The ease of summer nights at the V & A harbour wafted into the five star restaurant as the stand-off between the two continued. To Nala, it was a familiar feeling after four years of life in the Cape. Four years of being nobody's daughter, nobody's friend — only an acquaintance, a colleague, a mysterious stranger with a good eye and a world-class nose. Never a part of the crowd, never the outsider either. The top spots knew her, their patrons did not.  Her presence would seldom be graced but often felt. Her name was a well kept secret uttered by a select few. Her face on a poster, on a website, in a magazine, the surprise of seeing her on the runway - she had become an enigma. She preferred it that way. Her life in the Cape had been perfectly curated to give herself the best of everything without the nuisance of catering to the insecure.  

The iconic mountains that watched the mother city knew this. They also knew Andre and had watched him move in-between family estates in his early years, when he couldn’t fathom the depth of his privileges. It would be several years before he could and several more before he truly could. They’d watched Jan Dormehl’s first born being driven to and from Paul Roos in company cars. They’d watched him host birthdays in Camps Bay mansions without his father present because Dormehl senior was away doing business in Sandton. They’d watched Andre fall short of head boy despite being on multiple sports teams while top of his class and they’d watched him leave for the University of Johannesburg so he could join his family in Westcliff to focus on running Dormehl Industries one day. It was a curious sight because the mountains knew their lives were very different.  Nonala had fled to the Western Cape to be free from the memory of him only to find that Andre ruled it – his family always had. 

“Talk to me.”

A renewed smile slid onto Andre’s handsome face, no longer suppressed by the notion that another man could impress his university sweetheart. He would replace the pebbles she wore. 

“Come on, siren eyes,” he said, persuasion lacing every word, “Let’s make peace.”

He clenched his jaw, once again, visited by a brand new thought. Nala kept her composure. It was the jaw clench. It had been the jaw clench way back when and it was most certainly the jaw clench then. He must’ve known what he was doing.

“I won’t let you down, this time – let me show you I mean it.”

Nala shook her head, her smooth lips slipping into an amused smile at last. 

“Son,” she began.

Andre’s face lit up and they were twenty-three in his car again.

“Your ego’s writing cheques that your body can’t cash, ” they said in unison drawing laughter from each other.  Their eyes locked and a disgusted expression revisited Nala’s face. The warm fuzzies were lying. She had to be of sober mind. Andre watched her smile die down into a Reverse Red pout but that didn't bother him. He liked seeing her there, opposite him dressed to the nines. Her style had become mature and severe; precise stitching made it clear that so had her tax bracket.

“I missed that smile,” he admitted.

He’d always loved it. Her perfect teeth, accompanied by a couple of skewed ones behind her supple bottom lip, reminded him of his favourite paintings. A culmination of vision and chaos that tumbled through circumstance and timing to produce authenticity marked by the slight misapplication of technique in some areas. Impossible to fault. Breathtaking in delivery. A miracle. An immaculate positioning of time and place was her face.

What a thing to be held in his sight. Andre did not just see, he looked at life through eyes that lifted ordinary men into godly spaces. He grew bored often yet had not tired of resting his eyes on Nala Ndlovu. He yearned to push past billboards and posters to set them on her real skin, radiant and touchable. Her real body, her soft countenance only a reach away from his embrace. His trip had not been in vain. A million pairs of eyes could be watching her. Praises to the sky and flowers at her feet and Nala would still search the world for his gaze so that he could behold her image. 

“Tell me what you want,” Andre continued, “Tell me what you want, and I will make it happen.”

A deep sigh from the woman of his dreams and her next words were music to his ears.

“Okay, Dre,” she said, slowly sifting through some thoughts, “We can talk about it over drinks and canapés on a yacht tomorrow.”

Ebullience returned to Andre’s face. He slapped a strong hand on the table between them in a constrained celebration of sorts, revealing a gold signet ring with engravings of a lion and half-chequered shield on his left pinky finger. 

“A moment?” he whispered.

Nala watched him walk away and it was an experience to do so. His white Ralph Lauren hugged his torso in a just embrace, the rest of his  robust body was clad in navy tapered trousers. His feet, in classic brown loafers, eventually disappeared around the restaurant's double door entrance. Nala’s gaze lingered there for a while. She had done everything she could to forget him. She'd worked hard to remove any wishing, waiting, pining. Life was such a curious thing. With everything she'd conjured to deepen the chasm between them, it had still managed to bring him back? Nala was certain that the space between them had solidified over almost a decade of pride and disappointment. Yet, he'd appeared in her dressing room post runway. Led by her creative director, he'd asked to speak with her moments after she'd discovered he was her client. A Harvard clip-cut head of dirty blonde hair re-appeared at the lavish restaurant doors bearing a bouquet of red roses. A surprise. Andre towered effortlessly above anyone who stood as he passed.

“These are yours,” he said, offering the flowers to her. 

“Andre Dormehl, you withheld roses from me until I gave in?” 

The young man shook his head and he sat down.

“Hardly, I stepped out to reserve the yacht and noticed a vendor – I thought you’d like them.”

He was still the lazy romantic she’d known in her twenties. Nala smiled, halfway to a laugh. Of course he hadn’t thought of flowers but he would have if she’d said so; that was his allure. He did not make assumptions, he asked and he delivered. 

The flowers seemed to sweeten the air between them. Andre beamed at her from the other end of the table. 

“I asked them for a tailored menu,” he said suddenly. Yet another surprise – perhaps she’d judged him too soon. She twirled the bouquet, contemplating much. 

“Now please, let’s enjoy dinner as friends.”

“That’s a strong word,” Nala replied, flowers to the side.

“Would you prefer lovers?” Andre mused.

Nonala scoffed, laughter tickling her lips before she waved a hand in dismissal. 

“Tomorrow will decide that.”