Page 15 of The Black Wife Blessing

"You should see your face when you talk about food." Henry's eyes crinkle at the corners. "It's like watching someone fall in love."

"Maybe I am in love. With proper seasoning and perfect plating, of course." I take a sip of the wine he selected, a crisp Chablis that dances on my tongue.

"Speaking of perfect..." He reaches across the table, adjusting my engagement ring. The gesture, meant for show, feels strangely intimate. "You've got to admit we make this look good."

"Careful there, Mr. Blackwood. Someone might think you're actually enjoying our little arrangement."

"And what if I am?" His voice drops lower, private. "Is that against the rules?"

Before I can answer, our appetizers arrive - a plate of seared scallops with butternut squash purée that makes my chef's heart sing. The conversation flows as easily as the wine, and I find myself forgetting about the pretense that brought us here. Henry's genuine interest in my culinary opinions, his quick wit, and the way he leans in when I speak - it all feels natural, real.

A burst of laughter from a nearby table mingles with the aromatic symphony of herbs and spices wafting from the kitchen. I catch myself relaxing into this moment, into us, even as a small voice in my head reminds me it's all for show.

"Try this." Henry offers me a bite from his plate, and the casual intimacy of the gesture makes my heart skip. Our fingers brush as I accept his fork, and I wonder if he feels it too - this current of electricity that has nothing to do with our arrangement and everything to do with who we are when we're together.

"Well, if it isn't the lovebirds." Olivia's voice cuts through my wine-induced haze. She stands at our table, radiant in her chef's whites, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "I had to come see this engagement for myself."

Henry's hand finds mine across the table. "The food is incredible, Olivia. That duck confit-"

"Oh please, save the compliments for someone who doesn't know you're trying to butter them up." She winks at me. "Though I must say, you two look absolutely perfect together.The way you've been feeding each other bites all evening? I nearly sent my staff on break from the sweetness overload."

Heat explodes across my body. Have we really been that obvious? I mean, that's a good thing, right? We're supposed to be selling this relationship to the whole world.

But it makes my heart flutter to realize other people are, indeed, noticing.

"What can I say?" Henry's thumb traces circles on my palm. "When you're with the right person, everything just flows."

Olivia squeezes my shoulder. "About time someone appreciated Monica properly. The way you look at her? That's not something you can fake."

My stomach drops at the word 'fake.' Because that's what this is supposed to be. But the way Henry's eyes meet mine across the table feels anything but artificial.

"I'll send out the next course myself," Olivia says. "A special for my new favorite couple."

As she disappears, the server brings our main courses. Henry's face lights up at the presentation of his braised short ribs, and something in my chest tightens. He cuts into the meat with appreciation, savoring each bite like it's a revelation.

"This sauce is incredible," he says, gesturing with his fork. "The depth of flavor, the balance…" He stops, catching my expression. "What?"

"Nothing. Just... you actually get it. Most people just eat. You understand."

"I understand you." The words hang between us, heavy with meaning I'm not ready to examine.

I focus on my own plate, a perfectly executed sea bass, but I can't ignore how natural this feels. How his laugh makes the room brighter. How he leans forward when I explain the technique behind Olivia's signature sauce, genuinely interested in every word.

It's becoming harder to remember this is all pretend when every moment feels so real.

The night goes on smoothly, and we eat and laugh and joke with each other as plates are brought and cleared. Eventually, even the dessert plates are cleared, and Henry's hand finds mine again as we walk toward the exit. His touch is warm, steady - everything Benjamin's wasn't.

"Thank you for tonight." I adjust my purse strap with my free hand. "For making it feel..."

"Real?" His eyes catch mine, playfulness gleaming in those baby blues, as well as something deeper.

"Natural." I squeeze his fingers. "You didn't have to learn about braising techniques just to keep up the conversation."

"Maybe I wanted to." He pulls me closer as we step outside, the night air cool against my warm skin. "Maybe I like watching you light up when you talk about what you love."

A car horn blares in the distance, and my body tenses before I can stop it. For a split second, I'm back there - Benjamin screaming, plates shattering against walls, the sound of my own heartbeat drowning out everything else. Henry must feel the change in my posture because his arm tightens protectively around me, his warmth anchoring me to the present.

"You okay?" he asks quietly, his thumb tracing gentle circles on my shoulder.

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