When She Learned My Name

6. Cheffi Sea

A hesitant nod is all she manages before the lingering warmth of his hand presses lightly at the small of her back, guiding her out of the car and toward the heavy, glass-paneled entrance of Cheffi Sea. The sea breeze carries a faint scent of salt and cedar off the harbor, but inside, the restaurant exudes a suffocatingly lavish warmth.

The hostess greets them with an instantaneous, practiced bow, immediately recognizing the heir to the Blake dynasty and ushering them past the ambient murmur of the main dining room down a private, dimly lit corridor. They stop before a set of frosted double doors inlaid with brushed brass, which open into a sprawling, exclusive VIP dining suite overlooking the moonlit water.

Laughter and the soft clink of crystal glassware abruptly fade as they step inside.

Around the long, mahogany table sit the patriarchs and heirs of Toronto’s twin empires. Gray looks up instantly from his seat, his protective older-brother radar twitching the moment he registers Gabriella’s pale complexion and the way Fernando’s presence seamlessly brackets her space. Further down the table, Richard Blake—a towering man with iron-grey hair and eyes as cold and calculating as obsidian—looks up from his wine glass, a polite, aristocratic smile touching his lips as he spots them.

"Ah, the late arrivals," Richard’s deep voice resonates smoothly across the private room, carrying an effortless command that commands absolute silence. "We were just wondering if Toronto traffic had finally defeated our favorite young couple."

"Traffic was... manageable, Father," Fernando replies smoothly, sliding into the seat directly beside Gabriella’s before she can choose another chair. His shoulder brushes hers with deliberate, inescapable proximity, anchoring her firmly in his orbit.

Gray’s jaw tightens just a fraction, his gaze shifting sharply toward his best friend, but before he can open his mouth to intervene, their mother, Eleanor Valentina, chimes in warmly from across the table, oblivious to the electric current of tension snapping between the two younger seats.

"Sit down, sweetheart, you look exhausted," Eleanor says gently, gesturing to the empty seat next to Fernando. "Fern, make sure she eats something. She's been working herself to the bone at that architecture firm."

Fernando’s lips curl into a thin, enigmatic smile as he reaches out, casually pouring sparkling water into Gabriella’s glass, his movements unhurried and entirely at home.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Valentina," Fernando murmurs, his dark eyes sliding sideways to lock onto Gabriella’s frozen, wide-eyed expression. "I intend to take very good care of her tonight. Won't I, Gabby?"

“Y-yes…mom…I’m okay…”

The brittle facade of her smile doesn't fool anyone with half an eye for her, least of all the man seated right beside her.

Fernando’s gaze lingers on the tight, artificial curve of her lips for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before he smoothly picks up his linen napkin, resting it across his lap. The faint, knowing smirk playing at the corner of his mouth says he sees right through the performance—every trembling breath, every ounce of forced composure.

"See?" Fernando says smoothly, raising his voice just enough to address the table while his shoulder remains pressed firmly against hers, a physical barrier keeping her locked in place. "She's perfectly fine. Just a little overwhelmed by the big, bad corporate world."

Richard Blake chuckles from the head of the table, a low, gravelly sound that carries decades of unassailable power. "The architecture world is hardly a battlefield, Fernando. Though I suppose anyone coming out of VALCOR's shadow has to adjust to a different pace." Richard's sharp, assessing eyes briefly sweep over Gabriella, carrying a weight that feels entirely too knowing. "Isn't that right, Gabriella?"

Gray’s fork hits his plate with a sharp, metallic clink that cuts through the tension. He leans forward, his expression hardening as he shoots a piercing glare straight at Fernando. "Leave her alone, Dad, Fern. She’s had a long first day. If you two are going to spend the whole evening dissecting her career choices, I’m ordering the entire menu just to drown you out."

A ripple of light, polite laughter breaks the heavy air around the table, easing the collective pressure just enough for Eleanor to smoothly transition the conversation toward upcoming charity galas and market forecasts.

Amidst the hum of clinking silverware and aristocratic small talk, Fernando leans slightly closer, his shoulder brushing against hers as he picks up the leather-bound menu. The subtle, crisp scent of cedar and ozone washes over her again, entirely masking the scent of the gourmet seafood dishes being set before them.

He doesn't open the menu. Instead, his dark eyes slide sideways, fixing on her profile with a quiet, suffocating intensity.

"You're not eating," Fernando murmurs softly, the words sliding beneath the ambient noise of the dinner table like a secret meant exclusively for her ears. His long fingers trace the edge of the menu, slow and deliberate. "If you keep staring at your water glass like it's going to bite you, your mother is going to start asking questions neither of us want to answer. Now... what looks appetizing to you, Gabby?"

“Haha…just…just get me a tomato soup…”