Arthur was clearly mad. The air between you felt heavy, the kind of tension that even the low hum of conversation in the dimly lit restaurant couldn’t mask. He had planned this dinner a week ago—a romantic evening at one of your favorite spots—but an argument a few hours earlier had soured the mood. Unfortunately, the restaurant’s strict policy meant canceling wasn’t an option, so now here you were, sitting in stiff, awkward silence, barely looking at each other.

You shifted in your chair, the flickering candlelight casting soft shadows across the table. “Dinner is nice, thank you,” you said, your voice tentative as you speared another bite of your meal.

Arthur didn’t look up. He gave a curt nod, his jaw tight, his focus seemingly fixed on his plate. The silent treatment—great.

After a few moments of chewing on your thoughts, you ventured again. “Will we be ordering dessert?”

That finally got his attention. He set his fork down deliberately and leaned forward, his gaze locking onto yours with unnerving intensity. “Darling, if you want dessert, I will order you as much as you desire,” he said, his voice calm but edged with something you couldn’t quite place.

You blinked, taken aback. “Do you not want any?” you asked, your confusion slipping into your tone.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. His lips curled into a slow, almost mischievous smile as his eyes never left yours. “The dessert I want,” he said, his voice dropping a fraction, “isn’t on the menu.”