Mireille cleared her throat, breaking the emotional moment. "Anyway, before we all start crying into our pasta, let me tell you about the time Maxi accidentally went to class with his shirt inside out."
"That happened?" Ophelia perked up immediately.
"Oh, it absolutely happened," Logan confirmed with a laugh. "He'd been up all night with some family crisis—we never knew the details—and showed up to our presentation looking like death. His shirt was inside out, his hair was a mess, and he was running on approximately four hours of sleep over three days."
"But he still nailed the presentation," Mireille added. "Spoke for twenty minutes about market analysis and competitive advantages without notes, inside-out shirt and all. Professor Morrison didn't even notice the shirt. We only realized after class when Kalina pointed it out."
"What did Maxi do?" Ophelia asked, laughing.
"Looked down at himself, looked back up at us, and said, 'Well, I was wondering why it felt weird,'" Logan recounted. "'I thought I'd just bought a defective shirt.'"
"A defective designer shirt," Mireille emphasized. "The man doesn't own anything that costs less than my rent, and he thought he'd just happened to buy a faulty one."
Ophelia was giggling now, her anxiety about tomorrow night temporarily forgotten in the warmth of these stories. "He sounds so different from his public image. In magazines and at events, he always seems so... untouchable. Perfect."
"That's the version of himself he shows to the world," Kalina said, her eyes fully closed now but still participating in the conversation. "The heir, the businessman, the Blackwood. But the real Maxi? He's awkward sometimes. He overthinks things. He cares too much about doing the right thing, even when it costs him. He's human."
"That's the Maxi you'll meet tomorrow," Mireille said gently, reaching across the table to squeeze Ophelia's hand. "Not the tabloid version or the business magazine profile. Just Maxi. And Lia? He's going to love your gallery. He has excellent taste in art, and he appreciates genuine passion. You have nothing to worry about."
"But what if—" Ophelia started.
"No 'what ifs,'" Logan interrupted firmly but kindly. "You're brilliant, your gallery is incredible, and you're going to show him your world the same way Kalina showed us art that day. With enthusiasm and knowledge and genuine love for what you do. That's all you need to be."
Ophelia took a shaky breath and nodded. "Okay. Okay, you're right. I can do this."
"Of course you can," came Kalina's muffled voice from the table. "You're a Levesque. We're terrifying when we want to be."
"I thought you said we were all brilliant, not terrifying," Mireille pointed out.
"Can't we be both?" Kalina mumbled.
"Fair point."
Ophelia looked at her sister's exhausted form with affection. "Kali, you should go lie down. You're falling asleep at the table."
"M'fine," Kalina protested unconvincingly. "Keep talking. Wanna hear..."
"She's gone," Logan said with fond exasperation as Kalina's breathing evened out into sleep. "I swear, she can fall asleep anywhere. One time in university, she fell asleep standing up in the library. Just leaning against a bookshelf, out cold."
"How is that even possible?" Ophelia asked, amazed.
"It's a Kalina superpower," Mireille said, standing to start clearing the dishes. "Come on, let's move this party to the living room. We can let her sleep here for a bit, then relocate her to the couch."
They carefully cleared the table around Kalina's sleeping form, speaking in hushed tones. Once the dishes were loaded into the dishwasher, they settled into Logan's comfortable living room—Mireille curled up in the armchair, Ophelia and Logan on the couch with plenty of space between them.
"So," Ophelia said once they were settled, "tell me more. What else should I know about Maxi? His likes, dislikes, pet peeves?"
"Well," Logan began, getting comfortable, "he absolutely cannot stand dishonesty. Even small lies bother him. I think it comes from growing up surrounded by people who wanted things from him—everyone always had an agenda, always wearing masks."
"He values authenticity above almost everything else," Mireille added. "Which is why he and Kalina got along so well. She never pretended to be anything other than exactly who she was—a brilliant but lazy girl who'd rather sleep than network."
"He's weirdly competitive about board games," Logan said with a grin. "We played Monopoly once, and I've never seen someone take fake real estate so seriously."
"He's also surprisingly sentimental," Mireille said softly. "He kept every birthday card we gave him, every silly note Kalina would leave in his textbooks when she borrowed them. I saw them once when I helped him move to a new apartment—he had this whole box of mementos."
Ophelia's expression softened even more. "That's adorable."
"He's a morning person, which is disgusting," Logan contributed. "Up at six AM, already exercised and showered by the time normal humans are waking up. He tried to get us to join his morning runs once. We laughed at him."
"He drinks his coffee black but will never judge someone for loading it with sugar and cream," Mireille said. "He's lactose intolerant but will suffer through cheese if it's good cheese because he loves it that much."
"He has this terrible habit of working through meals," Logan added. "You'll be having a conversation with him, and he'll just... forget to eat. We had to institute a rule during group meetings that everyone had to stop and actually eat together, or Maxi would work straight through and then wonder why he felt sick later."
"He's stupidly loyal," Mireille said, her expression serious now. "If he considers you a friend, he'll move mountains for you. We saw it multiple times—he'd drop everything to help if one of us needed something."
"But he struggles to ask for help himself," Logan noted. "Too used to handling everything alone, I think. We had to learn to just show up when he was struggling, because he'd never admit he needed support."
Ophelia was absorbing all of this, her phone out now, actually taking notes. "What about... romantically? Was he dating anyone in university?"
Logan and Mireille exchanged uncomfortable glances.
"There were people interested in him," Mireille said carefully. "Constantly. But he never seemed interested back. He was polite, friendly, but there was always this... wall. Like he kept that part of himself completely separate."
"We always figured it was because of the pressure from his family," Logan added. "You know how it is with families like his—marriages are strategic alliances, not love matches. He probably knew that his romantic life wasn't really going to be his choice."
"That's so sad," Ophelia whispered.
"It is," Mireille agreed. "Which is why tomorrow night is important, Lia. Not just for you and your gallery, but maybe... maybe for him too. A chance to meet someone genuine, in an environment that's about art and passion rather than business and obligation."
"No pressure," Ophelia said weakly.
"Actually, exactly the opposite," Logan corrected gently. "Don't put pressure on yourself or the situation. Just be yourself. Show him your world. Let whatever happens, happen naturally."
They continued talking for another hour, sharing more stories from university—the time they'd all crammed for an exam together and Silas had organized the most effective study session any of them had ever experienced; the way Maxi would sometimes show up with expensive snacks for their meetings, never making a big deal about it; how Kalina had once solved a problem they'd been stuck on for days by sleepily mumbling the answer and then going back to sleep without remembering it later.
Around eleven-thirty, they heard shuffling from the dining area. Kalina appeared in the doorway, her hair disheveled, her expression confused.
"Did I fall asleep?" she asked, blinking at them.
"About an hour ago," Logan confirmed. "Come on, let's get you to your actual bed for the night."
"No, m'awake now," Kalina protested, shuffling into the living room and collapsing onto the remaining couch space next to Ophelia. "Keep talking. What'd I miss?"
"We were just finishing up the Maxi stories," Mireille said. "Got anything to add, oh wise and drowsy one?"
Kalina was quiet for a moment, her head resting on Ophelia's shoulder. When she spoke, her voice was soft, almost vulnerable in a way it rarely was.
"Maxi's good people, Lia. One of the best I've ever known. He deserves someone who sees him for who he really is, not what he represents. Someone who makes him laugh, who challenges him, who reminds him that life is about more than business and obligations." She paused, then added quietly, "Someone like you."
Ophelia felt tears prick her eyes. "You really think so?"
"I wouldn't have set this all up if I didn't," Kalina replied. "You're both my favorite people. It would make me happy to see you happy together."
"But no pressure," Mireille added quickly, shooting Kalina a look.
"Right, no pressure," Kalina agreed, though her slight smile suggested she had more confidence in this outcome than she was letting on.
They talked for another half hour, the conversation drifting to other topics—Mireille's ongoing obsession with the mysterious Tristan ("I'm not obsessed, I'm strategically interested"), Logan's frustrations with Sophia's continued silence ("At this point, I think she's ghosting me and just won't admit it"), and the upcoming gallery event logistics.
Eventually, exhaustion won out. They set up sleeping arrangements—Kalina claimed the couch immediately and was asleep again within minutes, Mireille took the guest room, and Logan insisted Ophelia take his bed while he'd sleep on the recliner in his room.
In the living room, Logan covered Kalina with a spare blanket, shaking his head fondly at her already-snoring form. Mireille appeared from the guest room, also ready for sleep.
"Think it'll work?" Mireille whispered.
"Ophelia and Maxi?"
Logan looked toward his bedroom, then back at Kalina's sleeping figure. "If anyone can make it work, it's these crazy Levesque sisters and their insane schemes. Besides," he added with a small smile, "I've never seen Kalina put this much effort into anything that didn't work out exactly as she planned."
"Fair point," Mireille conceded. "Night, Logan."
"Night, Mireille."
The apartment fell into peaceful silence, four friends resting before what promised to be a life-changing day.
And somewhere across the city, in a high-rise apartment, Maximilian Blackwood was reviewing his calendar for tomorrow, noting an evening gallery event that a trusted old friend had suggested he attend. Something about promising young talent and a venue worth seeing.
He didn't know it yet, but that simple calendar note was about to change everything.