Henry had said three days ago that he wanted to have dinner together.
And now the night was cool, painted in shades of deep navy and scattered starlight. Aria found herself smoothing down her dress for the third time as she waited by the car. She had told herself countless times she wasn't nervous—it was just dinner, nothing more. And yet, the thought of sitting across from Henry in the warm glow of a restaurant, the two of them alone, stirred butterflies that refused to settle.
Henry stepped out of the car first, his hand extended toward her. He looked devastatingly handsome in a dark suit that fit him like it had been tailored for this very moment. His eyes caught hers, and his lips curled into a soft smile.
"You look beautiful," he murmured, his voice low enough that it felt like a secret.
Her cheeks heated, but she slipped her hand into his. "You've said that before."
"And it's still true. Every time I see you, it feels new."
Candlelight flickered between them, casting golden light that danced over Henry's sharp features.
Aria picked up her menu, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingered on her rather than the food. "You're staring," she teased, raising an eyebrow.
"Am I not allowed to?" he countered smoothly.
"You're going to make people think you're in love with me," she shot back with mock seriousness.
His grin deepened, but he said nothing, letting the silence hang just long enough for her heart to skip before he finally answered. "Maybe I am."
Her breath caught, but she quickly buried the reaction by pretending to study the wine list. "You're impossible."
"And you like it," he said, leaning back in his chair, his eyes glinting with mischief.
Dinner flowed with laughter and stolen glances. Henry teased her about her tendency to order dessert before even deciding on the main course, while she made fun of his overly refined way of tasting wine as though he were in a judging competition. The atmosphere was light, almost playful, but underneath it ran an electric undercurrent neither could deny.
At one point, their hands brushed across the table when both reached for the breadbasket. Instead of pulling away, Henry let his fingers graze hers, lingering just long enough for her pulse to quicken.
"You always do that," she whispered.
"Do what?"
"Catch me off guard."
"That's because I like the way you look at me afterward," he replied, his voice softer now, carrying a sincerity that pierced through the teasing veneer.
When the plates were cleared and dessert shared, they finally stepped out of the restaurant together. The evening air was cooler now, scented faintly with blooming jasmine from the nearby planters. Aria wrapped her shawl closer around her shoulders, and without a word, Henry draped his jacket over her.
"Henry, you'll be cold."
"I'll survive. You matter more."
Her heart thudded so loudly she was certain he could hear it.
But before she could respond, the sound of familiar voices broke the spell.
"Henry?"
They both turned. There, just a few steps away, stood his mother, impeccably dressed as always, flanked by two elegant women. The surprise flickered across Henry's face, but Aria's stomach dropped. This was not how she had imagined meeting his mother in such an intimate setting.
"Mother," Henry greeted, regaining his composure quickly. He placed a protective hand at the small of Aria's back. "What a coincidence."
His mother's eyes swept over Aria, and for a tense moment Aria braced for judgment. Instead, Henry's mother's expression softened into something almost… warm.
"And this is Aria, you both look lovely." she said, her voice tinged with genuine curiosity.
Aria blinked, taken aback. "Th-thank you"
One of the women beside her mother leaned in with a smile. "You two make a stunning pair. Truly. Look at you, Henry—so handsome, and with such a graceful lady by your side."
Henry's lips twitched in a faint smirk, clearly amused by Aria's flushed reaction. "Thank you Madame Bourne." he replied smoothly.
His mother reached out, briefly touching Aria's hand. "I'm hosting a small gathering for tea tomorrow afternoon. I would be delighted if you joined us, Aria. It would give us more time to talk."
Aria hesitated, her mind spinning. The invitation was unexpected, yet the kindness in her tone left little room for refusal. "I… I would love to," she finally said.
"Wonderful," Henry's mother beamed before excusing herself and her companions. "I look forward to it. Enjoy your evening."
As they walked away, Aria let out a long breath. "That was… not what I expected."
"Neither did I but," Henry admitted, his hand still steady at her back. "She likes you."
"You think so?"
"I know so. You don't know how rare that is."
Her lips curved into a small smile, though her nerves still fluttered. "Tomorrow's going to be terrifying."
---
They paused near the car, the glow of the streetlamps casting silver highlights over Aria's hair. Neither moved to open the door. Instead, they stood close, their breaths mingling in the cool night.
Henry's hand brushed against hers, then closed gently over it. "You handled that perfectly."
"I was shaking," she confessed with a nervous laugh.
"And yet, you were flawless. That's what you do to me, Aria—you take my world, with all its chaos, and make it feel steady."
Her eyes lifted to his, searching. The intensity in his gaze was undeniable, and the distance between them seemed to shrink without either of them deciding it.
"Henry…" she whispered, but the rest of the words died on her lips.
He leaned closer, his free hand coming up to cradle her cheek. "Tell me to stop," he murmured.
She didn't. She couldn't.
And then his lips met hers.
It wasn't hurried or desperate—it was deliberate, tender, yet filled with unspoken longing that had been simmering for far too long. Her knees felt weak, but his arm around her waist pulled her closer, grounding her.
When they finally broke apart, her breath was unsteady, her lips tingling.
"Henry," she said softly, her voice trembling but certain, "that felt… real."
"It was," he replied, forehead resting against hers. "More real than anything else in my life."
The city seemed to fade around them, leaving only the two of them standing there beneath the stars, caught between what they had been and what they were becoming.