THE BILLIONAIRE’S PLUS-SIZE BLIND DATE

Elowen’s Pov The smell of fresh garlic and buttery herbs filled my small apartment, but it did not make me feel any better. I sat at my wooden dining table, surrounded by fabric samples, paint chips, and floor plans for a new client’s living room. My eyes burned from staring at my laptop screen for four hours straight. My interior design studio was my baby. It was the one thing in my life that never lied to me, never made excuses, and never made me feel like I was taking up too much space in the world. Then the front door clicked open, and my grandmother walked in like she owned the place. Odette Briar was seventy-one years old, stood barely five feet tall, and possessed enough force to push over a brick wall. She carried a heavy glass dish wrapped in a bright yellow kitchen towel. "I brought lasagna," Grandma announced, setting the dish down right on top of my velvet fabric swatches. "And I brought good news." I quickly pulled my fabric out from under the hot dish. "Grandma, please! Those samples cost fifty dollars each. And what good news? Did the tile company finally send the blue ceramic ones I ordered?" "No," she said, pulling off her flower-patterned coat and hanging it on the back of a chair. "Something much better than tile. I set you up on a blind date." I froze. The tape measure in my hand slipped and snapped back into its plastic casing with a loud clack. "No," I said instantly, shaking my head. "Absolutely not. Zero percent chance." "Elowen, just listen to me for one second—" "No, Grandma," I cut in, standing up from my chair. "We talked about this last month. We talked about this last week! I am done with dating. I am sixty-five percent done with my business expansion plan, but I am one hundred percent done with men." "He is a very nice young man," Grandma said, opening my kitchen cupboard to grab two plates. "He is thirty-two, hard-working, and his name is Adrian Cole. He works in business." I crossed my arms over my chest, squeezing my eyes shut for a second. "Do you remember the last 'nice young man' you found for me, Grandma? His name was Mark. He spent three hours telling me about his ex-wife's golden retriever, and then he asked me if I wanted to split a single scoop of ice cream because he forgot his wallet." "Mark had an off night," Grandma mumbled, setting the plates on the table. "And what about Arthur?" I continued, stepping closer to her. "Arthur brought his mother to dinner! His actual mother! And she sat there in the booth, staring at my arms, asking me if I cooked with full-fat butter or vegetable oil because she was worried about her son's heart health! I am a curvy, plus-size woman, Grandma. I love my body, and I am tired of meeting men who look like they want to hide me under a rug the second we walk out into the street." A heavy silence fell over the kitchen. Grandma stopped moving her fork. The teasing smile on her face faded away, replaced by a soft, sad look in her old eyes. "Elowen," she said quietly, her voice dropping to a gentle whisper. "I know why you are scared." My chest felt tight. "I'm not scared. I'm busy." "You are hurt," Grandma corrected softly, walking over to stand beside me. She took my hands in hers. Her skin was soft and wrinkled, warm against my cold fingers. "Your ex-boyfriend was a fool. He was an i***t who cared more about what his wealthy, foolish friends thought than about the amazing woman right in front of him. But every man is not like him. You cannot lock your heart in a safe just because one weak man didn't have the courage to hold your hand in public." I looked down at the floor, swallowing hard against the sudden lump in my throat. The memory of my last breakup still burned like cold ice in my stomach. My ex had loved me behind closed doors. He loved my jokes, he loved my kisses, and he loved how warm I was. But when we went to fancy parties, he walked three steps ahead of me. He never introduced me as his girlfriend. And when I finally asked him why, he told me that his friends had a certain 'idea' of what a successful man's partner should look like. I swore that night that I would never, ever let another man make me feel like an embarrassing secret. "I just want to build my business," I murmured, staring at the floor patterns on my table. "If I focus on my work, I am in control. Nobody can tell me I'm too big or too loud or not right for their friends." "You deserve love, Elowen," Grandma said fiercely, squeezing my hands until my knuckles pressed together. "Real love. The kind where a man looks at you like you are the only bright light in a dark room. The kind where he wants to shout your name from the highest rooftop." I let out a breathless, half-hearted laugh. "That sounds like a fairytale, Grandma. Fairytales don't happen in real life." "This date isn't a fairytale. It's just dinner," Grandma insisted. "His name is Adrian. My friend Beatrice Sterling told me about him. Beatrice says he is polite, he respects women, and he is looking for a real connection, not just a game. He doesn't want someone who cares about fancy things. He just wants a good person." I looked at my grandmother's hopeful face. She looked so small, but her eyes were shining with so much hope for me. "Fine," I breathed out, throwing my hands up in the air. "Fine! I will go on one dinner date with this Adrian Cole. Just one! But I am setting three strict rules right now." Grandma grinned, her eyes twinkling. "Tell me your rules." "Rule number one," I said, pointing my finger at her. "If he makes a single joke about my body, my weight, or what I choose to eat off the menu, I walk out immediately." "Agreed," Grandma said. "Rule number two," I continued. "If he tries to act like a big, rich shot and brag about his money or try to impress me with expensive stuff, I leave before the waiter even brings the water." "He won't do that," Grandma promised. "And rule number three," I said softly, my voice getting quiet again. "If he looks embarrassed to be seen with me... I am coming straight home, and you will never ask me to go on a blind date again." "Deal," Grandma said happily. "Tomorrow night. Seven o'clock. At that little Italian place down on Fifth Street." I sighed and sat back down in my chair, reaching for a piece of garlic bread. "I can't believe I'm doing this." Grandma picked up her purse and headed toward the front door, looking extremely proud of herself. But right as she put her hand on the doorknob, she paused and looked back over her shoulder. "Oh, by the way," Grandma said with a naughty little grin. "I sent him a picture of you earlier today. I told him you were the most beautiful, strong, and stunning woman in the entire city." My jaw dropped wide open. "Grandma! You did what?!" "I told him the truth!" Grandma laughed, stepping out into the hallway and quickly closing the door behind her before I could throw a napkin at her head. I stood alone in my quiet living room, staring at the closed door. My heart was beating way too fast against my ribs. Adrian Cole had already seen my picture. He already knew what I looked like. A part of me wanted to call the whole thing off right now, but a small, quiet voice deep inside my chest wondered if maybe—just maybe—this time would be different.