After Party
Portia's P.O.V.
It had been two days since the dance, and I was lying in bed, staring at the number etched in gold ink — Levi Everett's number.
I'd been tossing and turning, haunted by a hundred questions.Should I make the first move? Should I call? What would I even say? Would he think I'm too forward? Too easy? Is he even thinking about me? Does he remember me at all?
"Ughhh!" I groaned, burying my face in the pillow. "He probably doesn't even remember me. Who am I, anyway? Just some socially stunted twenty-something who still hasn't figured out how to flirt properly."
In my anxious spiral, I didn't even notice I had typed his number into my phone — or that I had accidentally hit "call."
The dial tone rang.
Oh no.
My body froze. My heart plummeted. My brain screamed.Then — his voice.
"Hello?" he said, low and sharp.
I couldn't say a word. My throat clenched. My fingers trembled.
"Tsk," he muttered, clearly irritated. "Hey, whoever this is — quit playing games. If you're bored, go die somewhere."
Well. That was... aggressive.
"Ahm—" I finally managed.
"What?" His voice cut like a blade — annoyed, clipped.
"It's… it's Portia."
A beat of silence. Then:
"The girl from the party?"
"Yes… the last dance," I said, my voice barely audible.
"I thought you weren't interested."
"I… I am. I'm just… shy." I didn't know why I told him the truth. Maybe because something about him made me want to be honest.
"Eh?" he grunted. "Where are you?"
"I'm still at the hotel."
"Then why'd you call?"
"I… I wanted to get to know you," I admitted, wishing I could vanish right after.
"I mean, maybe we could be fri—"
"Meet me," he interrupted. "South Bistro. Seven sharp."
A dinner invite? Or a challenge?
"Okay," I said, a little breathless.
"Don't be late." And with that, he hung up.
I screamed — into my pillow this time, this time in excitement. That man had the emotional range of a brick wall and still managed to sweep me off my feet.
I darted to my closet. "What do I wear?"
After pulling half my wardrobe apart, I settled on a pastel yellow sundress. It flowed gracefully, felt soft and cozy, and paired perfectly with white stilettos and a simple pearl necklace. I grabbed a white checkered purse to complete the look — vintage, effortless.
By five o'clock, I was already running a warm bath. I tossed in some bath salts and a bath bomb, letting the scent calm my nerves. I scrubbed, shaved, soaked — pampered myself like I was preparing for a royal banquet.
At 5:30, I started getting ready. I kept the makeup light — a soft nude palette with a pop of pumpkin-red lipstick. I didn't want anything dramatic, just enough to feel fresh and confident. I spritzed on a light floral perfume and checked the time.
6:40 PM. I arrived at South Bistro.
Since Levi hadn't reserved a table, I decided to wait outside, near the front entrance. The place was stunning — perched near the beach, glowing with soft lights. The sun was starting to set, and the view was breathtaking. I snapped a few photos of the ocean painted in orange and gold.
Then, I felt someone sit across from me.
I turned—and my breath caught.
Levi Everett. In a crisp black suit, tie still flawless like he'd just walked out of a boardroom. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, squinted slightly in the dying light. He looked tired. Or maybe just... cold. But still, undeniably stunning.
"You're earlier than I expected," he said, voice even.
"I didn't want to upset anyone," I replied. "Especially not on a first meeting."
"Good," he nodded, then gave a small wave to a waiter, who appeared like magic with two menus.
"You," he said to the waiter. "What's the best thing you've got tonight?"
"For the main course, sir, our top pick is the Beef Wellington," the waiter replied.
"Get us one. Appetizer?"
"Lobster risotto, sir."
"One of those. Salad?"
"Red quinoa salad is popular today."
"Fine. That too. And dessert?"
"Our signature sticky toffee pudding."
"Bring it. As for the wine, whatever pairs best."
The waiter nodded, took the menus, and left.
Levi turned his eyes to me.
"You."
"Hi!" I blurted awkwardly, giving a shy little wave. God, Portia, what are you doing?
"What's your name again, lady?"
"Portia. Portia Zira," I said, almost defensively.
He studied me. "Levi Everett."
He leaned forward, resting his forearm on the table. His gaze was direct, unnerving.
"You look better without that shit mask."
I blinked. "T-thank you?" I replied, unsure if it was a compliment or just a blunt observation. Maybe both.
Then came the first course — Lobster Risotto, plated like art.
"Let's make a deal," Levi said. "Every time a new dish arrives, we learn something about each other."
My heart jumped.
"I can do that," I said, nodding.
So we began.