Stephen was quick to shoe away the staff before they could pull out Daphne's chair and instead did it himself. He was going through all the motions of being the perfect gentleman, just like his father had taught him. It was something he had prided himself on before now, but the thought of his father made him sick to his stomach. Once she was seated, he retreated to his own chair and their table was quickly swarmed by the waiters.
Two fresh glasses of red wine were poured, napkins laid across laps and menus delivered to the table along with a small bowl of olives. Apparently one glass of wine wasn't enough to calm his nerves. As soon as they were left alone he reached out and picked up his glass. He sipped at the pinot noir, careful not to look like he was trying to get himself drunk. So far, aside from their greeting, he'd managed to avoid actually looking at Daphne's face.
What type of small talk as appropriate for this? He had no idea. He was entirely out of his depth. He cleared his throat and finally lifted his gaze to meet hers. "I'll be perfectly honest with you," He said quietly, though it was unlikely they would be overheard in their little corner of the restaurant, "I wasn't expecting to be seated here so soon. This has rather...rushed up."
How honest could he truly be with her? They would be exchanging vows in just over a week and Stephen wasn't even sure if he could trust Daphne.