First Dinner
1380 Words
Author POV
Caelia stood at the mirror one last time before stepping out of her bedroom.
Her black gown fell elegantly over her frame, hugging her silhouette in all the right places. Auren, now dressed in a clean-cut grey suit, whistled low.
“You look like trouble.”
Caelia rolled her eyes, grabbing her clutch. “You’re late.”
“Fashionably,” he smirked, grabbing the car keys.
---
The drive was smooth, the golden hues of the setting sun spilling across the car's hood as they moved through the city. The windows were down halfway, letting the soft breeze carry in the scent of fresh pavement and night-blooming jasmine from the roadside. Auren tapped the wheel rhythmically as he drove.
“So...” he began, glancing sideways, “Dinner with the mafia. Again.”
“They're not mafia,” she muttered, staring out the window.
“They wear black suits. They speak ten words an hour. That’s mafia enough.”
She smiled despite herself. “They saved your life indirectly.”
“Correction. You saved their life. I’m just the comic relief.”
She turned toward him, tone light but eyes focused. “Auren, please don’t joke tonight.”
He nodded, understanding the unspoken beneath her words. “Got it. Serious older brother mode: activated.”
They turned the corner onto the private driveway leading to Le Miroir Noir.
---
The restaurant loomed ahead.
As the car pulled up to Le Miroir Noir, the first thing that caught the eye was its imposing charm—a seamless blend of old-world elegance and modern exclusivity. Tucked into a quiet, high-end district, the restaurant looked more like a private château than a commercial venue.
Tall wrought-iron gates opened soundlessly, revealing a cobblestone driveway framed by trimmed hedges and vintage gas lanterns that glowed soft amber. The building itself stood three stories tall, crafted from gray stone and black glass, vines climbing tastefully across its outer walls like nature was trying to kiss the architecture. A delicate gold plaque on polished marble read: Le Miroir Noir.
As Caelia and Auren stepped out, a valet in black and gold uniform greeted them, bowing slightly before taking the keys with precision. The double oakwood doors swung open effortlessly as they entered.
Inside was a world untouched by time.
The main lobby glowed in candlelight, with mirrored panels on the walls, each framed in aged brass, creating an illusion of endless space. Navy velvet curtains flowed from the high ceilings, brushing the marble floors like silk. An enormous chandelier made of hand-blown glass droplets shimmered above, reflecting light like stars scattered across water.
The air smelled faintly of amber, leather-bound books, red wine, and something warm—like vanilla burning faintly in the distance. Soft instrumental jazz played from hidden speakers, wrapping the silence in class rather than breaking it.
Deeper in, the private dining hall opened like a secret garden.
A single eight-seater obsidian wood table stood in the middle, dressed in deep navy silk with silver embroidery running like quiet rivers across the surface. Crystal wine glasses sparkled, each placed perfectly beside silver cutlery, folded white napkins with the Volkov crest embossed. At the center, a row of low, glass vases held blooming white roses and moon orchids, glimmering under the glow of a second, smaller chandelier above the table.
It didn’t just feel expensive.
It felt sacred.
Like royalty would dine here and you'd believe they were mortal gods.
And the entire restaurant—empty.
Completely reserved.
A staff member in crisp white escorted them toward the back.
Waiting in the center of the grand dining hall was an eight-seater table. It gleamed under a chandelier of teardrop crystals. The table was draped in navy satin, adorned with silver cutlery, polished wine glasses, and white roses in glass vases.
Auren raised a brow. “Subtle.”
Caelia nudged him lightly. “Behave.”
They sat across from each other. Auren poured water into both glasses and leaned forward.
“You think they’ll be on time?”
“Dmitri will.”
“And the hot son?”
“Auren.”
He smirked. “What? I'm just making conversation.”
---
7:48 PM.
The doors opened with a gentle push.
They both turned.
Luca and Dmitri entered, walking side by side. Guards stayed behind. This was a family moment.
Caelia inhaled.
Luca was dressed in a navy-blue suit with subtle pinstripes, tailored to his lean, broad-shouldered frame. The deep color contrasted beautifully with the pale undertones of his skin. His hair was tousled just slightly, not the slick perfection she’d seen at work. And his jaw... sharp, shadowed by the faintest stubble. His icy blue eyes scanned the table briefly before landing on her.
He didn’t smile. But he didn’t look away either.
His cologne reached her before his words did—dark oud layered with hints of cedar and citrus. Masculine. Cold. Familiar now.
Dmitri, as usual, looked regal in black. He greeted both of them warmly.
“I hope you didn’t wait long,” he said, voice smooth with authority.
“Not at all,” Caelia replied.
“I should’ve asked your preferences,” Dmitri continued as they all took their seats. “But the booking was sudden. We ordered a variety.”
“No complaints here,” Auren said, glancing at the waiters setting down silver-dome platters one after another.
Dmitri’s laugh was short. “You must be the brother. Auren, is it?”
“Yes, sir. And thank you for this. I haven’t had a proper meal since she started working for you.”
Caelia rolled her eyes. Dmitri chuckled again.
---
The food arrived in perfect sequence.
Appetizers: Caramelized fig bruschetta, smoked salmon rosettes, and truffle-stuffed mushrooms.
Main: Butter-seared duck breast with cherry glaze, lemon thyme risotto, rosemary lamb shanks, and grilled vegetables in aged balsamic.
Dessert: Raspberry mille-feuille, dark chocolate fondant, and crème brûlée with a burnt sugar crust.
Each dish was plated like art. Flavors danced on their tongues. The table echoed with light conversation, cutlery taps, and occasional laughter.
---
From across the table, Luca remained mostly quiet.
His POV
She looked... beautiful.
Not in a loud, attention-seeking way. She never needed that. She wasn’t dipped in diamonds or flashing a designer label. But her elegance demanded attention regardless.
Her gown was simple. Black. Fitted. Sophisticated. Her scent—a gentle vanilla with something softer beneath it—kept reaching him in waves.
She laughed at something Auren said.
There was a lilt to her voice, smooth yet firm.
She didn’t try to be witty. She didn’t force charm. And that intrigued him more than he liked.
He watched the way her fingers rested on the wine glass. The way her lips curled when she spoke. The precise movements of someone raised with both caution and pride.
The kind who doesn’t get this kind of dinner often. But doesn’t seem intimidated either.
He picked at his food slowly. Dmitri asked him once or twice about the Paris deal. He answered briefly.
He was listening. Watching. Weighing.
Something about her brother intrigued him too—overprotective, sarcastic, loyal to a fault. And for some reason, not entirely clueless about who the Volkovs were.
But it was her that held his attention.
Because last night, his investigation report on her had arrived.
And one detail inside it made him lean back in his chair today.
Not in fear. Not in suspicion.
But something close to curiosity. And control.
---
The plates were cleared. Desserts arrived.
Auren took seconds. Dmitri approved.
Caelia wiped her lips carefully and placed her napkin on the table. “Thank you for this. It was beautiful.”
“You saved my life,” Dmitri replied. “Dinner is the least I could offer.”
Luca said nothing. Just watched.
---
As the valet brought their car around, Auren held the door for Caelia.
“Fancy dinner. No bullets. A win,” he joked.
She smiled, tired but content.
Behind them, in another car, Dmitri and Luca sat in silence as the driver took the highway exit.
Luca looked out the window. His hand rested on the report file inside his briefcase.
The detail inside it was still there.
Still quiet.
But it changed everything.
- Writer
