CHAPTER 302: CHAPTER 302: WIN THE BANTER

The night air was cool when they stepped outside, the hum of the city softer here, muted by the gardens and the conservatory walls. Trevor opened the passenger door with his usual grace, waiting until Lucas slid in before circling to the driver’s side.

The car purred to life, smooth and quiet as they pulled out onto the wide avenue. For a few minutes neither spoke, the silence easy, filled with nothing but the low thrum of the engine and the distant glow of the city lights.

Lucas broke it first, glancing at Trevor’s hands steady on the wheel, the platinum ring catching faint glints from the dash. "So... dinner. Should I expect greasy paper bags and questionable seating by the river?"

Trevor laughed, the low sound making Lucas’s stomach twist with butterflies. "Gods, no. I should bribe Mia to never help you again with that."

Lucas smirked, leaning back into the leather seat. "You say that like it wasn’t the best meal I’ve had in years. Salt, grease, and the joy of watching you glare at the packaging like it personally insulted your title."

Trevor’s mouth curved faintly as his eyes stayed on the road. "Because it did. A Grand Duke should not have to share his bed with paper wrappers that smell like fried onions."

Lucas barked a laugh, green eyes glinting. "Oh, forgive me. I didn’t realize our marriage vows included ’thou shalt never smell like street food.’"

Trevor shifted gears, his ring catching the light as smoothly as his voice. "It’s implied."

Lucas groaned, dragging a hand down his face, but the twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed him. "I married a menace."

"Twice," Trevor reminded him, smug and unyielding.

—

The car curved upward, climbing a quiet hill that overlooked the heart of the capital. The streets below spilled into gold and silver light, lanterns and glass towers glittering like a second sky turned upside down.

At the crest, a building gleamed with understated elegance, glass walls rising into clean lines, terraces edged with wrought-iron lanterns, the whole structure seeming to hover above the city itself.

Trevor slowed the car, pulling to a stop before the entrance. Valets in dark uniforms stepped forward at once, bowing low before Trevor had even cut the engine.

Lucas stared past the windshield, lips parting slightly despite himself. "You brought me," he said slowly, "to eat somewhere the view itself probably costs more than a house."

Trevor unfastened his gloves with practiced ease, slipping them into the console before opening his door. His voice carried the same smug composure as always. "You wanted dinner. I chose the best."

Lucas scoffed, though the corners of his mouth twitched. "Smug bastard."

Trevor rounded the car and opened his door with deliberate grace. "Your smug bastard," he corrected.

Lucas rolled his eyes but let Trevor help him out, his coat brushing against the perfect line of Trevor’s suit. The crisp night air carried the faint hum of the city below, but here, above it all, it felt like the world had gone quiet.

Trevor offered his arm, violet eyes catching the lantern light as though even the city bent to reflect him. "Shall we?"

Lucas slid his hand through with mock exasperation, his smirk betraying him. "If the silverware is engraved with your name, I’m leaving."

Trevor’s mouth curved faintly as they ascended the steps. "Not mine. Ours."

"Did you ever hear about the concept of restraint or humility?"

Trevor held the door open, the warm glow of chandeliers spilling out to meet them. "Humility is for men who have something to prove," he said smoothly. "I don’t."

Lucas groaned, letting himself be guided inside despite his words. "You are physically incapable of walking into a place without sounding like you own it."

Trevor’s lips curved, smug and unmovable. "That’s because I usually do."

Lucas barked a laugh, earning a discreet glance from a maître d’ who immediately straightened when Trevor’s gaze flicked his way. "Gods," Lucas muttered under his breath, "you don’t even need to flash a crest. You walk in, and suddenly grown men look like they’re about to salute."

Trevor guided him past the velvet ropes with a steady hand at his back, his voice pitched low enough for only Lucas. "They should salute you too. You’re mine."

Lucas rolled his eyes skyward, though his ears flushed, betraying him. "You’re going to be the death of me, Fitzgeralt."

Trevor leaned close, brushing his lips against Lucas’s temple as if they weren’t being watched. "No. I’m going to keep you alive."

The maître d’ cleared his throat discreetly, bowing them toward a secluded table by a wall of glass where the entire capital glittered below like spilled stars.

The table was set like something out of a painting: silver cutlery polished to a mirror sheen, crystal glasses that caught the chandelier’s glow, and a folded menu printed on paper thick enough to double as armor. The city sprawled beyond the glass wall, a cascade of light that stole even Lucas’s breath for a moment.

He recovered quickly.

"You realize," he said, lifting the menu with exaggerated care, "that this thing probably costs more than the food. Gods, it’s heavy enough to stun someone."

Trevor adjusted his cufflink, unbothered. "That’s because it’s meant to last or impress people."

Lucas arched a brow, flipping the menu open. "Last? Trevor, it’s a list of overpriced meals, not the foundation stones of the capital. And as for impressing..." he tilted the page like he was testing its weight. "I guess it’s working; I’m talking about paper thickness on a date with my husband."

Trevor didn’t miss a beat, his tone smooth, almost casual, as if commenting on the weather. "Mm. I’d rather talk about other kinds of thickness."

Lucas almost choked on air, his green eyes snapping up to him. "Trevor."

Trevor only lifted his wine glass, violet eyes gleaming with smug amusement as though he hadn’t just dropped a scandal into the middle of the crystal and candlelight. "What?"

Lucas dragged a hand down his face, trying, and failing, to hide the flush creeping up his neck. "You can’t say things like that here. There are actual nobles within earshot, and I refuse to die at dinner because the Grand Duke decided to be indecent."

Trevor leaned forward slightly, the faintest ghost of a smile curving his mouth. "You’re the one blushing. They’d never guess it was me."

Lucas groaned, burying his face briefly in the menu before lowering it to glare at him. "I’m never going to win against you in banter."

"Ah..." Trevor’s tongue traced lazily over his teeth, his gaze steady, almost predatory. "That’s because I don’t care what others think. You do."

Lucas froze for half a beat, thrown off balance by the quiet certainty beneath the smugness. His lips parted, ready with another jab, but nothing came.

Trevor’s hand shifted, fingers brushing deliberately across the linen until they just touched Lucas’s. The contact was brief, but it carried weight, like a line drawn under his words.

"You watch the room," Trevor continued, softer now, almost intimate. "I only watch you."

The glow of the chandeliers caught in Lucas’s green eyes as he swallowed, his smirk returning, though thinner, tighter. "Gods, you’re dangerous when you stop being insufferable."

Trevor’s mouth curved into something slower, less smug, though no less certain. "That’s when I’m at my most honest."

The waiter appeared then, quiet as a shadow, laying down the first course with polished precision. Lucas sat back quickly, reclaiming his crooked smile, as if the interruption had rescued him.