Chapter 4
At 5:30 p.m., I was hiding in the ladies’ room at Lucious Restaurant.
Not hiding, exactly.
Recalibrating.
The gold-framed mirror returned an image of a young woman in a midnight-blue dress who looked composed from the neck down.
“It’s dinner,” I told her. “Not an interrogation.”
She did not look convinced.
By 5:32, I was seated in a secluded booth at the back of the restaurant, twenty-eight minutes early and pretending to read a menu.
My phone buzzed.
Mia: Operation Date is active. I am at the bar behind the white lilies. Do not look at me. I am a fern.
I bit back a smile.
Me: If he arrests me for awkwardness, feed Dad’s fish.
Mia: If he catches me spying, tell my mother I died doing what I loved.
I put the phone face down.
At exactly six, the room changed.
Conversation near the entrance softened. A waiter stopped mid-step. Even the pianist seemed to hesitate over a note.
I looked up.
Alexander Reeves had entered alone.
He wore a charcoal suit, not a uniform, but nothing about him felt civilian. Six-foot-four, broad-shouldered, dark hair combed back, every movement measured. He did not look around as though searching. His gray eyes swept the room once and found me.
My spine straightened on instinct.
By the time he reached the table, I was standing.
“Miss Zane.”
His voice was lower than I expected. Quiet, controlled, with no need to compete with the room around him.
“General Reeves.”
My own voice betrayed me on the first syllable.
His gaze touched my face long enough to register the blush spreading across it. He said nothing. Instead, he stepped around the table and pulled out my chair.
That simple gesture unsettled me more than intimidation would have.
“Thank you.”
He nodded and sat across from me.
My phone vibrated.
Mia: THE ICEBERG HAS MANNERS.
I flipped it over so quickly Alexander’s eyes shifted toward the movement.
A waiter arrived and nearly saluted.
Alexander ordered grilled salmon. I asked for mushroom pasta.
“Chamomile tea as well,” he added.
I looked up.
He was already closing the menu.
Silence followed.
I twisted the edge of my napkin beneath the table.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” I said finally.
“I imagine most of it wasn’t flattering.”
A nervous laugh escaped me. “You’re very honest.”
“I dislike pretending.”
There was no performance in him. No attempt to charm. Somehow that made every answer feel more significant.
“What will you do after graduation?” he asked.
“You know I’m still at university?”
“I asked.”
Of course he had.
“Nursing. Pediatrics, hopefully.”
“Why?”
The question surprised me.
Most people asked where I wanted to work, or whether the hours frightened me. No one asked why.
I looked at my hands.
“Because being sick is frightening even when you understand what’s happening. For children, it can feel like the whole world has turned against them. Medicine matters, obviously. But sometimes kindness matters too. I want to be one of the people who makes a bad room feel less frightening.”
When I looked up, he was watching me differently.
Not admiring my dress. Not assessing me like an assignment.
Listening.
“That’s a rare answer,” he said.
I smiled. “Do you ever regret your path?”
Something closed behind his eyes.
“No.”
One word, but absolute.
Our food arrived.
For several minutes I relaxed enough to forget the precision of his posture. Then my sleeve caught the base of my water glass.
The glass tipped.
Cold water rushed across the white tablecloth and straight over the cuff of Alexander’s expensive suit.
I shot to my feet. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”
He looked at the soaked fabric.
Then at me.
I braced for irritation.
He reached into his inner pocket, unfolded a navy handkerchief, and placed it in front of me.
“Your hands.”
I stared. “Your suit—”
“It washes.”
That was all.
A laugh slipped out before I could stop it.
His brows moved almost imperceptibly.
“Do you always answer with the fewest words possible?”
“I’ve been told.”
“Doesn’t that make conversation difficult?”
“Sometimes.”
“You could try talking more.”
“I could.”
I waited.
“Will you?”
“No.”
For one second I thought he was teasing me.
His face remained completely serious.
I laughed so hard I had to cover my mouth.
“I wasn’t joking, Grace.”
“I know. That’s why it’s funny.”
There—a small change around his eyes. Not a smile, but the beginning of one.
After that, dinner became easier.
He asked about my classes and Dad’s health. He did not interrupt. He did not check his phone once. When I spoke, he listened with an attention that made me forget I had planned answers in advance.
When the bill came, I reached for my bag.
His hand closed over the folder first.
“I invited you.”
“I can pay for myself.”
“I know.”
He handed the waiter a black card.
“I don’t like owing people,” I said.
His gaze held mine.
“Then invite me next time.”
Everything inside me paused.
Next time.
Outside, the pavement still shone from rain. Dad’s driver waited near the curb.
Alexander stopped beside the car.
I still held his handkerchief.
“I enjoyed tonight, Miss Zane.”
Five words. No smile, no practiced flirtation.
They sounded more sincere than any compliment I had received in years.
“Thank you, General.”
“Drive safely.”
He turned and walked toward a black sedan without looking back.
Inside the car, the driver glanced at me through the mirror.
“How was dinner?”
I traced the edge of the navy cloth between my fingers.
“I don’t understand him.”
“Good or bad?”
I looked out at the blurred city lights.
“I honestly don’t know.”
But his voice followed me all the way home.
I enjoyed tonight.
And for the first time, the idea of a second meeting did not frighten me nearly as much as it should have.
