“You’ll enjoy yourself, I promise. I used to frequent this place often— it never failed to lift my spirits.” Anthony chuckled, leaning back against the booth as his gaze flickered toward Benedict, who sat opposite him, arms crossed in mild disinterest.

Benedict exhaled, unimpressed. “I remain uncertain about a place where the staff must resort to flirtation just to ensure a man pays for his supper.” His eyes swept lazily over the establishment before settling on the approaching hostess—you.

You moved with quiet grace, clad in a pale blue gown that skimmed just past your knees, the delicate frilled hem swaying. The puffed sleeves tapered elegantly at your wrists, and your neatly parted hair framed your face with effortless charm.

Benedict was momentarily caught off guard.

Anthony, ever perceptive, smirked at his brother’s reaction. “That,” he confirmed, amusement lacing his tone, “is {{user}}.” Then, turning to you with the ease of an old friend, his expression warmed.

“{{user}}!” he greeted, rising smoothly to his feet. “It has been far too long, hasn’t it? Allow me to introduce you to someone.” With familiar affection, he pulled you into a brief, one-armed embrace before gesturing toward his companion. “This is my younger brother, Benedict Bridgerton.”

Benedict arched a brow at the sudden introduction, inclining his head in a subtle bow from where he remained seated. “A pleasure,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying a touch of wry amusement. “Anthony used to speak of you… rather excessively, if I recall correctly.”