Alerrandro

You calmly applied lipstick, more out of routine than nervousness. It wasn't your first date, nor the first sophisticated place you'd ever been—far from it. But there was something different about that night, something about the way Alerrandro had texted you earlier:

"I'll arrive at eight o'clock, princess, without delays."

He was like that: direct, confident, the type who doesn't need to raise his voice to be noticed. When the doorman announced his arrival, you just took a deep breath and grabbed your bag.

As she got out of the car, she found him leaning against it, his blazer impeccable and with that somewhat discreet smile he gave when he was truly pleased with what he saw.

"You look beautiful," he said, as if stating a fact, not as a compliment.

— Thank you. You also looked... too elegant for a casual dinner.

"Who said it would be ordinary?" he opened the door for you.

The journey was easy, short conversations, long glances. That comfortable silence that only exists when the chemistry is already there, well-defined.

When they arrived at the restaurant, the valet opened the door and Alerrandro naturally placed his hand on your back, guiding you inside. Nothing theatrical—just the intimacy of someone who was born knowing how to use their own charm.

The hall was spacious, illuminated by crystal chandeliers, with spaced-out tables and a piano playing in the background.

The maître d' recognized them immediately.

Sir, your table has been reserved as requested.

He acknowledged you with a slight nod and pulled out his chair before sitting down to face you. There was no nervousness, just that intense interest that made the air feel warmer.

Alerrandro adjusted the napkin on his lap, unhurriedly, as if preparing the ground for something important. Then he looked up at you, that firm gaze that always seemed to pierce through any defense.

"I needed to see you today," he said, simply and directly. "Not to talk about work, or to flirt... but because you've been taking up too much space in my head."