She couldn’t help but wonder if Karen’s cooking had simply spoiled her taste buds The food here was good–no doubt about it–but somehow, it still didn’t measure <b>up </b>to Karen’s.
“Excuse me, sir, madam, I’m terribly sorry, but the restaurant has been reserved for a private event tonight. Without a prior reservation, I can’t let you in.”
“Honey, didn’t you say you could get us in?” The woman clung to Quentin Lane’s arm, her syrupy voice enough to make anyone cringe, though Quentin seemned to eat it up.
“Of course we can get in,” Quentin replied, nting a sloppy kiss on her cheek with his thick sausage–like lips. But when he turned to the ma?tre d‘, his expression darkened.
“Reservations? What kind of nonsense is that? Private event? Everything has a price–double whatever they paid, now clear them out!”
“I’m sorry, sir.” The staff member bowed slightly, but Quentin, already bristling with machismo, saw it as a personal affront.
“Do you even know who I am? Who my father is? I could have this ce shut down overnight, you know!”
A Western restaurant’s atmosphere was everything–and right now, it was shattered. Not that Alessia cared. She calmly sampled her dish, frowned, and set her spoon down.
She raised her hand; a waiter hurried over.
“Is there anything I can help you with, miss?”
“This is overcooked. The meat’s tough, and the vor’s gone.”
“My sincerest apologies for your poor dining experience. We’ll bring you a fresh te right away, if that’s eptable?”
Alessia nodded, just as themotion at the entrance drew everyone’s attention. Quentin shoved the waiter aside, sending the poor man sprawling while others rushed to help him up.
Ethan, hearing the noise, moved to intervene, but Alessia stopped him with a subtle gesture. Reluctantly, he turned and headed toward the back to find the manager.
“Well, if it isn’t Miss Alessia Tate herself! Oh wait, silly me–the real Miss Tate’s at
<b>16:44 </b>7
<b>home</b><b>, </b><b>not </b><b>this </b>little <b>imposter </b><b>squatting </b><b>in </b><b>someone </b><b>else’s </b><b>nest</b>.
<b>Unfazed</b>, Alessia dabbed her mouth with her napkin<b>, </b>then set <b>it </b><b>down</b><b>. </b>
Quentin, annoyed at being ignored, was instantly infuriated. He <b>reached </b><b>out</b><b>, </b><b>aiming </b>to grab her face, but she raised her fork, making him flinch back. Old <b>memories </b>died hard–after all, thest time he’d tried anything, she’d stabbed his <b>hand </b><b>with </b><b>a </b>fork. Since then, he’d kept his distance.
Not that Alessia had ever told anyone what happened. If she had, Quentin might <b>not </b>even be standing here today.
“Alessia, since you’ve fallen so far, maybe you should’ve thought twice before getting on your high horse. I’ll give you another chancee with me. I promise you’ll never want for anything again. How about it?”
Alessia smiled, her expression turning dazzling. There’s a road to heaven, but you refuse to take it; yet youe knocking on hell’s door yourself.
If you walk out of here on your own tonight, that’ll be my mistake, she thought.
And with that, her smile only grew brighter.