Celine was already seated by the time I arrived.
The maître d' guided me past white-clothed tables and glittering chandeliers to the private corner booth in Grand Vale, one of the most exclusive restaurants in Velmora. Soft violin music filled the air, and the scent of rosemary and charred butter drifted between tables.
She wore navy. Clean lines, no embellishments. Her hair was pulled back, her posture perfect. She looked composed, almost regal.
But I could read the edge in her eyes.
I nodded in greeting as I slid into the seat across from her. "Evening."
She offered a curt smile. "You're late."
I glanced at the time. "Two minutes. You timed it?"
"I always do."
Before I could respond, my mother arrived, glowing in a soft cream blouse and pearls that had once belonged to her own mother. She reached out, kissing Celine on the cheek.
"I hope I didn't keep you two waiting," she said warmly, settling between us.
"Not at all," Celine said with more poise than I expected.
I tried to interpret the tone, but Evelyn launched into her usual pleasant chatter, diffusing the tension with practiced ease.
"This restaurant always reminds me of when your father proposed," she said, reaching for the menu. "He had a rose hidden under every dinner plate."
I smiled, faintly. "You told me he forgot where he hid them all."
"And I pretended to be surprised each time," she laughed. "Romance is fifty percent patience, darling."
Celine made no comment.
When the waiter arrived, we ordered. Evelyn insisted we try the chef's special, some duck confit with truffle gnocchi that sounded fancier than it was appetizing. Still, I nodded along.
"I know this isn't ideal," my mother said gently once we were alone again. "But I want us to feel like family. I want you both to know I'm here for you, even if this isn't how either of you imagined things."
Celine gave her a diplomatic smile. "You've been very kind, Mrs. Aldridge."
"Evelyn, please."
Celine nodded. "Evelyn."
I sipped my wine, studying the way Celine's fingers curled around her glass. Not tense. But not relaxed either. She was keeping herself carefully calibrated.
"I hope you don't mind that I sent a few gown options to your assistant," Evelyn continued. "Just ideas. Something modern, but timeless. You should wear what makes you feel like yourself."
Celine hesitated, then nodded. "Thank you. I appreciate that."
That surprised me. Not the words, but the sincerity behind them. She wasn't pretending to play nice. She was… respecting Evelyn. Even if everything else felt like a staged performance.
Dinner arrived in polished waves—each course artfully plated. And for the most part, we ate in relative peace.
Until Evelyn, ever so gently, turned to me.
"Blake. When are the two of you planning to move into the Penthouse?"
I paused mid-bite.
Celine stiffened.
I set my fork down. "We haven't discussed it yet."
Her eyes narrowed. "Because there's nothing to discuss."
Evelyn blinked. "I assumed it would be a natural transition, given—"
"I'm not moving in with him until the wedding," Celine said, tone ice-smooth. "And even then, we haven't agreed on a living arrangement."
Evelyn looked between us. "You'll be married, love."
"To solidify a business merger," Celine said evenly. "Not because we're in a rush to share closet space."
I didn't flinch, but I could feel the temperature drop.
Evelyn's smile faltered for the first time all evening. "I see."
I cleared my throat. "We'll work something out. One step at a time."
Dinner resumed with less grace after that. Small talk about guest lists, honeymoon destinations—none of which had been decided, because neither of us had bothered to pretend we cared.
By dessert, the silence stretched longer between bites. Evelyn eventually reached for her purse and rose.
"I think I'll leave you two to chat. I need to check in on a friend's charity gala. But thank you for joining me tonight. It meant a great deal."
We stood to see her out. She kissed my cheek and squeezed Celine's hand.
"Be good to each other," she said softly, before disappearing into the dim corridors.
And then it was just us.
The air between us thickened immediately.
Celine returned to her seat but didn't touch her dessert. "You didn't tell her anything."
"About what?"
"About how neither of us wants this. About how we're playing along because it makes the board happy."
"I didn't think tonight was the time," I said.
She scoffed. "There is no time. Because you'll never say anything. You'll just let people assume whatever they want, as long as it protects your company image."
My jaw tensed. "You're doing the same thing."
"Yes, but I'm not pretending it's noble."
I leaned forward. "What do you want from me, Celine? An apology? A declaration? Do you want me to get down on one knee and say I'm sorry this isn't a real fairytale?"
She stared at me. "No. I want honesty. Even if it's ugly."
I exhaled slowly. "Fine. You want honesty? I don't know what I'm doing either. But I'm trying. For my mother. For the merger. For everyone who keeps reminding me that this is bigger than us."
She looked away.
"So if you want to keep hating me, do it. Just don't act like I'm the only one pretending here."
Silence.
Then she stood. "Tell your mother thank you for dinner. And that I'll return the gown samples tomorrow."
"Celine—"
But she was already walking away, heels clicking like punctuation marks down the marble floor.
I didn't follow her.
Because the truth was, I didn't know what I would've said if I had.