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If I didn’t know Lucas, I would suspect he was going to a job interview, not meeting his parents.
“We’re here,” says the driver before stopping in front of the restaurant.
I peak outside, my eyes widening when I see the gold plated doors. Two ladies dressed in the tallest black stilettos I’ve ever seen wearing matching brown Gucci, tight fitting dresses, enter inside. The door is held open by a butler in a tuxedo.
A tuxedo in this heat?
He must get paid well.
“Rachel?”
I flinch and turn towards Lucas, already standing on the sidewalk, offering me a hand. Tentatively, I grab it and slide out of the car, wishing I had gone with the blue dress, or maybe eventhe red dress. The butler opens the door for us and I’m suddenly smacked in the face by a cold wave created by the air-conditioning humming in the corners of the restaurant.
Or maybe I should have brought a jacket, I think while rubbing my frigid shoulders.
I stare in awe at the place. It’s better than the photos with red carpeting everywhere. Red and gold seems to be the theme with waiters dressed in tuxes, minus the jackets, hovering near their customer’s tables with a white towel hanging from their arm.
“Do you have a reservation, Monsieur?” asked the man at the front desk.
I shrivel in front of him as his shrewd eyes rake over me, stopping for a moment at my ten dollar pink pumps before giving a slight shake of his head.
“I’m afraid we aren’t taking walk-ins at this time.”
All I want to do is pull up the carpet and hide underneath it, or perhaps turn around and head to the closest and cheapest cafe. Obviously, I did not choose the correct dress for today’s brunch. I really should have asked Lucas for the dress code.
“We are meeting with Christina and Franklin Brent,” says Lucas with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His shoulders are tense and his back is rod straight and once again I get the sense that he’s attending an important job interview.
The man’s eyes narrow on Lucas before turning to me. I wonder if he’s going to send us away, but instead he turns on his heel, saying curtly, “Follow me.”
I grab Lucas’s hand, my grip tight as I follow him further inside this beautiful place. With each and every step, I feel my stomach twist. All hunger leaves me as my eyes meet Christina’s. Frank’s back is facing us, but I can tell he’s dressed in a suit. Christina is wearing a pink pencil skirt with a matching blazer andbutton-downshirt. The buttons look gold. They probably are gold, knowing Lucas’s family.
“Excuse me,Monsieur,” says the man softly, “you have visitors.”
Frank turns around, his gaze meeting mine and traveling down the length of my body. Yet, it’s not desire I see in his gaze. It’s that judgmental look I haven’t been able to rid myself since walking into this place. I swallow and raise my hand, twiddling my fingers. My voice cracks as I say, “Hello.” I clear my throat and turn to Christina, who hasn’t stopped staring at me. “I hope the both of you are well.”
Christina’s eyes narrow, yet she doesn’t say anything.
Frank rises from his chair, offering Lucas his hand. “Good to see you, son.”
Lucas takes the offered hand, shaking it firmly. “Likewise.”
“And it’s so nice for you to join us, Raven,” says Frank while gesturing towards an empty seat next to Christina.
“Dad, its Rachel.”
Frank shakes his head while pinching the bridge of his nose. “So, sorry, Rachel. Of course it’s Rachel. Please, take a seat.”
The man before, who stared at me as if he thought I was an irritating bee buzzing around him, quickly moves to pull out the chair.
“Thank you,” I murmur softly, sorry to leave the safety at Lucas’s side.
I clench my jaw, watching Lucas take his seat across from me, wanting to be next to him so I can take his hand for some support. Instead, I keep my hands in my lap, fighting the need to pick at my fingernails.
“I hope the both of you don’t mind, but we ordered for you,” says Christina with a thin smile. “This place is supposed to have amazing food.”
Well, at least that’s something I can talk about, I think while offering my best, charming smile. “Yes, that’s what I read on Tripster. The chef is supposed to have a Michelin star.”
Christina purses her lips while she turns towards me, raising an eyebrow. “Tripster? This place is on Tripster?” She chuckles bitterly. “You must be teasing me. Isn’t Tripster for those backpacking sorts?”
