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Azriel absentmindedly toyed with the silver lighter in his hands, tracing the intricate carved details with the calloused pads of his fingers, while he watched with reverence as Elain removed the last curler from her hair in front of her vanity. The only functionality that the vintage lighter offered was merely decorative, but it was a gift from Elain. A trinket she had bought while she was on a work trip in France, and he treasured it with his life.
Elain had seen it in a flea market and thought about him. Had bought it for him after she found out that the lighter was a relic from the 18th century—they both have an odd fascination for things that were lost to time—and had lovingly polished it and gotten his initials engraved on it.
Azriel treasured every gift she had ever given him. But especially this.
He refused to admit that it was because this token of affection had soothed his tormented soul while they were apart. Azriel had been nothing short of a pathetic mess when Elain was away. It sounds dramatic, but it was like his very heart was wrenched from his chest the moment she parted from him at the boarding gate of the airport, and he was left in agony with a gaping hole in his chest until she returned to him.
It was the longest they’ve ever spent being apart since they started dating. Three weeks, and it was enough to have Azriel barely existing in an anguish, tortured limbo. No amount of calls and facetime sessions were enough to soothe the ache of missing her.
Azriel pocketed the lighter and stood, striding across the hardwood floor towards Elain from where he was seated on a chaise by the window. Elain had found the chaise in an antique store last winter, and Azriel had the honours of cleaning it, fixing the one missing leg and re-upholstering it before he lugged the antique furniture up the six flights of stairs to her apartment. The look of absolute joy and excitement on her face was more than worth it.
Azriel met her doe eyes and the corners of his mouth reflexively curved into the secretive smile that was solely reserved for her. The answering smile on Elain’s face was heavenly. She blew him a little kiss before she turned back to the mirror of the vanity and started applying a glittery, tinted lip balm that smelled like cinnamon rolls.
Azriel couldn’t tear his gaze away from her perfect, plush lips as she glided the applicator over them.
Elain had been upset when the order she placed online for the Rhode birthday duo set fell through. Fortunately, Azriel was able to get her what she wanted with the help of their mutual friends, Nuala and Cerridwen. His sweet, lovely Elain hardly ever asks for anything, but Azriel would give her the moon if she wanted it.
“Almost done,” she promised with a sweet smile that melted Azriel’s heart until it was nothing but a molten core.
“Take all the time you need, sweetheart.” He assured her. He would never tire of waiting for her to get ready. He could spend hours and hours watching Elain work her magic, taking meticulous care to enhance her ethereal beauty to the point of divine perfection.
Elain’s nimble fingers brushed against his body as she stood up from her vanity and moved past him to fix her dress in front of the full length mirror. He resisted the urge to trap her hand against his chest, but he lost the fight against the urge to trail after her. Elain laughed softly when he pressed up behind her, mirth twinkling in her eyes.
Azriel knew she was recalling the time he had objected to her comparing him to a cat.
“Oh, but you remind me so much of our old family cat.” She had insisted, tapping him on his chin to try and lessen the grumpy frown. “He would ignore us when we called his name but then he would follow us around the house like a shadow. He hated being left alone, you see.”
Azriel had spent the night convincing Elain in bed that he was very much not a cat and that if she really wanted to compare him to a feline, he would be a large, predatory one. His beautiful, lovely Elain was too far gone to tease him again that night. He made sure of it.
Elain smelled incredible. Floral, sweet, delectable. She hummed, a little noise that Azriel loved ardently. He pressed his nose against her neck, grazing the delicate skin there, breathing in deeply. He opened his eyes and devoured the sight of her in the reflection.
Elain was breathtakingly beautiful.
The creamy silk dress she wore was chic and modest, but the way it draped her body was divine. The dress stopped above her knees and the boat neck complimented her well, though Azriel missed seeing the delicate dip of her collarbones.
Her golden brown hair was carefully styled with a heated round brush and kept in rollers while Elain did her makeup. Now, they fell softly over her shoulders like bouncy threads of shimmering gold. A blowout was what it was called, Azriel believed.
“You’re divine,” he breathed out.
A demure smile graced her luscious lips as Elain turned her face and brushed their noses together, the action so affectionate, so gentle that it made his heart clench.
“All ready to leave,” she announced softly, her smile growing as Azriel smoothed a big hand down her bare arm, up her hip and along her stomach. The silk of her dress felt cold and heavenly under his rough palm. “Azriel.”
“Remind me again why we have to go out tonight,” he muttered into her skin between kisses, his voice low and gravelly as it spilled against her skin. He wanted nothing more than to keep her all to himself.
Elain’s laugh was soft, a lilting melody that filled the quiet of the room and sent warmth spilling into his chest until it felt full—too full. “Because we’re meeting Feyre’s and Nesta’s new boyfriends, remember?”
Right.
“Well, technically they are meeting you,” Elain mused, turning around in his arms to face him so that she could fuss over the collar of his black shirt. “And you promised me that you’ll help me assess them.”
“I did,” he answered immediately. Then his lips quirked into a faint smirk. “But you’re more than capable of reading them like an open book without my help. Didn’t you have them squirming under your gaze when your sisters first introduced them to you?”
Elain hummed thoughtfully, though Azriel knew she was staving off an amused and satisfied smile. She was more observant than people give her credit for, able to pick things apart about someone with her unwavering perceptiveness. Her gaze saw far more than anyone realised, and her words—though soft and kind—could cut cleanly to the core if she intended it.
Her expression softened, the lightness giving way to something more vulnerable. “You know why I can’t help but feel protective… after what happened with Feyre.”
Her voice faltered, and his grip on her waist tightened instinctively. His jaw tensed, the memory of Feyre’s ex-fiancé flashing across his mind like an ugly scar. That man—no, that bastard—had nearly destroyed her. Azriel’s thumbs brushed slow, soothing circles over Elain’s hip as he kissed her temple again, grounding them both.
“I know,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, carrying the weight of understanding.
Tonight wasn’t just dinner. It was Elain’s way of protecting her sisters. The triple date was the pretext, a carefully crafted stage for Azriel to help her scrutinise Feyre’s and Nesta’s boyfriends on a deeper level. She needed to see them not just through her own discerning eyes but through his, too.
And he understood why. After Feyre had clawed her way out of a nearly catastrophic engagement last year, her fragile trust in love had only just begun to rebuild. And Nesta—fierce, defiant Nesta—had spent years running from any commitment that demanded more than she was willing to give, beyond one night stands and vacation flings.
Now, both sisters had found themselves in relationships that seemed to progress too fast, too suddenly. Feyre, with her boundless heart, could easily fall too hard, too soon. And Nesta… well, she could just as easily break her own heart before anyone else had the chance. Not to mention the last time Feyre was in a whirlwind romance, it led to her almost walking down the aisle just after three months of dating her ex-fiancé.
Elain sighed, breaking him from his thoughts. “I know it’s not really our business,” she admitted, her fingers absently toying with the hem of his shirt. “But I can’t help worrying. They’ve been through so much already.”
Azriel tilted her chin up gently, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You care because you love them,” he said simply, the truth of it reflected in the warmth of his hazel eyes. “And that’s why they’ll be fine. Because they have you.”
Elain smiled softly, leaning into his touch, and for a moment, Azriel thought of calling the whole evening off. He’d rather stay here, wrapped in her warmth, where the rest of the world couldn’t touch them.
But then her doe brown eyes brightened, a flicker of determination that told him there was no escaping tonight. “Come on,” she said, stepping out of his arms and reaching for her coat. “We’ll be late.”
Azriel stifled a groan and followed her to the hallway, grabbing his car keys from the counter and his black coat from the coat rack. With a resigned shake of his head and a soft laugh, he held the door open for her, ready to face whatever the night would bring.
♱
The restaurant was the epitome of understated luxury, its ambience carefully crafted to evoke a sense of intimacy and sophistication. Soft golden light spilled from ornate chandeliers, casting delicate patterns across the high ceilings and carpet-lined floors. The walls were lined with rich, textured wallpaper in shades of deep emerald and gold, punctuated by black-and-white photographs of cityscapes and old Hollywood stars that hinted at timeless elegance.
Tables were draped in pristine white cloth, each adorned with a single flickering candle and a small bouquet of blush roses and white peonies. The gentle hum of a piano drifted from a grand corner of the room, where a musician coaxed out a melody as smooth and enchanting as silk.
Azriel’s sharp gaze swept across the room as they stepped inside, cataloguing every detail, from the perfectly polished silverware on the tables to the discreetly stationed waitstaff moving with quiet efficiency. His senses honed in on everything and everyone. A low murmur of voices, the clink of crystal glasses, the subtle rustle of fine fabrics, it all formed a symphony of elegance that seemed a perfect backdrop for Elain.
She was radiant. The soft, silk dress she wore draped across her form like liquid light, shimmering faintly with every step. The creamy fabric caught the golden glow of the chandeliers, casting her in an ethereal aura that turned heads as they passed.
Her golden brown hair was swept over to one shoulder, leaving the elegant column of her neck bare save for a thin gold chain of the necklace Azriel gifted her. It glimmered faintly under the light. Azriel’s hand rested on her lower back as he guided her through the room, his touch firm and grounding, yet protective. He felt the weight of the stares she attracted and fought the primal urge to glare at those whose gazes lingered too long.
They arrived at their table near the back, tucked away from the more crowded centre of the restaurant with adequate privacy. Azriel pulled out Elain’s chair with practiced ease, waiting until she was seated before settling in beside her. Predictably, they were the first to arrive. Elain with her propriety, and Azriel with his inability to withstand tardiness, usually meant they were at least half an hour early to any and all events.
Their table was intimate, designed for quiet conversation, the soft candlelight creating a warm glow between them. Azriel’s hand rarely left Elain. Whether it rested lightly on her knee, covered her hand with his own over the table, or brushed over the back of her chair to toy absently with her hair, his touch was constant, grounding both of them.
Elain perused the menu with an expression of serene curiosity, occasionally glancing up to offer her thoughts on potential choices.
“What do you think?” she asked softly, holding the menu slightly toward him. Her clean and perfectly manicured finger with pearlescent varnish pointed at a dish with an absurdly long name in French.
“You can’t go wrong,” he replied, his voice low and smooth as he studied her instead of the options.
Elain laughed lightly, the sound like music against the backdrop of the piano, and returned to scanning the menu. Azriel, however, wasn’t focused on food. His attention flicked to his watch—a sleek, black piece with silver accents, its face glinting faintly in the dim light. The time was a few minutes past when Feyre and Nesta were meant to arrive. Not an unforgivable offence, but in Azriel’s mind, it already painted the men in question in an unfavourable light.
His gaze returned to Elain, who was now chatting lightly about the wine selection, her voice soft and melodic. Her words brought a faint curve to his lips, but his thoughts remained on the minutes ticking by. If these men couldn’t bother to arrive on time, what else might they fail at? They clearly didn’t respect Elain’s time and that didn’t sit well with him.
“Are they usually late?” Azriel asked, careful to keep his tone light as he grazed his thumb gently along Elain’s shoulder.
“Well, not usually.” She hummed, a little distracted by trying to pair the right wine with what she had decided to order. “Feyre’s boyfriend is rather bossy and seems to run a tight ship. They are mostly punctual.”
Azriel’s brows furrowed as all he could zero in on were the new revelations of attributes that he didn’t like the sound of. “He’s bossy, you said? How so?”
Elain looked up to meet his gaze, blinking her doe eyes endearingly as she recalled her memories, her lashes brushing her cheeks.
“He likes taking charge of things. He planned everything the last two times we dined together, from the place and date, to the transportation and menus. He tried to organise tonight but I insisted.” Elain explained, pouting at the menu with quiet determination. “Which is why I also intend to be the one to recommend the menu tonight. Throw him off his game a little.”
Azriel frowned, his scarred fingers flexing behind Elain’s chair, curling and unfurling. “Was he bossy with you?”
Before Elain could answer, the soft click of heels and muffled footsteps signalled someone’s arrival. Azriel turned his head, his sharp hazel eyes narrowing slightly as he prepared to evaluate the first of tonight’s guests.
Feyre walked towards them, her head held high and her easy smile lighting up the room. She looked effortlessly chic in a glittering silver dress, her hair swept back over her shoulders, her eyes smoky. Following closely behind her was a tall, dark-haired man dressed impeccably in a crisp navy suit. His stride was confident, almost leisurely, as though he owned every room he entered.
Azriel’s brows furrowed as recognition struck him like a thunderbolt.
“Rhys?” He muttered, barely masking his shock.
The man in question stopped mid-step, his piercing violet eyes locking on Azriel. For a moment, they simply stared at one another, disbelief flickering across both their faces.
“What the—Az?” Rhysand’s voice, usually smooth and composed, rose an octave in surprise.
Feyre glanced between them, confusion evident in her features. “You two know each other?”
Elain looked up from her menu, startled by the sudden shift in mood. “What’s going on?” She asked softly, her hand instinctively brushing Azriel’s arm.
Azriel leaned back in his chair, his expression caught somewhere between incredulity and annoyance. “He’s my… brother,” he finally said, the word tinged with reluctant affection.
Rhysand, recovering quickly, grinned. “Brother, best friend—depends on the day.” He said smoothly, stepping forward to clasp Azriel’s shoulder in a firm grip.
Azriel merely inclined his head, his hand finding its way to Elain’s thigh under the table in reassurance.
Elain and Feyre exchanged wide-eyed looks, and then Elain’s lips curved into a bemused smile. “Of all the coincidences…” she murmured.
Feyre’s smile mirrored her sister’s, though hers was tinged with relief. “This will make tonight interesting, won’t it?”
Azriel, still processing the revelation, only sighed. “Interesting isn’t the word I’d use.”
But as Rhysand pulled out a chair for Feyre, after the sisters exchanged warm embraces and kisses on the cheeks, Azriel found himself relaxing slightly. If anyone could be trusted with Feyre, it was Rhysand. Still, he made a mental note to watch him closely, brother or not.
Now, all that was left was Nesta. And whoever dared to show up by her side.
“So…” Rhysand began, breaking through the stifling awkward silence. His eyes sparkled with poorly concealed amusement and interest, a dark brow arched towards Azriel. “You’re the scary boyfriend that my darling Feyre warned me about?”
Rhysand summoned a waiter over with a nonchalant hand in the air and Azriel didn’t miss the almost inaudible huff escaping Elain as she pretended to be occupied by the menu.
Azriel didn’t fight the smirk that tugged on the corner of his mouth as he stared Rhysand down. “And you’re the bossy prick.”
Rhysand gaped at him as the waiter arrived at their table. Azriel pointedly ignored him and turned to look at Elain.
“Which wine did you pick out, sweetheart?”
Azriel watched with a satisfied and proud feeling in his chest as Elain beamed and politely requested for the wine pairings that she had decided on. She spent a couple minutes indulging in a polite conversation with the waiter about their house wines, slipping gracefully into the poise she carried in her work as a wedding planner.
“I’m not bossy.” He heard Rhysand mutter under his breath, his voice low but undeniably defensive as he shot Azriel a look.
Feyre, valiantly trying to stifle her laughter behind her hand, glanced at Elain, whose perfectly glossed lips twitched with barely concealed amusement. Before Feyre could chime in to either stoke the flame or deflect the statement, a loud, exasperated voice boomed across the restaurant, shattering the fragile bubble of civility.
“Holy Obi-Wan Kenobi!”
Rhysand and Azriel whipped their heads toward the source of the ridiculous phrase, their sharp instincts recognising it immediately. And there, behind an unamused but undeniably intrigued Nesta, stood Cassian, his eyes comically wide and his mouth agape like he had just walked into the plot twist of a lifetime.
“Cass?” Rhysand pressed a hand to his forehead, as though trying to physically ward off the headache that was surely incoming. The exasperation etched across his face was as vivid as the shock. “This must be a dream.”
“Or a nightmare,” Azriel muttered under his breath, his fingers pressing into his temples in an attempt to keep his composure.
Elain’s soft, worried hand came to rest on his arm, grounding him, while Nesta, standing with her arms crossed and one brow arched, cast a sweeping glance over the table. “Would someone like to explain what the hell is going on?” She asked sharply, her tone impatient but tinged with curiosity.
She was dressed in a tailored black dress and an oversized burgundy blazer draped over her shoulders, her hair slicked back in a bun and her evening purse clutched in her hand. With her heels, Nesta looked regal and tall beside Cassian, who was dressed to the nines in what Azriel recognised to be the suit he wore to Mor’s and Emerie’s destination wedding in Monaco.
The tension lingered for a moment, hanging precariously between awkwardness and absurdity, until Cassian broke it with his usual lack of subtlety.
“Wait. Hold the fucking horses.” His gaze bounced between Azriel, Rhysand, and their respective partners as the pieces of the puzzle seemed to click in his mind. “You two are—wait—what?” He pointed at Feyre and Rhysand first, then at Elain and Azriel, as though needing confirmation for the connections he was seeing.
“Sit down, Cassian,” Rhysand said with a long-suffering sigh, gesturing to the open seats between himself and Azriel.
Nesta rolled her eyes but took her seat gracefully, crossing one leg over the other as she gave Cassian a look that said ‘get it together’. He, however, was too busy trying to process this apparent betrayal.
“You’re telling me,” Cassian began as he slid into his seat between Nesta and Rhysand, his tone dripping with theatrical disbelief. “That not one, but two of my best friends—my brothers—have been in relationships this whole time and didn’t think to tell me?”
Rhysand smirked, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed air that betrayed the shock and tension of moments prior. “I don’t know why you’re so surprised, Cass. I’ve been dating Feyre for a couple months now. It’s not exactly a state secret.”
“Months?” Cassian repeated, his voice rising a little too loudly for the hushed atmosphere of the restaurant. A few patrons turned to glance at their table disapprovingly, but Cassian paid them no mind. “You couldn’t have mentioned this the last time we were at the gym, or maybe during literally any of our conversations?”
Rhysand shrugged, his smirk deepening. “Well, this isn’t really our usual topic of tête-à-tête. I figured you’d find out eventually.”
Cassian’s attention swung to Azriel, and his expression shifted from incredulity to something closer to betrayal. “But you,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger at Azriel, “You’ve been with Elain the longest. Two years, Az? Two. Whole. Years.”
Azriel met Cassian’s gaze with a look of unimpressed calm, his fingers idly tracing patterns over the back of Elain’s hand. “It’s not like I kept it a secret,” he replied evenly.
“Oh really?” Cassian’s tone was dripping with sarcasm. “Because it feels like you two were hiding away in some romantic witness protection programme.”
Elain’s cheeks coloured faintly, but she met Cassian’s playful accusation with grace. “It wasn’t a secret,” she said softly, her melodic voice carrying just enough firmness to silence further protest. “We just prefer to keep things private. There’s a difference.”
Cassian opened his mouth to retort but promptly shut it when Nesta’s sharp voice cut in, her protectiveness apparent. “Honestly, Cassian, stop being so dramatic. Not everyone feels the need to announce their relationships with a bullhorn.”
His lips twitched, and for a moment, he looked like he might argue. But then he grinned, his usual good humour returning. “Fine, fine. But seriously, Az,” he added, turning back to his friend. “I’m hurt. I can’t believe you never told us that you were in a committed two-year relationship. Like, this entire time, you were dating? It’s messing with my perception of reality.”
Rhysand laughed softly, shaking his head. “Welcome to the club, Cass.”
Azriel simply rolled his eyes, his hand returning to rest on Elain’s knee under the table, a small, possessive gesture that didn’t escape anyone’s notice. “Like Rhys said, we don’t exactly talk to each other about these kinds of topics.”
Cassian scoffed, loosening the first two buttons of his shirt before he relaxed into his seat, swinging his bulky arm over the back of Nesta’s chair. “Oh, I don’t know. A small ‘By the way, I’m seeing someone’ before you start obliterating a punching bag at the gym would have sufficed.”
Azriel chuckled, dipping his head in a silent apology that his brother generously accepted. “Duly noted.”
The waiter arrived then with the wines, taking their orders amidst the lingering undercurrent of amusement and teasing. And though the awkwardness had dissipated, the atmosphere at the table remained charged with curiosity, warmth, and the kind of connection that only came from shared history—and the occasional absurdity of life.
By the time the waiter left with their menus, Cassian was leaning back in his chair again, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he studied everyone at the table before his amused gaze landed on Rhysand. “So you’re the prick with a stick up his ass?”
Rhysand nearly choked on the wine he was sipping. Feyre smoothed a hand down his back, her eyebrows raised in amused curiosity, eyes flicking to Nesta who was looking at her burgundy nails with a smirk.
Without giving Rhysand a chance to defend the claim, Cassian wagged a finger in Azriel’s direction, a wide grin on his face as he shook his head. “And you’re Elain’s perfect and sexy boyfriend?”
Azriel chuckled when Elain laughed. Her tinkling laughter was sweet, bright and infectious, causing everyone at the table to join in.
“Nesta is generous.” He deflected.
“I’m honest,” Nesta interjected, though her sharp eyes held warmth in them as she looked from Elain to Azriel. “You’re good to her. Really good.”
“And you’re good to us too.” Feyre chimed in, her smile as bright as a burning star.
Azriel felt the tips of his ears warm as he avoided meeting anyone’s gaze. But at the small squeeze of Elain’s hand in his, he lifted his eyes to meet hers. Elain was smiling brightly at him, like heavenly daylight spilling through swirls of clouds. A hundred unspoken words passed between them, but Azriel felt like he heard everything she couldn’t say in front of their friends and family.
“So,” Cassian’s voice rang out, brimming with mischief, his grin spreading wider as he leaned forward, elbows braced on the table. His gaze bounced between Azriel and Elain like he was on the verge of discovering the world’s best-kept secret. “What’s next, Az? Marriage? A secret family? Should I start preparing a toast? Am I already an uncle to a two-year-old?”
The sheer absurdity of the question sent ripples of laughter through the group. Even Nesta, who had spent most of the evening arching a disapproving brow at Cassian’s antics, let out a reluctant chuckle. Rhysand, ever the picture of polished amusement, leaned back in his chair and smirked at Azriel, clearly enjoying the way his brother was being cornered.
Azriel merely sighed, shaking his head with the quiet exasperation of someone who had long since accepted Cassian’s theatrics as an unavoidable part of life. But it wasn’t the teasing that caught his attention, it was Elain.
Her soft laugh was like music to him, bubbling up from her chest as she leaned her head against his shoulder. The sound was unrestrained, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made his chest ache in the best possible way. Azriel couldn’t help but stare, his usually guarded expression softening.
For a moment, the world seemed to fade away, the laughter and chatter at the table dimming until it was just the two of them, bathed in the golden light of the restaurant.
As the evening wore on, the conversation grew lighter, the laughter louder. Feyre and Rhysand were wrapped in their own bubble of quiet intimacy, her hand resting on his as he murmured something that made her cheeks flush. Nesta and Cassian, meanwhile, bickered with the kind of fire that only masked a deeper affection.
Azriel pulled Elain closer, his arm draped over her shoulders as she leaned into his side. Her fingers traced lazy patterns on his thigh, a quiet gesture of contentment that made his heart feel impossibly full. Azriel pressed a kiss to Elain’s hair, letting the scent of jasmine and honey envelop him as he chuckled into her hair.
Nothing could have prepared him for what the evening had in store for them and Azriel had an inkling that more absurd surprises were waiting for them in the horizon.