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Chapter 6
Philippe
When I woke up two hours ago I made a pot of coffee and went to check on Carla. She was up a few times last night throwing up. Instead of leaving her to take care of herself I went in the bathroom, held her hair behind her head and wiped her mouth clean if she needed me to. The last time she got sick was maybe four hours ago and she seemed so defeated. She even asked me if she could sleep on the bathroom floor. It shocked me she was asking for permission, however I told her no. The tile had to be cold and I wouldn’t want her getting a cold. So, I put her back in bed and made sure she took some Tylenol for the killer headache she was already complaining about.
I’ve done some digging into Carla Moretti and discovered she owns a restaurant a little over a half-mile away from the space needle. After looking it up online I saw the menu is strictly Italian dishes. While most of them have traditional, Italian names. Some have names like ‘Marta’s Minestrone Soup’, ‘Stefano’s Spicy Spaghetti’ and ‘Gianni Style Tiramisu’.It’s sweet to see her name dishes after people in her family.
Carla’s restaurant is namedLa Bellezzawhich translates over to beauty in English. I’m assuming she named it after her love for it. From everything I know, I’m betting she has a very personal connection with her business.
I was the first person to enter her restaurant this morning when it opened at eleven. Never did I think her restaurant would be half-assed with her families reputation . . . but this surpassed my highest expectations.
The floor is concrete. For some reason I expected something grand such as marble. She seems like the type of woman who fancies the finer things in life and yet went cheap for the flooring. Cheap, yet modern. I’m not complaining by any means. It pairs well with the soft bamboo tables. They’re assorted around the entire space. She has options for two people eating dinner, or even a family of sixteen. I moseyed around earlier on my way to the bathroom and saw two private dining rooms. Although, they aren’t extremely private.
Her architect must’ve been extremely talented to do what they did here. The dining rooms look like they’re two greenhouses inside a building. However, they have massive skylights in the ceiling.
Paired with the bamboo tables are matching chairs that have gray upholstery. Some of the tables are against a wall and have booths that represent a luxury couch. Above the tables industrial Einstein lightbulbs hang, giving it a unique look.
If all these details weren’t enough, she outdid herself with the entire wall of purple flowers inside her restaurant. It not only looks like she brought the outside to the indoors, but feels like it as well.
I place my order with the waitress, requesting a cup ofMarta’s Minestrone Soupfor my appetizer and choose a house made feta pizza with a glass of white wine. It may be early, although I want the full experience.
As I sit here my mind is blown as to how a place can look so exquisite and yet I saw a completely different side of Carla. Last night she was a bit of a mess and coming in here . . . makes me astonished Carla is the owner of this place. I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t already know for a fact. This is why I wanted to come here, to see a side of Carla I know I didn’t get the pleasure of witnessing last night.
Her behavior not only pissed me off, but made me wonder what the hell I signed up for.
“Here you go Mr. Sala,” My waitress comes over with my glass of wine and minestrone soup.
“Thank you so much,” I say to her, and expect her to leave. When she doesn’t, I continue. “Is everything okay?”
She nods, placing her hands behind her back. “Of course, Sir. Here atLa Bellezzawe pride ourselves in our patron’s satisfaction. Would you mind sampling your wine and soup to ensure its up to your standards? If it isn’t, I will happily replace it with something else you’d prefer.”
I’ve been to many restaurants, but never have I experienced quality customer service such as this. “Certainly,” I say. Picking up my wine I take a sip and allow the light and airy sensation to float over my taste buds. It’s the perfect Pinot Grigio. “The wine is fabulous,” I comment, grabbing my spoon I move onto the soup. My senses are shocked into overdrive at the strong flavor. I’ve had minestrone before . . . but yet again it hasn’t been comparable to this one. I swallow my food and let the waitress know what I think. “I have to applaud whoever came up with this recipe. It’s simply phenomenal.”
“I didn’t expect you to be here.” A familiar voice pops up from behind me. The waitress seems shocked and we both look behind me to see Carla standing here.
“I wanted to come support your business. Had to see it for myself.”
Carla crosses her arms sounding accusatory, “Mhm, as for the recipe you’d have to give the compliments to my mother, Marta.”
“Ah, I didn’t realize she created it. It’s lovely she let you use it at the restaurant,”
Carla chuckles, “Do me a favor and don’t say that to her. She doesn’t know I took one of our family recipes.”
Shocked, I draw my brows together. “How has she not noticed when she’s been here?”
“Simple. She hasn’t.” Carla responds.
“Uh . . . do you two know one another?” My waitress asks me.
I’m about to respond when Carla cuts in. “Yes, Giuliana. Philippe here is my fiancé.”
“Oh, wow. I had no idea you were getting married. Congrats, Carla!” I think the girl is being genuine but Carla obviously doesn’t have the same feelings. She rolls her eyes in front of her.
“We both know your well wishes are bullshit. You’re just waiting for the moment to suck his cock and break us up like you did with Marco and Anna. I lost my best hostess because of you prying into private matters. Get out, and don’t come back.”
Giuliana seems to be in a state of shock, “You can’t be serious?”
Carla takes a step closer to her, obviously an intimidating move. “Oh, but I am. You wanting to fuck my fiancé is only the cherry on top. We know you’ve been stealing money out of the register, Giuliana. I have you on surveillance video,” Carla grabs the girl by the neck, “Don’t you ever steal from me again, and remember my name, girl. I want you to go to bed at night and wonder if this is the day Carla Moretti is sending karma to bite you in the ass.” Carla shoves her away and looks at the visibly shaken girl. “Well, what’re you waiting for? Go!”
We both watch Giuliana run toward the back of the restaurant. “You might as well take a seat,” I say, taking the opportunity to get to knowthisversion of her.
