Chapter 328: Chapter 328: Reserved
Sylvia began regretting the T-shirt before she even reached the coffee shop.
Rina had been right.
The jeans fit well. The jacket made the outfit look intentional instead of desperate. The T-shirt, unfortunately, was doing exactly what Rina had promised, which meant Sylvia spent the entire walk from the car to the café feeling as if her own body had joined a conspiracy against her.
She tugged at the jacket, stopped, then tugged again.
The driver did not comment.
Thomas had sent the address to a small coffee shop on a quiet side street not far from the palace quarter, though still far enough that it did not feel like a political trap disguised as caffeine. The front had dark green window frames, a narrow sign in brushed brass, and warm light spilling through the glass. Autumn leaves had gathered against the curb, damp and gold beneath the streetlamps, and the air smelled of rain, roasted coffee, and the faint smoke of chestnuts from a vendor somewhere farther down the street.
It should have been normal.
It almost looked normal.
Then Sylvia noticed the security detail.
A man near the corner who had been standing too still for too long. A car across the street that did not move despite having someone behind the wheel. Another man inside the little bookstore next door who seemed far more interested in the reflection in the window than in the books.
Sylvia stopped just before the café door.
"Oh," she muttered.
Of course.
Thomas Lancaster did not simply go for coffee.
Thomas Lancaster secured coffee.
She looked down at herself again and had one final, violent wave of regret over the T-shirt.
"I should have worn the gray dress," she whispered to herself.
The café door opened before she could retreat into cowardice.
Thomas stood inside.
Already there.
He wore dark trousers, a black coat left open over a charcoal shirt, and no tie, which should have made him look more casual but somehow only made the breadth of his shoulders more obvious. His hair was neatly styled, his posture straight, his face composed in the way Sylvia had once thought was cold before she learned that Thomas was a sweetheart.
His eyes landed on her, and for one second, his composure broke.
A slight pause in the man’s entire body, as if his thoughts had taken one step forward and the rest of him had refused to follow in public.
Sylvia felt her face burn.
Rina, she thought with sudden hatred, had been right.
Thomas stepped aside to let her in. "Sylvia."
His voice was low and rich, very dangerous for Sylvia’s mind.
"Thomas," she said, and then immediately hated herself because apparently she had decided to greet him like they were at a diplomatic exchange.
His gaze moved over her once.
Not in a vulgar way.
That might have been easier to handle.
No, Thomas looked at her as if every part of her deserved attention and none of that attention should be taken without permission. Jeans. Jacket. Hair left down. The T-shirt that had become a national betrayal. Then back to her face.
"You look amazing," he said.
Sylvia’s mind emptied.
Absolutely emptied.
She had prepared for many things. Polite compliments. Restrained approval. A formal ’you look lovely,’ perhaps, delivered with the emotional intensity of a man signing a military report.
Sylvia blinked. "Oh."
Thomas’s mouth softened at one corner. "Was that wrong?"
"No," she said too quickly. "No. It was just... direct."
"I can try again."
"Please don’t."
His brow moved faintly.
"I mean," Sylvia said, because apparently she had chosen death by clarification, "not because I disliked it. Because if you say it again, I might have to go outside and restart the entrance."
The corner of his mouth lifted further.
Sylvia’s heart became deeply stupid.
Thomas closed the door behind her and placed a hand on her lower back, his posture lightly bent over her.
Not much, just enough that Sylvia became sharply aware of the fact that Thomas Lancaster was built like a royal tower with manners.
He was almost seven feet tall, and Sylvia, unfortunately, was not.
She was average.
Average height. Average reach. Average ability to survive standing beside a man whose shoulders seemed designed by some ancient military architect with no respect for the emotional stability of ordinary women.
His hand did not press.
It only rested there, warm through the thin layer of her jacket, guiding her a step farther into the café while giving her every possible chance to move away.
Thomas Lancaster bent his unfairly tall body slightly toward her, as if lowering the entire world to a height she could reach, and Sylvia was left dealing with the horrible realization that she liked him.
A lot.
The crush was crushing.
Definitely too much for a coffee date.
She stepped inside and looked around.
Then stopped.
The café was empty.
Not quiet.
Empty.
No students whispering over books. No ministers pretending not to gossip. No palace clerks drinking coffee with the desperation of people who had signed too many papers. No noble ladies staring over porcelain cups while pretending they had not come specifically to see who Thomas Lancaster was meeting.
There was only the soft amber light, the polished dark wood tables, the smell of coffee and cinnamon, and one young woman behind the counter who looked up, smiled politely, then immediately returned her attention to the machine with the discipline of someone who had been paid very well to see nothing.
Sylvia slowly turned her head toward Thomas.
Thomas looked back at her with a perfectly calm expression.
Sylvia narrowed her eyes. "Thomas."
"Yes?"
"Did you reserve the café?"
A small pause.
"It seemed practical."
Sylvia stared at him.
Thomas, towering above her with the solemn gravity of a man discussing a battlefield maneuver, added, "There were too many variables otherwise."
"Variables," Sylvia repeated.
"People."
"People are not variables."
"In public, they are."
Sylvia opened her mouth, closed it, then looked around again.
The entire café.
He had reserved the entire café.
For coffee.
She pressed one hand against her forehead. "I cannot believe Rina let me come here in a T-shirt."
Thomas’s gaze dropped for half a second.
Not even enough to be improper.
Enough.
Sylvia’s face burned again.
Thomas looked away first, which was both gentlemanly and absolutely devastating.
"I am grateful to Rina," he said.
