleeves look like high fashion. He cut into his lamb with the precision of a surgeon, dabbing the corners of his mouth like he hadn’t just thrown her life into chaos.
Her mother beamed at him like he was the second coming of Christ.
“This lamb,” Zavian said politely, “is exquisite, Mrs. Daniels.”
“Oh, please—call me Pam!” Her mother practically giggled. “And thank you, Zavian. It’s my grandmother’s recipe. It’s lovely to have someone here who appreciates real food.”
Nylah forced a smile so hard her cheeks hurt.
“Mamma, you say that every time anyone eats anything that’s not takeout.”
Her father, Mr. Daniels, cleared his throat and finally spoke, his deep voice cutting through the awkward tension like a knife.
“So, Zavian. You’re a lawyer, hmm?”
“And a hotel mogul,” Pam added proudly, before Zavian could answer. “Our Nylah’s not just dating anyone.”
Zavian set down his knife and folded his hands in front of him.
“Yes, sir. Law was my first passion. Hospitality became a business move.”
“And how long have you two been… involved?” her father asked, eyeing Zavian like he was a suspect in a murder case.
Nylah choked on her water.
Zavian didn’t flinch.
“A few days.”
Her mother’s eyes lit up like Christmas.
“And already agreeing to dinner with the parents! That must mean it’s serious.”
“Very serious,” Zavian said smoothly, reaching under the table and casually placing his hand on Nylah’s knee.
She nearly levitated out of her chair.
Her eyes snapped to his. His expression didn’t change. He was cool, composed, unbothered. If anything, he looked bored.
She wanted to kick him. Preferably in the face.
“Mamma,” she said, gritting her teeth, “Zavian and I are still… figuring things out.”
“Well, take your time, but not too much time,” her mother winked. “You’re not getting any younger.”
Nylah nearly buried her face in her mashed potatoes.
“I don’t believe in rushing things,” Zavian added, voice calm and silky. “But when you know, you know.”
Her parents melted.
Nylah looked at him like he’d lost his damn mind. What was this performance?
“Oh!” Pam clapped her hands. “I need a photo of you two. Sit close, come on!”
“No,” Nylah said instinctively.
“Yes,” Zavian said at the exact same time.
He shifted his chair beside hers, wrapping an arm around her shoulders with casual ease like he did it every day. She went stiff as a board.
“Smile!” Pam said.
Zavian leaned in and whispered through his teeth,
“If you don’t smile, I swear I’ll start kissing you in front of your father.”
She smiled so hard she might’ve pulled a facial muscle.
Snap.
“Beautiful,” Pam said, misty-eyed. “You two are just beautiful together. Nylah, I think you should go back to your apartment now. You have had enough healing in my house…. And! I am sure Zavian would also like to visit you privately sometime.” Pam winked, being silly.
Mr. Daniels cleared his throat uncomfortably.
The rest of the meal was a blur of fake laughter and exaggerated storytelling. Zavian charmed her parents like he was born to be a son-in-law, while Nylah sat there spiralling.
Every time he laughed, her stomach did something it shouldn’t. And every time he touched her hand or leaned in, she kept wondering how something so fake could feel so… real.
It was infuriating.
As dinner ended and her father disappeared to the living room to watch soccer and her mother bustled into the kitchen with the dishes, Nylah pulled Zavian aside near the hallway.
“You’re insane,” she hissed. “What the hell was that?”
“I was being supportive,” he said, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt. “You lied. I showed up. That’s what good boyfriends do, isn’t it?”
She folded her arms.
“You said this was just for the campaign.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“This is for the campaign. If the Daniels think we’re legit, that means no more surprise visits, no more suspicions. They’ll stop pressuring you. It’s a win-win.”
She stared at him, trying to decide whether to slap him or thank him.
“Why do you always have to take control of everything?”
“Because I don’t like chaos,” he said flatly. “And you, Nylah, attract it like a magnet.”
He moved past her towards the door, then paused and glanced back over his shoulder.
“Tell your mom I’ll bring dessert next time.”
Then he was gone.
Nylah stood in the hallway, blinking after him.
Next time?
What the hell does that mean?
She groaned and leaned against the wall, her pulse still fluttering.
This fake relationship was getting way too complicated.
And the worst part?
She wasn’t sure she wanted it to end.
***
Zavian – Later That Night
The minute Zavian stepped into his penthouse apartment, he yanked his tie loose and tossed it onto the nearest chair. The flowers, the whiskey, the painfully domestic family dinner—it was all too much.
He poured himself a glass of whiskey and took it to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. Below, Cape Town pulsed with energy. He needed the reminder that this—this controlled, calculated empire—was his world. Not… dinner tables and messy-haired women who made his head spin.
He sipped his drink and closed his eyes briefly.
Nylah’s laughter had rung in his ears long after he left. It wasn’t even directed at him—just something her father had said—but it had lit her up in a way he hadn’t seen before. Natural. Free. Warm.
Too warm.
He didn’t do warmth. Or messy emotions. Or fake girlfriends who were starting to make his self-control waver.
She’d looked like a disaster—slippers, no makeup, oversized hoodie—and somehow, that made it worse. Because despite everything, she still looked like the most honest thing he’d seen in a long time.
And honest things were dangerous.
Zavian tossed back the rest of his drink and set the glass down harder than necessary.
He needed to refocus. The campaign was still in full swing. The press were circling after Alicia’s stunt. And now he had to deal with the illusion of a girlfriend who made him think things he had no business thinking.
This was exactly why he didn’t do relationships.
Because pretending… was starting to feel too real.
***
Nylah – The Next Morning
Nylah stared at her reflection in the hotel’s campaign powder room mirror and groaned.
She’d tried everything—foundation, bronzer, mascara—but nothing could erase the emotional hangover from last night.
Fake boyfriend.
Fake dinner.
Real feelings that shouldn’t be real.
What kind of twisted emotional math was that?
And of course, the moment she stepped into the studio floor, the gossip wrapped around her like a damn boa constrictor.
“Did you see the flowers Mr. Blake had delivered to the suite for Nylah this morning?”
“I swear he winked at her that day in the boardroom.”
“They’re totally dating. You can feel it.”
“Maybe she slept her way into the campaign.”
That last whisper stopped her in her tracks. Her back stiffened. She didn’t turn around.
Instead, she walked into makeup like her heels were weapons.
Let them talk. Let them whisper. If pretending to date the ice king of the Western Cape meant enduring a few rumours, so be it.
Except—she wasn’t sure how much was pretending anymore.
When he’d touched her last night, even just a hand on her knee—it had done something. Something stupid.
Why couldn’t he just be cold and indifferent like usual? Why show up with whiskey and compliments and that stupid smooth voice that made her heart feel like a traitor?
She dropped into the makeup chair and exhaled deeply. Her stylist, Zenzi, gave her a curious look.
“You alright?” Zenzi asked, patting foundation onto her cheeks.
“Fine,” Nylah muttered.
Zenzi smirked.
“Right. That’s exactly how a woman sounds when she’s fine after her boyfriend turns up looking like sin and sweet talking her parents.”
Nylah’s eyes narrowed in the mirror.
Zenzi winked.
“You’re in trouble, girl.”
Yeah, she was. And the worst part?
Some small, masochistic part of her didn’t want out.
- Writer
