Maximilian woke at six AM, as he always did. Showered, exercised, dressed in a charcoal suit by seven.
By seven-thirty, he was at the breakfast table in his family's estate, reviewing emails on his phone while waiting for his parents.
He felt lighter than usual, energized despite the late night. His mind kept drifting back to the gallery, to Ophelia, to Monday's coffee meeting.
Stop, he told himself. Focus on work. You have three meetings today, two conference calls, and a contract to review. Focus.
But his thoughts stubbornly refused to cooperate.
The Blackwood family dining room was as imposing as ever this morning—high ceilings with ornate molding, ancestral portraits watching from the walls, a table that could seat twenty though only three places were set.
The morning light streaming through the tall windows gave everything a golden cast.
His father, Alexander Blackwood, arrived first—already reading financial reports, his breakfast routine unchanged for the past thirty years.
"Good morning, Father," Maxi greeted.
"Maximilian," his father acknowledged with a nod, taking his seat at the head of the table. He glanced at his son, noting something. "You're in a good mood this morning."
"I attended an excellent gallery event last night," Maxi said. "Impressive curation, thoughtful exhibition. It was actually enjoyable, which gallery events rarely are."
"Hmm," Alexander said noncommittally, returning to his reports but filing away this observation
.
His mother, Victoria Blackwood, swept in moments later, perfectly dressed even at this early hour, radiating the kind of energy that suggested she'd already accomplished more before breakfast than most people did all day.
"Good morning, darlings," she said brightly, kissing Maxi's cheek before taking her seat. "How was your evening, Maximilian? Did you enjoy the gallery event?"
"It was excellent," Maxi said honestly, setting down his phone to give her his attention. "The owner has a genuine talent for curation. The collection was thoughtfully assembled, each piece contributing to a larger conversation about contemporary art."
"Oh, how lovely," Victoria said, signaling the staff to begin serving. "I'm so glad you're taking an interest in the arts. It's important for someone in your position to be cultured, to engage with the cultural sector as well as the business world."
She paused, and Maxi recognized that particular quality of pause—his mother had an agenda this morning.
"Speaking of culture and engagements," Victoria continued, her tone becoming pointed, "I wanted to remind you about your commitment this Saturday afternoon."
Maxi looked up from the eggs being placed in front of him, his attention sharpening. "Saturday afternoon? I don't recall having anything scheduled—"
"Because you forgot," Victoria said with exasperated affection. "Just as I predicted you would. Which is why I'm reminding you now, with enough warning that you can't claim to have made other plans."
Maxi set down his fork, giving her his full attention. "Mother, what exactly is happening on Saturday?"
"Your blind date," she said, as if this should have been obvious. "We discussed this two weeks ago. I specifically asked you to keep Saturday afternoon free, and you agreed."
A blind date. Maxi felt his good mood deflate slightly. He'd agreed to this? He didn't remember—though that wasn't unusual.
His mother arranged these things periodically, well-meaning attempts to find him a suitable partner that usually resulted in awkward conversations with women who either wanted access to the Blackwood name or were being similarly pressured by their own families.
"Mother," he started, trying to find a polite way to back out, "I appreciate your efforts, but I've told you before that I'm not interested in arranged—"
"And I told you that I've gone to considerable trouble with this arrangement," Victoria interrupted smoothly, her voice taking on that steel-under-velvet quality that meant she would not be deterred. "You will attend, Maximilian. I won't have you making excuses about being busy or conveniently forgetting. Not this time."
Maxi recognized that tone. His mother was serious about this. Which probably meant she'd put more effort than usual into whatever arrangement she'd made, which meant backing out would cause family tension he'd rather avoid.
His father glanced up from his reports, sensing the brewing argument. "Who's the family?" Alexander asked with mild interest. "Anyone we know?"
Victoria brightened immediately, clearly having waited for exactly this question. "The Levesque family, actually. You know, Regal Empire? They've been making quite impressive moves lately—very innovative approaches to their traditional market, expanding their distribution networks, developing new product lines. The daughter would be an excellent match."
Maxi went very still.
Levesque.
"Which daughter?" he asked carefully, his heart suddenly beating faster.
"The Third daughter, Ophelia," Victoria said, and Maxi's world tilted slightly. "Such a lovely girl—accomplished, intelligent, runs her own art gallery. I met her mother, Seraphina, at the Thornbury charity gala last month. We got to talking about our children, as mothers do, and she mentioned that Ophelia was so focused on her gallery work that she barely took time for her personal life. I said the same about you—always working, never making time for relationships—and we thought perhaps you two should meet. Similar situations, similar values, both dedicated to your professional pursuits."
Maxi had stopped listening halfway through.
Ophelia.
The blind date is with Ophelia.
The woman from last night. The gallery owner I spent the evening thinking about. The woman I have a coffee meeting with on Monday to discuss 'professional collaboration' when I'm not entirely sure how professional my interest actually is.
"Maximilian?" His mother's voice broke through his thoughts. "Are you alright? You look strange."
"What did you say her name was?" Maxi asked, though he'd heard perfectly well the first time.
"Ophelia Levesque," Victoria repeated, looking at him with concern. "She owns Art by Lia, a gallery in the arts district. She's been featured in several art magazines—very well-respected in cultural circles. Her mother speaks so highly of her passion for art, her integrity, her independence. Not at all the type to be impressed by wealth or status, which is exactly what you need. Someone genuine."
Someone genuine, Maxi thought, and suddenly he wanted to laugh.
His mother had somehow, either through remarkable luck or cosmic irony, arranged for him to meet exactly the woman he'd been thinking about all night.
The woman he'd planned to have coffee with. The woman whose Instagram he'd been scrolling through like a teenager with a crush.
"When you say Saturday afternoon," Maxi said slowly, "what time exactly?"
"Two PM," Victoria said. "At Bistro Lumière—you know the place, very elegant, quiet enough for conversation. Her mother and I agreed it would be perfect for a first meeting."
Family obligation, Maxi thought, remembering Ophelia's words from last night. She has a family obligation on Saturday afternoon.
She already knows about the blind date.
She's known all along.
And she didn't tell him.
Why didn't she tell him?
"You're being very quiet," his father observed, looking at Maxi over his financial reports. "That's unusual. Generally when your mother mentions one of these arrangements, you have multiple objections ready immediately."
"I—" Maxi started, then stopped. What could he say? Actually, I've already met her. I spent last evening thinking about her. I asked for her number. We're having coffee Monday. And somehow I didn't make the connection that the 'family obligation' she mentioned was the same blind date Mother arranged.
"I'll go," he said finally, and his voice came out steadier than he felt.
Victoria blinked, clearly stunned. "You... you will?"
"I will," Maxi confirmed.
"Just like that?" His mother looked like she couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. "No arguments? No excuses? No claims that you're too busy?"
"Just like that," Maxi said, and despite his confusion about why Ophelia hadn't mentioned it, despite his uncertainty about what this all meant, he found himself smiling. "I'll go to the date, Mother. Saturday at two. Bistro Lumière."
Victoria's face transformed into radiant delight. "Oh, Maximilian! I'm so pleased! I really do think Ophelia would make a wonderful daughter-in-law. She's charming, accomplished, from an excellent family. Her sister Lyra is doing remarkable things at Regal Empire—very forward-thinking, very innovative. And from what Seraphina told me, Ophelia is completely devoted to her gallery, to supporting emerging artists. The kind of woman who would be a true partner, not just someone looking for wealth or status."
"Mother," Maxi said gently, "you're getting ahead of yourself. It's one date."
"I know, I know," Victoria said, though her expression suggested she was already planning significantly beyond one date. "But ever since Rhys got married, I've been hoping you'd finally settle down. Find someone who makes you happy. Build a life beyond just the business."
The mention of Rhys's marriage made something complicated flicker across Maxi's face—concern, pity, something darker that he quickly controlled. "It's not a competition, Mother."
"Of course not, dear," Victoria said quickly. "I just want you to be happy. And Silas hasn't committed to anyone yet either, so there's certainly no rush—"
"Silas has his reasons," Maxi said quietly, thinking of the arranged engagement his friend had been bound to since childhood, the family obligations that made his own situation seem simple by comparison.
"Well, regardless," Victoria pressed on, warming to her subject, "I think you need to seriously consider your future. You're twenty-seven years old, you're running a multi-billion dollar company, and you need a partner who understands the demands of your position. Someone cultured enough to handle the social obligations, intelligent enough to engage with your work, and from a family that won't be intimidated by the Blackwood name."
She was building momentum now, the way she did when she had a speech prepared.
"Ophelia ticks all those boxes, Maximilian. Her mother speaks so highly of her—her passion for art, her dedication to supporting emerging artists, her integrity in business dealings. She's not looking to marry into wealth; she's building her own success. That kind of drive, that independence, is exactly what you need. Someone who will challenge you, support you, stand beside you rather than behind you."
Maxi let her talk, making appropriate sounds of acknowledgment while his mind raced.
She knew, he thought. Ophelia knew about this arrangement when I was talking to her last night. When I asked for her number. When we made plans for coffee. She knew, and she didn't say anything.
Why not?
Was she embarrassed? Did she think he'd be put off if he knew their mothers had been matchmaking? Did she want to see if he'd be interested in her separate from the arrangement?
Or—and this thought made him smile—did she want to torture him slightly? Make him show up Saturday and realize who his "blind" date was with?
"Are you even listening to me?" Victoria asked, noticing his distracted expression.
"Every word, Mother," Maxi lied smoothly.
"You were saying that Ophelia's family values align well with ours."
"Yes, and more importantly, Seraphina mentioned that Ophelia has expressed interest in finding someone who respects her work, who understands that her gallery isn't just a hobby but a genuine career. She's not willing to give that up for a relationship, which shows admirable conviction. The kind of woman who knows what she wants and won't compromise her values."
That sounds exactly like her, Maxi thought, remembering the passion in Ophelia's voice when she'd talked about making art accessible, about creating conversations rather than intimidating people.
"And," Victoria continued, "Seraphina mentioned that Ophelia was quite nervous about this arrangement. Apparently she's not much for blind dates—she finds them artificial and uncomfortable. But her mother convinced her to give it a chance, just as I convinced you."
Nervous, Maxi thought, and something warm settled in his chest. She was nervous about meeting me. That's... endearing, actually.
"I really do have a good feeling about this, Maximilian," Victoria said, her voice softening. "I know my previous attempts at matchmaking haven't been successful—"
"That's a generous description of those disasters," Maxi murmured.
"—but this feels different," Victoria continued, ignoring the interruption. "When Seraphina and I were talking, it just felt... right. Like we were discussing two people who would genuinely suit each other. Not just for family alliance or business reasons, but as actual compatible individuals."
If only you knew, Maxi thought, that I've already met her. That I spent last night looking up everything about her gallery. That I'm already planning what to talk about over coffee Monday. That your 'matchmaking' might be the most successful thing you've ever done, even if it's succeeding for reasons you don't realize.
"Father," Maxi said, turning to Alexander with mock desperation, "a little help here? Before Mother starts planning the wedding?"
Alexander glanced up from his reports, took in his son's pleading expression and his wife's animated enthusiasm, and returned deliberately to his papers. "You brought this upon yourself, son. You agreed to go."
"Traitor," Maxi muttered, but he was smiling.
Victoria ignored them both, still caught up in her vision of the perfect match. "And another thing—Ophelia is well-connected in cultural circles. An alliance with her would open doors in the arts world, which is an area where Blackwood Syndicate has been underrepresented. Think of the networking opportunities, the cultural capital. Plus, her sister Lyra is CEO of Regal Empire, so there could be interesting business synergies there as well."
"Mother," Maxi interrupted gently, "I'm going to the date. You've won. Can we perhaps table the rest of this discussion until after I've actually met her?"
Met her again, he thought but didn't say.
"I suppose," Victoria conceded, though she looked like she had at least three more talking points prepared. "But I want you to promise me you'll give this a genuine chance, Maximilian. Don't go in with the assumption that it won't work. Approach it with an open mind."
"I promise," Maxi said, and meant it. His mind was very open. Enthusiastically open, even.
"And dress nicely," Victoria added. "First impressions matter."
"I always dress nicely."
"And be on time."
"I'm always on time."
"And please, darling, try to be charming. I know you can be when you make the effort."
"I'll be the picture of charm," Maxi assured her, fighting back a smile.
His father finally looked up, catching something in Maxi's tone—an undercurrent of genuine amusement rather than resignation. Alexander studied his son thoughtfully, noting the barely suppressed smile, the brightness in his eyes, the way he was responding to Victoria's lecture with unusual patience.
Interesting, Alexander thought. Very interesting.
"Well," Victoria said, satisfied that she'd covered all the important points, "I'm simply delighted that you're willing to give this a chance. Ophelia truly is a special young woman, and I have a very good feeling about Saturday."
"So do I, Mother," Maxi said quietly, his mind already on Saturday afternoon, on walking into Bistro Lumière and seeing Ophelia's face when she realized he was her blind date—or more accurately, when he confirmed that he knew she was his. "So do I."
The rest of breakfast passed with Victoria planning additional details—she'd already made the reservation, already arranged for flowers to be sent to Ophelia that morning as a welcoming gesture ("Just a small bouquet, nothing too presumptuous"), already prepared a list of conversation topics in case there were awkward silences ("Though I'm sure there won't be, you're both so accomplished").
Maxi let her talk, nodding at appropriate moments while his thoughts drifted.
Monday coffee and Saturday lunch, he thought. Two chances to talk to her within the same week. And she already knows about Saturday, so when we have coffee Monday, will she mention it? Or will she keep pretending she doesn't know?
The thought made him smile.
Two can play that game, OpheliaLevesque.
"What are you smiling about?" Victoria asked, noticing his expression.
"Just thinking about Saturday," Maxi said honestly. "About meeting someone my mother thinks is perfect for me."
"She is perfect for you," Victoria insisted. "You'll see. Seraphina showed me a photo—Ophelia is lovely. Dark hair, beautiful smile, and those eyes—very expressive, very intelligent. You can tell just from her photo that she's someone special."
I already know, Maxi thought. I spent last evening watching those expressive eyes light up when she talked about art. I already know she's special.
"I'm looking forward to it," he said aloud, and it was perhaps the most honest thing he'd said all morning.
After breakfast, Maxi excused himself to his study, ostensibly to prepare for his morning meetings but really to have a moment alone with his thoughts.
He pulled out his phone and looked at Ophelia's contact information. His thumb hovered over her name, tempted to text her.
To say... what? Hey, funny story, turns out we have plans Saturday too?
No. Better to wait. Better to see if she'd mention it Monday over coffee. Better to maintain the game they seemed to be playing, even if neither of them had explicitly acknowledged they were playing it.
He scrolled to her Instagram again, looking once more at that photo with the paint smudge.
Saturday, he thought. I'll see her Saturday.
And Monday. And probably many times after that, if I have any say in it.
His phone buzzed with a text from Rhys: Monthly meeting this afternoon. Don't be late.
Right. The Big Three's regular check-in. Maxi responded with a confirmation, then hesitated before adding: Interesting development. Tell you this afternoon.
Rhys's response was typically terse: Understood.
Maxi pocketed his phone and turned to face his day—meetings, calls, contracts, all the usual business of running a multi-billion dollar company.
But underneath it all, threading through every interaction, was the knowledge that Saturday was coming. That in just a few days, he'd walk into a restaurant for an arranged blind date that wasn't blind at all.
And he couldn't wait.