Mara stopped beneath the restaurant’s gold-lettered awning and stared through the tall glass doors. “We’re actually here,” she whispered, smoothing the front of her dark green dress for the third time. “I have been trying to get a reservation at Belladonna for four years.”

Elliot offered her his arm with exaggerated dignity. “And all it took was six months of planning, a suspicious number of reminder alarms, and me calling at exactly eight o’clock in the morning.” He glanced through the doors at the chandeliers, marble floors, and guests dressed as though they had arrived directly from an awards ceremony. “I’m beginning to understand why my jacket came with its own garment bag.”

Inside, a host in white gloves greeted them by name and led them through the dining room. Candlelight shimmered in towering mirrors, a string quartet played somewhere behind a wall of flowers, and waiters moved between the tables carrying polished silver trays. Mara kept looking around with the barely contained excitement of someone entering a place she had imagined too many times.

“You look like you’re trying not to squeal,” Elliot said as they sat.

“I am succeeding beautifully,” Mara replied. A sharp crash sounded from somewhere across the restaurant, followed by enthusiastic applause, but no one nearby even looked up. She leaned toward Elliot and added, “Also, don’t stare at anything unusual.”

“What counts as unusual?”

“You’ll know.”

Their waiter appeared beside the table with two menus bound in red leather. “Good evening. My name is Henri, and I will be overseeing your dinner tonight.” He looked at Mara with a knowing smile. “Is this your first visit?”

“It is,” she said, sitting straighter. “I’ve wanted to come since I was sixteen.”

“Then I hope we meet your expectations.” Henri turned to Elliot. “And yours, sir.”

“My expectations are currently very flexible,” Elliot said. Another distant thud rattled the silverware, and a woman near the windows cheered. “They’re becoming more flexible by the minute.”

Mara opened the menu but barely glanced at it. “I already know what I’m having.”

Henri nodded. “The roasted tomato bisque?”

“Yes, please.”

Elliot looked between them. “That was fast.”

“It’s the reason people come here,” Mara said. “Well, one of the reasons.”

Henri took Elliot’s order for braised beef, collected the menus, and vanished into the dining room. Elliot watched him go, then lowered his voice. “You have been very mysterious about this soup.”

“I told you it’s excellent.”

“You told me it would change my understanding of soup.”

“It might.”

A few minutes later, Henri returned carrying a completely empty bowl and a folded black garment. He placed the bowl carefully in front of Mara, then shook out the garment to reveal a glossy poncho with a high collar and long sleeves.

Elliot blinked. “Is that part of the dress code?”

Henri helped Mara pull it over her head. “For the bisque, sir.”

Mara tucked her hair beneath the collar with practiced enthusiasm. “You should move your water glass.”

“My water glass?”

“And maybe lean back.”

Across the dining room, a brass bell rang once. Every waiter stopped moving, though none of the guests seemed concerned. Henri calmly adjusted Mara’s empty bowl by half an inch, stepped away from the table, and raised one gloved hand.

At the far end of the restaurant, a velvet curtain dropped.

Behind it stood a wooden catapult.

Elliot had just enough time to say, “Mara, what—” before the arm snapped forward. A shining red arc of tomato bisque sailed over the chandeliers, across three rows of tables, and directly toward them. Most of it landed in Mara’s bowl with a magnificent splash.

The rest struck the poncho, the tablecloth, Elliot’s sleeve, the back of a passing waiter, and a nearby floral arrangement.

The dining room erupted in applause.

Mara looked down at the steaming bowl, beaming. “Perfect shot!”

Elliot slowly wiped bisque from his cheek. “This is why you wanted to come here?”

Before she could answer, another bell rang. Somewhere behind them, a waiter shouted, “Braised beef for table twelve!”

Elliot turned just in time to see a second catapult being loaded.

Mara grabbed his water glass and slid it out of the way. “Lean back.”