The lighting in the restaurant is warm and golden, casting soft shadows across the marble table. You’re leaning back in your chair, full from the scallops, the handmade pasta, the three-course degustation you swore you’d split — but Xavier insisted you order both.
The server returns with a discreet smile and two dessert menus. You barely glance at it before sliding your card across the table.
“I’ve got this one,” you say casually, tone light. “Consider it my treat.”
Xavier’s brows lift — just slightly — as he leans forward, elbows resting on the edge of the table. “That’s cute.”
You blink. “I’m serious.”
He glances at your card like it personally offended him. “You’re not paying.”
You narrow your eyes. “Why not?”
“Because this is a restaurant, not a courtroom. You can’t out-argue me here.” He glances over your shoulder and then, without breaking eye contact, says to the waiter, “She’s adorable. But I’ve already taken care of the bill.”
Your head whips around to the server, who confirms it with a smile before backing away quickly — like he knows you’re about to go full lawyer mode.
“You already paid?” you ask slowly.
Xavier shrugs. “I called ahead. Told them not to bring the check to the table.”
You stare at him. “That’s manipulative.”
“That’s romantic,” he corrects, smirking. “And don’t insult me by trying to cover dinner in that dress.”
Your mouth opens. “What does the dress have to do with anything?”
He leans closer, voice low. “You walk into a place like this in heels like that, in a backless dress that literally made a man trip over a wine cart, and you think I’m letting you pay?”
You squint at him. “I’m not a charity case.”
“No,” he says, sitting back with a smug look, “you’re my fiancée.”
You glare, but your cheeks warm anyway.
He tilts his head. “Get revenge. Pay next time.”
You hum thoughtfully, pretending to consider it.
“You won’t win,” he adds, standing to offer you his hand.
“We’ll see,” you mutter, letting him help you up.
He grins, brushing a kiss to your temple.
"Fuck, I love when you try.”