The food was served immediately. A parade of silver-domed dishes arrived one after the other, laid out before us on a long polished table. Each plate held a different delicacy—sizzling meats, steamed vegetables in fragrant herbs, warm pastries, and exotic fruits I couldn’t even name. The spread looked like something out of a royal banquet.
I blinked, momentarily stunned, then leaned toward Tristan with a raised brow and whispered under my breath, “It’s just breakfast.”
He flashed a smile, unfazed by the extravagance, and began piling food onto his plate like this was completely normal.
“What is he trying to do—show off?” I muttered, my voice laced with irritation.
Tristan looked up at me with a faint chuckle. “This is my restaurant, Daciana,” he said casually. “And it’s tradition to se
