Walking to his seat, Henry glanced around "Olio E Più" with an eager smile, his fingers drumming lightly on the linen-covered table. The warm glow of the chandeliers flickered off polished wine glasses, casting playful reflections across the restaurant. His heart was doing this ridiculous little tap dance in his chest, a mix of nerves and excitement he hadn't felt in years.

He exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself. It was just dinner. Just a woman. Just the woman his grandmother had not shut up about for years. No pressure. None at all.

Henry still remembered the first time his grandmother gushed about Emilia.

"Oh, Henry, she's perfect! Smart, sweet, kind, and she has this laugh-oh, you'd adore her!" Then, with a dramatic sigh, she'd added, "But she's dating a jerk. A complete waste of space."

Henry, of course, had been immediately intrigued. A woman so wonderful she made his grandmother wax poetic? That was something.

And now, here he was, about to meet her for the first time, having waited long enough for the stars to finally align. He tapped his phone screen, checking the time, then waved the waiter over and ordered a bottle of the best white wine. If nothing else, he'd at least impress her with good taste.

Emilia hadn't known what to expect when she first walked into the restaurant that night, but she certainly hadn't expected him.

Henry Kingsley carried an undeniable magnetism, a blend of rugged charm and effortless sophistication. The moment she spotted him across the dimly lit space, he stood out—not because he demanded attention, but because he simply owned it without trying. He sat with the kind of ease that only came with absolute confidence, his posture relaxed yet commanding.

Then it happened. The door to the restaurant swung open, and Henry swore the air changed.

He saw her before the hostess even had a chance to guide her inside. And suddenly, everything else—the clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversation, the smell of fresh bread—blurred into the background like an out-of-focus painting.

She was breathtaking. Not just beautiful, but radiantly so. The kind of beauty that sneaks up on you, wraps around your ribs, and leaves you speechless. Her dark, wavy hair cascaded over her shoulders like something out of a Renaissance painting, and her deep brown eyes—warm, sparkling, filled with something he couldn't yet name—locked onto his.

Henry stood before he even realized he was moving.

By the time the hostess led her to the table, his heart was hammering so hard he was sure she could hear it. He managed a roguish smile, pulling out her chair with an effortless charm he didn't quite feel at the moment.

"Wow," he said, taking a slow breath, "I was prepared to be impressed, but this is just unfair. You're absolutely stunning, Emilia. I might need a moment to recover."

She laughed, shaking her head as she took her seat. "That's quite the opener. You always this smooth, Henry?"

"Only when the stakes are this high," he teased, pouring her a glass of wine. "I figured if I'm going to completely sweep you off your feet, I should start strong."

She arched a brow, accepting the glass. "Oh? Is that what you're planning?"

"That, and making you laugh at least five times before dessert. I take my goals seriously."

She smirked, tilting her head. "Ambitious. What happens if you fail?"

Henry leaned in, resting his chin on his hand with an exaggeratedly thoughtful look. "Then I suppose I'll have to take you out again until I get it right."

Emilia laughed again, and something about the way her eyes crinkled at the corners made that already full feeling in his chest expand even more. Hope. Excitement. Possibility.

He had a feeling this was going to be a very, very good night.

As dinner wound down, Henry signaled the waiter and, without hesitation, ordered a slice of tiramisu. Emilia's eyes lit up, her lips parting in surprise. "You remembered?"

Henry grinned. "Of course. A man has to have a plan, remember?"

She laughed, a soft blush creeping up her cheeks as they savored dessert. When the check arrived, Henry glanced at her with a casual smile. "So, what's your schedule like this weekend?"

Emilia raised a brow. "Why?"

"Because I'd love to take you out again. Or, if I'm really lucky, maybe steal you away for a whole weekend."

Her cheeks flushed deeper, but she smiled. "I think I'd like that."

_____________________________________

On the drive home, they talked about everything from the ridiculousness of reality TV to fun facts about octopuses. Henry dramatically declared, "Did you know octopuses have three hearts? Which means they could technically love three times as much. Very unfair advantage."

Emilia giggled. "That's a dangerous amount of love."

Pulling up to her place, he walked her to the door, lingering. "I had a truly octo-mazing time tonight," he said with a playful smirk.

Emilia rolled her eyes, but her smile was dazzling. "That was terrible."

"But effective?"

She nodded, their gazes locking. Without another thought, Henry leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep, passionate kiss. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him as her back met the door. It was intoxicating-the way her lips moved with his, the warmth of her body pressed against him. His hands rested on her waist, and her fingers curled into his shirt, holding him close.

He forced himself to stop, though his body protested. Their faces remained close, both breathless, both red-cheeked.

He smirked, brushing his thumb over her cheek. "So this weekend, yes, my darling?"

Emilia, still dazed, nodded. She didn't want him to leave.

Henry leaned in once more, this time pressing a soft peck to her lips. "I'll text you in the morning. Goodnight, darling."

Emilia opened her mouth to respond, but her voice caught in her throat. "N-night," she croaked, mortified.

Henry chuckled, shaking his head. "Adorable."

Flustered, she quickly slipped inside, closing the door and leaning against it, her heart still racing. She couldn't stop the grin that spread across her face. Henry. Henry.

Outside, Henry walked to his car, looking up at the penthouse she currently lived in. With a sudden idea, he pulled out his phone and began searching for new homes-ones perfect for her.

Then, with a smirk, he sent a text:

Marry me. I don't think my heart can take any more of this.

______________________________

Author Note: I honestly loved this chapter too much to change anything. Expect more edited and expanded chapters soon. Thank you all for your patience and kindness throughout this process. I know novels don't usually work this way, with edits before chapters and so on, but since this is my first novel, I'm doing my best to make it as great as possible :)