Terrazza was far more luxurious than her faded memories had painted it—an exclusive, Michelin-starred gem where reservations were booked months in advance. The façade was understated elegance: polished dark wood, valets in crisp uniforms. Inside, marble floors gleamed beneath crystal chandeliers, tables draped in heavy linen.
The manager—a man in a tailored suit—greeted Alexander by name with deferential warmth, his eyes flicking briefly to Seraphina before leading them through the main dining room to a private alcove reserved for the most discreet patrons.
Alexander's hand found the small of her back as they walked—gentle, guiding, but the heat of his palm seared through the thin silk of her blouse. Every hair on her body stood on end; shivers raced across her skin like electricity. She hated how aware she was of him—how her pulse jumped at the contact, how heat pooled low in her belly despite every warning bell in her mind.
The room was intimate: deep crimson velvet curtains, a crystal chandelier casting prismatic light, and a single antique table set for two with silver, fine china, and crystal that caught the candle flames like stars.
He pulled out her chair—an old-fashioned gesture that should have felt patronizing but somehow didn't. His fingers brushed the bare skin of her shoulder as she sat, and a shiver raced down her arm before she could stop it.
She folded her hands in her lap, spine straight, and watched him settle across from her. The chandelier light danced across his sharp features, softening the hard edges just enough to make him devastatingly handsome: the strong line of his jaw shadowed with faint stubble, strands of dark hair falling slightly over his forehead. His shirt collar was open, revealing the tanned column of his throat, and the way the candle flames reflected in his gaze made her breath catch—again.
He was beautiful. Devastatingly so. Like a fallen angel—too perfect for existence, but with a dangerous edge, possessiveness and darkness lurking beneath the surface.
For a moment, they simply looked at each other. His blue eyes caught hers. He took in a deep breath, nodding to himself, and passed her a shy, reassuring smile—lips curving softly, just one corner lifting higher than the other, eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine warmth.
He smiled more often, she noticed. Not the controlled, measured CEO smile he used in business, but real smiles—small, private, like she was seeing something few others got to see. At Ravenswood, he'd been so serious, always frowning at textbooks like they'd personally offended him, always working, always proving himself. She'd wondered back then if he ever relaxed, if he ever let himself just... be.
Now, sitting across from her in candlelight, he looked almost peaceful. Almost happy.
And that terrified her more than anything because she didn't quite know what he had to gain. What was the catch for him?
The waiter returned with wine—a rich Barolo that gleamed deep ruby in the candlelight, the burgundy liquid swirling in crystal glasses.
Seraphina took a sip. The wine was complex, layered—dark cherry and tobacco and something earthy underneath. Expensive. The kind of wine you saved for important occasions.
The waiter set down their first course—burrata with heirloom tomatoes, basil, and aged balsamic that had been reduced to syrup.
Alexander's hand brushed against hers as he reached for the bread basket, passing it to her. The contact, though innocent, still sent heat racing up her arm.
"You know," Seraphina said abruptly, needing to break the tension crackling between them, "Sebastian came here last year."
Alexander's lips twitched, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Did he?"
"Oh yes, he did." She set down her fork, already warming to the story. "He was trying to impress a French actress, if I remember correctly. Dominique something—the one from that Cannes film. So he booked the entire restaurant, flew in white truffles from Alba, had a violinist playing her favorite arias." She gestured expressively, her voice taking on a dramatic flair. "The full Sebastian spectacle."
Alexander leaned forward immediately, curiosity brightening his features, drawn in completely. His eyes crinkled with amusement, lips already curving upward in anticipation. "Of course he did."
"It was all flawless until dessert—tiramisu flambé." Seraphina's eyes sparkled with barely contained laughter. "Sebastian, being the ever-romantic charmer, decided that he would feed her the bite himself." She mimed lifting a spoon with exaggerated care, replicating the delicate motions. "So he took the spoon, filled it up with the tiramisu, and went across the table to feed her."
She paused for effect, watching Alexander's smile grow wider, his attention completely captured. He looked utterly enchanted, leaning even closer, hanging on every word like she was telling the most fascinating story he'd ever heard.
"I think he misjudged the distance from the candle—" She made a whooshing sound, hands flaring outward dramatically. "The brandy catches fire. BOOM! It shoots up like a torch. Sebastian dropped the spoon, and it catches the edge of the tablecloth."
Alexander's shoulders started shaking with silent laughter, his hand coming up to cover his mouth, eyes dancing with mirth.
"It was a small fire at first," Seraphina continued, waving her hands wildly. "Then the whole centerpiece ignited. Flowers, napkins, everything. The actress screams—" She made the face she thought the woman would have made, eyes wide, mouth open in exaggerated horror.
"—knocks over her wine trying to stand, and the spilled wine just feeds the flames. Sebastian—the genius—tries to smother it with his napkin, but—" She slapped her hands together, laughs escaping her. "—sets that on fire too!"
"No," Alexander said, grinning widely now, utterly captivated by her animated storytelling.
"Yes!" Seraphina was fully animated now, leaning across from her seat, hands gesturing wildly. "So now Sebastian's waving a flaming napkin around like a flag, the actress is screaming in French—I think she was cursing him out, honestly, but Sebastian swears she was telling him to protect her—and then, wait for it—"
She paused dramatically. "—the man at the neighboring table tries to help. Grabs the champagne bucket and throws the water, but apparently there was alcohol in the ice or something because the flames go even higher!"
Alexander was pressing his lips together hard, trying desperately not to laugh out loud, his shoulders trembling violently. His eyes were bright with unshed tears of laughter, completely mesmerized by her performance.
She mimed the scene with explosive hand gestures, making exaggerated sound effects continuing her story. "Foam everywhere. PSSSHHHHHH! The table's charred, the actress is covered head to toe in white foam. Sebastian's eyebrows—" She traced her own eyebrows with her fingers. "—half singed off. He's got soot on his face, his shirt's torn where he tried to beat out the flames, and there's this moment of complete silence. Everyone just staring."
Alexander was laughing—a real, laugh that seemed to come from deep in his chest. His eyes crinkled and transformed his entire face from the serious CEO into someone younger, lighter, happier. Beautiful in a way that made her chest ache.
Seraphina shook her head, still grinning, the memory of Sebastian's panicked, soot-covered face too vivid in her mind.
She liked him laughing with her. Liked that her poorly told, not-even-that-funny story with exaggerated voices and wild hand gestures had earned such genuine amusement. Liked that he'd made the effort to look so interested, to lean in like every word mattered, to laugh like she'd just told him the funniest thing he'd ever heard.
"After that, I don't think Sebastian has ever stepped in here again," she said, wiping at her eyes.
"No, he still comes," Alexander said, shaking his head, his grin still wide and infectious. "I was always curious why Antonio, the owner, asks him every time if he wants the flambé."
Their eyes met across the table, and they burst out laughing again, the sound mingling together in the intimate space.
Something warm unfurled in Seraphina's chest. Something dangerous.
Alexander's expression softened as his laughter faded, his gaze lingering on her face with an intensity that made her breath catch. His eyes traced over her features slowly, deliberately, like he was memorizing them. "You should laugh more often," he said quietly. "It changes the room."
The words landed like a physical touch. Heat flooded her cheeks, her chest, spreading through her entire body like wildfire. She looked down at her plate, suddenly unable to hold his gaze, her heart hammering.
Don't overthink it. This is a technique. A way to make her comfortable, to lower her defenses. Don't fall for it.