Le Fleur. Wear the ribbon.] I didn’t respond. I just set my phone down and went back to waiting for the students to turn in their tests.
Le Fleur was an ultra-expensive, five star, super-romantic restaurant. A meal there drifted into what I considered the ridiculous price category. It was the sort of place they’d toss you out of if you weren’t dressed properly. I wore my little black dress—it was long sleeved and hung off my shoulders tastefully. Around my neck, I wore my black lace cameo necklace and tied my hair into a bun using the red ribbon. That black faux fur stole covered my shoulders from the winter chill. I knew I was skirting the edge dress code wise.
I frowned at my reflection in the glass. I had tried my hardest to not look like I was date ready, but the dress code had made it impossible. You shouldn’t have come . I fingered the small cameo charm tentatively as I waited for the maître d to finish explaining to a couple that they were booked solid. I felt like an idiot standing next to them. I should have been dressier. Taking my phone out of my clutch I checked the time, 6:01 pm. The couple persisted arguing and waving around money. The manager came over and the couple continued making their scene.
The maître d smiled at me, but his eyes were unkind. He thinks you’re a prostitute . I swallowed and smoothed my faux fur stole.
“Can I help you, Miss?” The nondescript male inquired.
“Oh…” I trailed off and shook my head, trying to remember Aleksi’s last name. “The… Mikailinov party?” I half guessed. The maître d checked the book and shook his head.
“I’m sorry we have no party by that name .”
“Oh, what about …uhh… Mikhailovich?” He checked the book again.
“No. It is very hard to get a reservation here. I’m sorry but your… friend isn’t here.”
“Can you just check one more name? Darling.”
“What? I’m sorry, but flattery will get you nowhere, Honey.” He sneered at me.
“I’m sorry, I meant to ask you to check under the name Darling.” He glanced down at the book and did a double take.
“No, no, apologies are all mine, Ms. Darling. Your party is already waiting for you.” Suddenly he was tripping over himself to help me. He flagged down a hostess and murmured something about a private room to her. Within minutes, an immaculately dressed blonde led me through the impeccably decorated restaurant and back to a corridor of private rooms.
The Hostess opened the door for me. The room was intimate. The only furniture was a small bar, a couch, and a small round table with two chairs. It was lit by a low-hanging, crystal chandelier which looked like ropes of icicles strung together. The light was turned low enough that it almost mimicked candlelight. Aleksi was seated at the small round table with a wine glass of blood in front of him. Opposite him was a glass of blush wine.
“Thank you, Anna. I’ll call the front desk when she’s ready to order.” He thanked the hostess who smiled at him and closed the door behind me. I stared at him for a moment. He was dressed like he was on a date. He wore a black suit jacket and a white button down shirt with a blood red tie. That dark hair of his, which I was so used to seeing in that low disheveled bun was in a bun which was actually intact. “You’re late.”
“I’m sorry, there was an angry couple. And then maître d was being a” —Be civil, Autumn —“twit.” I finished as I pulled the black ribbon holding the stole in place free. I draped it over the back of the chair and sat down.
“A twit?” He arched a brow and smirked. That smirk and those sparkling blue eyes made me melt. He’s dating Kendra, don’t melt over your friend’s boyfriend. I swallowed and sat up straighter. I spun the wine glass by the stem between my thumb and forefinger. The blush wine wasn’t the color I was used to. It was more salmon than pink. Sit up straight—project an air of confidence.
Le Fleur was an ultra-expensive, five star, super-romantic restaurant. A meal there drifted into what I considered the ridiculous price category. It was the sort of place they’d toss you out of if you weren’t dressed properly. I wore my little black dress—it was long sleeved and hung off my shoulders tastefully. Around my neck, I wore my black lace cameo necklace and tied my hair into a bun using the red ribbon. That black faux fur stole covered my shoulders from the winter chill. I knew I was skirting the edge dress code wise.
I frowned at my reflection in the glass. I had tried my hardest to not look like I was date ready, but the dress code had made it impossible. You shouldn’t have come . I fingered the small cameo charm tentatively as I waited for the maître d to finish explaining to a couple that they were booked solid. I felt like an idiot standing next to them. I should have been dressier. Taking my phone out of my clutch I checked the time, 6:01 pm. The couple persisted arguing and waving around money. The manager came over and the couple continued making their scene.
The maître d smiled at me, but his eyes were unkind. He thinks you’re a prostitute . I swallowed and smoothed my faux fur stole.
“Can I help you, Miss?” The nondescript male inquired.
“Oh…” I trailed off and shook my head, trying to remember Aleksi’s last name. “The… Mikailinov party?” I half guessed. The maître d checked the book and shook his head.
“I’m sorry we have no party by that name .”
“Oh, what about …uhh… Mikhailovich?” He checked the book again.
“No. It is very hard to get a reservation here. I’m sorry but your… friend isn’t here.”
“Can you just check one more name? Darling.”
“What? I’m sorry, but flattery will get you nowhere, Honey.” He sneered at me.
“I’m sorry, I meant to ask you to check under the name Darling.” He glanced down at the book and did a double take.
“No, no, apologies are all mine, Ms. Darling. Your party is already waiting for you.” Suddenly he was tripping over himself to help me. He flagged down a hostess and murmured something about a private room to her. Within minutes, an immaculately dressed blonde led me through the impeccably decorated restaurant and back to a corridor of private rooms.
The Hostess opened the door for me. The room was intimate. The only furniture was a small bar, a couch, and a small round table with two chairs. It was lit by a low-hanging, crystal chandelier which looked like ropes of icicles strung together. The light was turned low enough that it almost mimicked candlelight. Aleksi was seated at the small round table with a wine glass of blood in front of him. Opposite him was a glass of blush wine.
“Thank you, Anna. I’ll call the front desk when she’s ready to order.” He thanked the hostess who smiled at him and closed the door behind me. I stared at him for a moment. He was dressed like he was on a date. He wore a black suit jacket and a white button down shirt with a blood red tie. That dark hair of his, which I was so used to seeing in that low disheveled bun was in a bun which was actually intact. “You’re late.”
“I’m sorry, there was an angry couple. And then maître d was being a” —Be civil, Autumn —“twit.” I finished as I pulled the black ribbon holding the stole in place free. I draped it over the back of the chair and sat down.
“A twit?” He arched a brow and smirked. That smirk and those sparkling blue eyes made me melt. He’s dating Kendra, don’t melt over your friend’s boyfriend. I swallowed and sat up straighter. I spun the wine glass by the stem between my thumb and forefinger. The blush wine wasn’t the color I was used to. It was more salmon than pink. Sit up straight—project an air of confidence.
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