Ophelia pushed through the restaurant door, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Almost immediately—as if he'd been watching for her—Maximilian Blackwood's eyes found hers across the elegant dining room.
Their gazes locked.
Ophelia gave him what she hoped was an apologetic smile and not a grimace of panic, then hurried toward his table as gracefully as one could while wearing a secret purple disaster beneath a black coat.
Maxi stood the moment she approached, ever the gentleman.
"Hi," Ophelia said breathlessly. "I am so sorry I'm late—"
"Don't worry about it," Maxi said warmly, gesturing to her seat. "I saw you were at the Castillon memorial. That's a perfectly valid excuse."
"You knew I was there?"
"I received an invitation but couldn't attend. Business conflict." He smiled. "But thank you for going. I know the family appreciates it."
"Oh. Well. Thank you for understanding."
They both sat, and Ophelia suddenly became hyperaware of the heavy coat she was still wearing in the climate-controlled restaurant.
Okay. Just take it off. Like ripping off a bandage. Quick and painless.
She reached for the buttons.
Maxi watched politely, probably wondering why she was wearing a winter coat in seventy-degree weather.
The coat fell open.
Bright, aggressive, unmistakable purple flashed into view.
Maxi's eyebrow shot up.
His expression clearly said: Who wears purple to a memorial?
Ophelia wanted to sink through the floor.
Instead, she committed. She shrugged the coat off completely and draped it over the back of her chair.
The full glory of the rhinestone-studded, ruffled, princess gown was now on display.
Maxi's face went through a remarkable transformation:
First, bewilderment. (What is happening?)
Then, surprise. (Is this real?)
Finally, his jaw clenched as he clearly fought to suppress laughter.
"Excuse me," he managed, his voice strained. "I just need to—"
He turned away from her completely, facing the wall, his shoulders shaking slightly.
Ophelia buried her face in her hands.
Kill me now.
When Maxi finally turned back around, his composure was barely intact. His eyes were bright with suppressed amusement, and there was a telltale twitch at the corner of his mouth.
They settled into their seats.
Ophelia noticed then that Maxi was dressed far more casually than she'd expected—a cotton shirt in beige paired with matching trousers. Relaxed. Approachable.
Meanwhile, she looked like she'd escaped from a Disney movie.
We are SO mismatched.
Maxi picked up his menu, but she could tell he wasn't actually reading it. He was still trying not to laugh.
Finally, he set it down and looked at her with barely controlled amusement dancing in his eyes.
"I'm quite impressed, Miss Ophelia," he said in a playful tone, his voice still slightly unsteady.
Ophelia groaned. "Okay. You can laugh. Just get it out of your system."
Permission granted, Maxi burst into laughter—genuine, delighted laughter that made several nearby diners glance over curiously.
"Why?" he managed between laughs. "Why this?"
"My mother made me!" Ophelia said defensively, though she was starting to smile despite her embarrassment. "She wanted me to impress you. At the memorial and on this date."
"Which I didn't attend," Maxi pointed out, still grinning.
"Exactly! Which you didn't attend!" Ophelia threw up her hands. "So I suffered through a memorial in a secret purple princess gown for nothing."
"I'm sorry I disappointed your mother."
"Don't be. She has terrible taste."
Maxi laughed again. "For what it's worth, I am impressed."
"Really."
"Absolutely. Just... not in the way your mother intended."
Ophelia couldn't help it—she laughed too. "Fair enough."
"Anyone who can walk into a restaurant wearing that—" He gestured at the dress. "—with confidence deserves respect."
"I have zero confidence right now."
"Could've fooled me."
Their eyes met, and something warm flickered between them.
Maybe this wouldn't be a complete disaster after all.
They talked.
And talked.
And somehow, despite the absurdity of her outfit, the conversation flowed easily. Maxi asked about her gallery. She asked about his work. They discovered shared interests in art, travel, obscure documentaries about historical architecture.
Time slipped away.
The only problem was the dress itself.
The damn thing was uncomfortable. The rhinestones dug into her ribs. The tulle scratched her legs. The bodice was too tight.
Ophelia shifted in her seat for the hundredth time, trying to find a position that didn't feel like torture.
Maxi noticed.
"Are you alright?"
"Fine!" Ophelia said quickly. "Just—this dress is—"
"Uncomfortable?"
"Extremely."
Without hesitation, Maxi stood. "Here. Take my seat."
"What? No, you don't have to—"
"Please. I insist." He gestured to his chair. "It's more cushioned. And honestly, I think you've suffered enough for one evening."
Ophelia hesitated, then gave in. "Thank you."
They switched seats.
The new chair was more comfortable. But more importantly, she now faced the restaurant entrance instead of the wall.
Which meant she had a clear view when the door opened and a familiar figure stumbled inside.
Kalina.
Still wearing her black coat. Hair slightly mussed from sleeping in the car. Eyes squinting against the restaurant lighting like someone who'd just woken up.
And—because the universe apparently hated both of them today—Kalina was also secretly wearing the matching purple princess gown beneath her coat.
Ophelia could see a flash of purple tulle peeking out from the bottom.
Their eyes met across the restaurant.
Kalina's expression clearly said: I'm hungry, I'm grumpy, and I've been waiting in a car for two hours.
She made a subtle but unmistakable gesture toward the restrooms.
We need to talk. Now.
Ophelia checked her phone quickly. 7:20 PM.
Oh my God. We've been talking for over two hours?
"I'm so sorry," Ophelia said quickly, standing. "I need to—restroom—I'll be right back!"
"Of course," Maxi said, ever polite.
Ophelia grabbed her purse and hurried toward the back of the restaurant.