Blind Date With Mr Arrogant

Tiffany's POV

Tiffany clenched and unclenched her fists as they stood in front of the restaurant waiting for their reservation to be confirmed. She smoothed her velvet green skirt over and over again and tapped the sides of her french bun, attempting to fix it even though she knew it was already perfect. She couldn't help it, though, she was nervous. More nervous than she had ever been before.

Afterall, it wasn't every day one met their fiancé for the first time.

The restaurant staff looked up from the list in his hand, and offered them a too-bright smile, having found their names on the list.

"Yes, Mr. and Miss Dion," he said, his attitude immediately taking a huge turn from the sour display earlier, probably recognising the last name, "Will it be just the two of you tonight?"

"No," Tiffany's dad, Russell Dion, said. "We're expecting two more guests."

"Alright, that's perfect, sir." Said the staff, and he snapped his fingers to summon a waiter to them like calling a dog. "Please, let us escort you to your table. That will be, table five."

The waiter bowed, looking nervous and flustered, but escorted them to a very good table near the center of the room and in the crux of the state-of-the-art lighting, so that no shadows were cast on anyone that sat down to eat there.

They sent the waiter away for water, claiming they would only order once their guests arrived, and he left them with a deep bow.

"I don't like this place," Tiffany said to her father as soon as she was seated, "They treat their staff like slaves."

She cut an impressive figure even just sitting. From her perfect posture and poise, one could easily tell that she was a lady of fine upbringing. Her green velvet dress hung gently and gracefully off her skin, and the dip of her collarbones was elegantly adorned with a simple silver chain. Small green emeralds hung from her ears and dangled from her wrists, these three the only jewelry she had on.

She had debated for a long time whether to keep her look simple or elaborate, but in the end decided to just go with what she was most comfortable with. There was no point putting up appearances, afterall. If she was going to marry this man, then he should get comfortable with seeing her as she truly was.

Not to say that she wasn't nervous about what he would think of her appearance. She was nervous as hell. If she had read clearly into what her father was purposely not telling her, then it seemed that the fate of their company, and ultimately, her future, rested on this single night. And she had to do everything in her power to make sure it worked.

Her father shrugged at her statement. He kept looking over his shoulder to see if his guests had arrived yet. "I don't care much for it either," he said, "But it's apparently the young Mr. Gold's favourite, so it would be tactful to eat here."

Under the table, Tiffany's hand clenched on her knees, and her heart sank even lower than it had been all night. She had tried, had really tried to get comfortable with the idea of this man. Afterall, one had to like someone before they began to love them. She had even asked her father to tell her all he knew about him. But unfortunately, everything she'd heard had only made her form a bad opinion of him.