The First Date
939 Words
**Nia's point of view**
I stared at him, trying to figure out if he was joking. But his expression was completely serious.
"You're lying."
"I'm really not." He pulled out his phone, tapped the screen a few times, and turned it to face me. "See?"
On the screen was a website for a hotel management company. And there, listed among the properties, was the hotel.
I looked back up at him. "You expect me to believe you just happened to be on the same flight as me, and you just happened to own the hotel I'm staying at?"
"I don't expect you to believe anything." He pocketed his phone again. "But it's the truth. I was in your city for business, staying at that hotel because it's one of mine. You attacked someone at the same hotel. We ended up on the same flight because we were both heading to London. And you chose that hotel because it had good reviews and was in a nice area." He paused. "Sometimes coincidences are just coincidences, Niamh."
The wine arrived, and the waiter poured two glasses before disappearing again.
I took a sip, letting the rich flavor roll over my tongue while I processed what he'd just told me.
"So you're rich," I finally stated.
"I do alright." There was no arrogance in his tone, just simple fact.
"And you own multiple hotels."
"Among other things."
"What other things?"
He grinned. "Curious now?"
"Just making conversation."
"Real estate, mostly. Some tech investments. A few restaurants." He gestured around us. "Like this one, actually."
Of course he owned this restaurant too. Why wouldn't he?
"Must be nice," I murmured, taking another sip of wine.
"It has its perks." He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. "But it can also be lonely. All that success doesn't mean much if you don't have anyone to share it with."
There was something in his voice when he said that. Something genuine and almost vulnerable that caught me off guard.
I looked at him properly then, really looked at him. At the way his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners when he smiled. At the small scar just above his left eyebrow that I hadn't noticed before. At the way he held himself with confidence but not arrogance.
"Why London?" I asked, changing the subject before the conversation could get too personal.
"Why not London?" He sat back again, relaxed. "It's a beautiful city. Good for business. Good for... other things too."
"What other things?"
"Meeting interesting people." His eyes met mine. "Like you."
I felt my cheeks warm slightly and looked down at my wine glass. "I'm not that interesting."
"You shot someone and escaped a crime scene using only your wits and my shirt." He raised an eyebrow. "That's pretty interesting in my book."
"I didn't shoot anyone," I corrected quickly. "I just... I had a gun. That doesn't mean I used it."
"Fair enough." He didn't push the subject. "So what brings you to London, really? Running from something? Or running toward something?"
I considered not answering. Considered giving him some vague non-answer that would satisfy his curiosity without revealing anything real.
But instead, I found myself saying, "Both, maybe. Or neither. I'm not really sure yet."
He nodded slowly, like that made perfect sense to him. "Sometimes you need distance to figure things out. To see clearly."
"Is that why you travel so much? For clarity?"
"Sometimes." He smiled. "And sometimes just for the food."
That made me laugh. An actual, genuine laugh that surprised me with how good it felt.
The waiter returned to take our orders. Khiron ordered for both of us again, and I was about to protest when he added, "But if you'd prefer something else, by all means."
I glanced at the menu, saw that what he'd ordered actually sounded perfect, and shook my head. "No, that's fine."
"Good." He handed both menus back to the waiter.
The conversation flowed more easily after that. He asked me about what I'd seen in London so far, made recommendations for places I should visit, told me stories about the city that only someone who'd spent real time here would know.
He was funny, I realized. Not in an over-the-top way, but in a subtle, clever way that caught me off guard and made me smile despite myself.
And he was charming. Dangerously so. The kind of charming that made you forget to keep your guard up, that made you want to lean in closer and tell him things you shouldn't.
But underneath all of that, there was something else. Something sharp and calculating that reminded me he wasn't just some nice guy who owned hotels and made me laugh.
He was dangerous. I could see it in the way his eyes would occasionally go cold when talking about business. In the way he carried himself with the kind of confidence that came from knowing he could handle himself in any situation.
The food arrived, and it was incredible. We ate and talked and drank more wine, and somewhere during the meal I realized I was actually enjoying myself.
Really enjoying myself.
When the plates were cleared and we were left with just our wine glasses and the soft ambient noise of the restaurant around us, I found myself studying him across the table.
"Can I ask you something?" I spoke quietly.
"Of course."
I hesitated, then pushed forward. "Why have you never asked what I was doing in that hotel room that night? Why I had a gun? Who I was there to... to hurt?”
- Writer
