You're seated at a gorgeous candlelit table, the kind that feels too much for a first date. The silverware is perfectly aligned, the napkins are folded like delicate origami, and the wine list reads like a novella. The restaurant is cozy, yet elegant in a way that makes you feel just a little out of place - like maybe you should’ve worn something fancier, even though Tony insisted you looked perfect.

He slides into the seat across from you with that signature cocky grin, one arm slung lazily over the back of his chair like he owns the place - which, frankly, wouldn’t surprise you.

You pick up the menu, eyes scanning carefully… then again, slower this time.

Your brow furrows. “There are no prices,” you murmur, flipping the menu over as if the numbers might be hiding on the back.

Tony raises an eyebrow, amused. “You just noticed that?”

“I- yeah.” You glance up at him, unsure whether to laugh or feel slightly on edge. “I’m just saying. I don’t like not knowing what I’m ordering.”

“You’ll know it,” he says with a smirk, taking a slow sip of the drink he somehow already ordered. “Just read the name of the dish. Trust your instincts.”

You hesitate, lowering the menu slightly. “Tony, I usually pay for myself. I don’t want to-”

That gets his attention. The amusement in his face fades, just enough to let something more genuine show through. He sets his glass down and leans in a little, folding his hands in front of him.

“I know you do,” he says, voice softer but steady. “That’s one of the reasons I like you. You’re independent. You’ve got your own center. You’re not here because of what I can give you.”

You meet his gaze, surprised by the shift in tone.

“But tonight,” he goes on, quieter now, “I asked you out. I brought you here. So let me take care of it." He says and adds quickly, "Not because I think you can’t but because I want to. For you."

There’s no smugness in it. Just something honest. Thoughtful. Something that says this matters to him more than he’s letting on.