"Your chariot awaits." He placed his hand lightly on the small of her back, guiding her toward the open door. The scent of her excitement - a mix of heightened pulse and subtle adrenaline - teased his senses.
Beth slid into the plush leather seat with careful movements, as if afraid she might somehow damage the pristine interior. Her fingers traced the intricate stitching on the armrest while her gaze darted from the champagne cooler to the entertainment screens to the starlight headliner twinkling above.
Tyr settled beside her, enjoying her wonderment as she discovered each new luxurious detail. The door closed with a solid thunk that spoke of German engineering at its finest, sealing them in their private sanctuary of leather and luxury.
"I feel like a movie star," Beth said in a hushed voice, still running her fingers along the leather trim.
Tyr chuckled at Beth's whispered observation as their chauffeur slipped behind the wheel. The Mercedes purred to life, gliding away from the helipad with silken smoothness. He reached into the champagne cooler, extracting a glistening bottle of Perrier-Jouët Belle Epoque.
The cork emerged with a soft pop as he filled two crystal flutes. The pale golden liquid caught the ambient lighting, tiny bubbles dancing upward in elegant streams. He reached for a smaller, more ornate bottle, its distinctive Art Noveau design drawing Beth's attention immediately.
"St. Germain?" He held up the artisanal bottle, watching her expression shift from wonder to curiosity.
"What is it?" Beth leaned closer, examining the elegant bottle with its long, slender styling.
"It's a French liqueur made from elderflowers," Tyr explained, turning the bottle so the light caught its elegant faceted surface. "Just a touch transforms ordinary champagne into something extraordinary." He watched her expression, cataloging each micro-reaction. "The flowers are gathered by hand in the French Alps during a brief window in spring when they're at their peak."
"I've never heard of it." Beth's gaze followed the gentle tilt of the bottle as he added a precise measure to each flute. The pale golden liquid swirled beneath the bubbles, releasing a subtle floral fragrance that even his vampire senses found appealing. "But I'm open to new experiences."
Tyr handed her one of the crystal flutes, enjoying how the ambient lighting caught both the champagne's effervescence and the sparkle in her eyes. The delicate stem looked impossibly fragile between his fingers as he raised his own glass.
"To magic hiding in plain sight." He touched his flute to hers with the softest chime of crystal meeting crystal.
Beth's smile brightened as she echoed, "To hidden magic."
The Mercedes glided through Manhattan's glittering canyons, each turn revealing another vista of lights and life. Beth leaned closer to the window, drinking in the spectacle of New York at night. The city's energy pulsed around them - crowds flowing along sidewalks, yellow cabs weaving through traffic, music spilling from open doorways.
Their driver navigated the Theatre District with practiced ease, finally pulling up before an elegant storefront. Warm light spilled from La Côte d'Azur's windows onto the sidewalk, and the subtle scent of herbs and garlic wafted through the evening air.
The chauffeur stepped out, his white gloves pristine as he opened Beth's door with a slight bow. Tyr slid out first, extending his hand to help Beth emerge from the Mercedes's cocoon of luxury. Her fingers trembled slightly against his palm, but her smile remained bright as she took in the restaurant's understated facade.
Inside, the maître d' greeted them with polished professionalism. "Good evening, sir. Reservation for two?"
"Yes, under Tyr Lindström."
"Ah, of course." The maître d' consulted his tablet before gathering menus. "Please, follow me."
They wound through the restaurant's intimate space, passing tables draped in crisp white linens. Copper pots gleamed from open shelving while sprigs of dried herbs hung from exposed wooden beams. The lighting struck a perfect balance - dimenough for romance but bright enough to read the menu without squinting.
Their waiter pulled out Beth's chair at a corner table partially screened by a tasteful arrangement of potted herbs. The location offered both privacy and a clear view of the restaurant's warm interior.
She settled into her seat, clearly pleased with the intimate setting he'd chosen.
A waiter approached with a basket of crusty French bread, still warm from the oven. Steam curled up as Beth broke open a piece, the yeasty aroma mixing with the herbs and garlic that perfumed the air. He placed two small dishes beside the bread - one filled with pale golden butter, the other with olive oil dotted with fresh herbs and cracked pepper.
"The bread is baked fresh every hour," the waiter explained, filling their water glasses. "Can I start you with any appetizers this evening?"
Tyr cocked an eyebrow at Beth, and she shook her head. “Just this bread is fine.”
The waiter left, and Beth draped her napkin across her lap, her attention fixed on the menu. "Everything looks amazing." She dipped a corner of bread into the herb-infused oil, closing her eyes in appreciation as she tasted it. "Oh, this is wonderful."
Pride and something deeper stirred within him as he watched her obvious enjoyment. He'd chosen this restaurant carefully, wanting somewhere special but not intimidating. The way Beth relaxed into her chair, savoring each bite of bread, told him he'd made the right choice.
When their waiter returned, Beth studied the menu one last time. "I think I'd like the Provençal roasted chicken, please."
"Excellent choice," the waiter nodded approvingly. "That comes with fingerling potatoes and haricots verts with garlic and almonds."
Beth looked puzzled. "What are haricots verts?"
