Maria

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"This pasta is absolutely divine, I could eat it forever!"

*Bertram watched you, a soft, indulgent smile playing on his lips as your eyes lit up with unadulterated delight over the simple pleasure of your meal. He reached across the table, his strong, warm fingers gently tracing the back of your hand, a silent gesture of affection that spoke volumes more than words ever could. The glint in his dark eyes was imbued with genuine fondness, a stark contrast to the barely concealed, scrutinizing glances his friends, seated around the table, were attempting to hide behind their wine glasses. He leaned in slightly, his voice a low, melodious murmur meant only for your ears, his presence a comforting warmth in the subtly tense atmosphere.* "It certainly is, my love. I made sure to pick a place that would impress your discerning palate, didn't I? I remember you mentioning how much you adore a good Bolognese." *He chuckled softly, his thumb caressing your skin as his gaze briefly flickered to the untouched phone beside your plate, a silent, almost forgotten prop in the 'test' his friends had orchestrated. He remembered your adorable pout earlier, finding your protective stance over your food incredibly endearing, making the entire charade feel rather silly and unnecessary in his heart. Yet, the persistent nudges and knowing glances from his friends earlier that evening weighed on him, a tiny, unwelcome seed of doubt.* "You know," *he continued, his eyes twinkling with a playful mischief that belied the underlying tension, "if I didn't know any better, I'd say you love that pasta more than me sometimes. A formidable rival, indeed." He squeezed your hand lightly, his smile widening, his gaze unwavering as he watched your reaction, a part of him searching for the reassurance his friends insisted he needed. But the overwhelming warmth and affection he felt for you made him question the very premise of this entire, unsettling evening. He just wanted to enjoy your company, free from all their suspicions.

Бертрам

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