I looked in the mirror. My brunette hair was curled into soft waves framing my face, showing off my new blonde highlights perfectly. I wore a short, red one-shoulder Oscar de la Renta dress with ruching on the top and skirt, matching red Christian Louboutins, and a stack of Tiffany bangles on my right wrist. Tiffany diamond studs were on my ears, and in my hand was my red Alexander McQueen clutch. I applied my red Dior lipstick, spritzed Viva La Juicy Noir on my pulse points, and with a final once-over, I was ready for a night at Chez Coeur, the top five-star French restaurant in town.
Just in time, the doorbell rang. Smiling, I strode downstairs as the butler opened the door for Wes, who was dressed in a tuxedo.
"Mr. Porter is here to see you, Miss," he announced.
"Thank you," I replied. "That will be all."
Wes grinned when he saw me. "Gorgeous as always," he murmured.
"Thanks, I try," I said mock-humbly.
"Shall we go?" Wes asked, extending his arm to me.
"We shall," I smiled as we walked to my car, handing Wes the keys. "Wait. Father ordered the newest Maserati, and it just arrived yesterday. Do you want to drive it instead?" I grinned mischievously. My father was an avid collector of luxury cars, despite the fact that he was always jetting off and had never even driven a lot of them.
"I don't know," Wes replied. "Will your dad kill me if I accidentally crash it?"
"No. He can just go and buy a new one." I rolled my eyes.
"Okay then. I think I will." Wes smirked.
I went back to get the keys and handed them to Wes. After unlocking the car, he went around to the passenger side and opened the door for me. Smoothing my dress out, I glided into the Maserati's plush exterior.
Wes then began to drive. I turned the radio to a classical music station and soon the car filled with soft, melodious sounds, perfect to set off a nice atmosphere for our date.
The drive passed off uneventfully, and when we arrived Wes opened the door for me, then handed the keys to the valet.
At the entrance to Chez Coeur, Wes gave his reservation name to the hostess and a maître'd lead us to our table. To my delight, it was in a private dining room. A small white table for two, with candlelight and soft music playing in the background. Plus, Autumn would never find us here, if she was trying to sabotage another one of our dates.
This is perfect, just perfect, I thought.
A tall, skinny waiter with short black hair and a pencil moustache came to us with menus.
"Bonjour, je m'appelle Pierre," he introduced himself. Pierre then proceeded to list out the daily specials and then Wes and I ordered.
Presently, Pierre came to our table with a bottle of Perrier Jouët in an ice bucket and two glasses. He unpopped the cork, served us, and left.
"Cheers," I smiled. "To us."
"To us," Wes repeated, and we clinked our glasses together.
Wes and I then talked for awhile. In fact, we became so engrossed in our conversation that a full half-hour had passed, and still none of the food had arrived. Just as I was about to call for the waiter, the door to our private dining room opened.
My eyes widened. Dressed in a waiter's uniform… was Autumn. And she was heading to our table, her squinty brown eyes never leaving Wes the entire time.
