Chapter 9: One Table, Two Secrets
Ella never thought choosing a restaurant could make her feel… exposed.
But it did.
Xavier's world was luxury. Reservations months in advance. Private rooms, select menus, polite staff who knew your name before you walked in.
Her world had been the opposite.
Food trucks. Diners. That one hole-in-the-wall pizza place she used to visit after working double shifts.
Tonight, she didn't want to meet him on his turf.
She wanted him to see her world — the version that hadn't been curated to fit his reputation.
So, she made a reservation under her maiden name.
And wore jeans.
---
Xavier arrived ten minutes late.
The maître d' led him through the crowded dining room of a small Italian bistro tucked between a bakery and a thrift store. No cameras. No champagne. Just clinking glasses and the scent of garlic and basil.
Ella watched him scan the room — in a black coat, pressed shirt, and confusion written all over his face.
She stood when he reached the table.
He looked her over slowly — from her bare shoulders to her soft curls to the jeans she hadn't worn since the wedding.
"You picked… this?" he asked.
She smiled. "You said no press. Just us. Welcome to just us."
---
The server brought breadsticks and water. Xavier still looked slightly out of place, like he was waiting for someone to switch the scene back to a ballroom.
"This was my comfort spot," Ella said, tearing off a piece of bread. "When I was tired. When I was broke. When I was too sad to be anywhere else."
He nodded. "And you wanted to bring me here?"
"I wanted to see if you could sit in my world without rearranging the furniture."
He exhaled slowly, setting his phone face-down on the table.
"All right. I'm here. I won't rearrange a thing."
---
Over dinner, something shifted.
The noise of the restaurant created space for honesty — not the kind they shared at galas or in front of photographers, but the kind that floated between shared meals and second glasses of wine.
Xavier talked more than usual.
About boarding school. His father's ridiculous expectations. His first failed app launch at twenty-one that cost him millions and respect.
Ella listened. Not like she was cataloging information — but like she wanted to know the version of him he rarely showed.
And when it was her turn, she surprised herself by sharing things she never planned to.
How she dropped out of college when her mom got sick. How she once stole peanut butter from a convenience store out of pure hunger. How she didn't miss being poor, but she missed feeling grounded.
Xavier didn't flinch.
He didn't pity her either.
He just… listened.
Like every word mattered.
---
"You're quieter tonight," she said as dessert arrived.
He watched her spoon a bite of tiramisu. "I'm listening."
"To what?"
He didn't look away. "To the version of you I never knew existed."
Ella met his gaze. "That version didn't belong in your world."
"You say that like it's a good thing."
"It is," she said. "Because that version was mine. Not theirs."
A moment passed.
Then Xavier leaned back in his chair and said something she never expected:
"I don't like that they try to change you."
Ella tilted her head. "You mean your people?"
"No. I mean… everyone. The press. My family. The people who think you're a placeholder in a well-tailored dress."
She blinked, stunned.
Not by his words — but by the edge of protectiveness behind them.
It wasn't performative.
It was personal.
---
They left the restaurant without bodyguards.
Without an audience.
Just two people walking slowly down a side street, the city humming around them.
"I expected you to pick a rooftop restaurant," he said as they turned a corner.
"I thought about it," she replied. "Then I decided I didn't want you to see a version of me you already assumed existed."
He nodded once. "And what version did I get?"
"The one who knows how to keep going when everything breaks."
He glanced sideways. "That version… might be stronger than me."
She scoffed. "Not possible."
But he didn't laugh.
He stopped walking.
And when she turned to face him, his voice was low.
"Don't underestimate how easy it is to hide behind power, Ella. It makes you forget you're breakable."
Her breath caught.
Because it was the most vulnerable thing he'd said since the wedding.
Maybe ever.
---
They didn't kiss.
There was no dramatic music, no sudden rush of bodies or gasping breaths.
Just a long moment where they stood far too close, shadows stretching between them, eyes locked in something neither of them dared name.
Then he reached up and gently brushed her hair behind her ear.
His fingers were warm.
And they lingered.
Ella's heart didn't race.
It waited.
For something.
Anything.
But Xavier stepped back.
And the air cooled again.
"Let's get you home," he said softly.
---
In the car, they didn't speak.
The silence wasn't heavy — it was… charged.
Like the moment had happened, but both of them had chosen to leave it unspoken.
When they reached the penthouse, Ella stepped out first.
Xavier followed but didn't say goodnight.
Not with words.
He just rested a hand lightly at the small of her back as they walked through the lobby — a brief, grounding touch.
She felt it for the rest of the night.
---
Back in her room, Ella stared at herself in the mirror.
Not at her reflection — at her expression.
She didn't look like someone pretending anymore.
She looked… involved.
Not in the contract.
Not in the performance.
In him.
And that terrified her.
Because if she started hoping for more, she'd forget how easily it could all fall apart.
Especially with a man who hadn't promised her forever.
Only a year.