Chapter 15
I stood, anxiously waiting for Owen in the lobby of the hotel where we were staying. Since he traveled on such a regular basis, he didn't bother keeping a house in the city and instead just rented the penthouse suite whenever he needed it. He had told me to meet him in the lobby, and he would pick me up when he finished a meeting with Jack to go over the details for his upcoming business trip. He had told me he was taking me to a fancy French restaurant and to get dolled up.
I fussed with the straps on my dress, as much making sure that it was in place as giving my hands something to do. Rachel and Emma had found me the perfect dress while we were out shopping, and then Rachel arranged for someone to come to the hotel to do my hair and makeup for my date. I chewed my lip, knowing that I was probably smearing my lipstick. Owen was only a few minutes late, but because of my dress, everyone who walked through the lobby stopped to look at me.
I looked like something off the red carpet at the Oscars. I wore a long, flowing gown of soft white fabric that fluttered when I walked. It was cut in a Grecian style, with a form fitting top and a skirt that cascaded beautifully to pool on the floor. The dress was long enough that I was able to wear simple white ballet slippers, the skirt's hem long enough that my feet were completely hidden. My hair was slightly pulled back out of my face, but left loose down my back in soft waves. Emma lent me a simple diamond necklace and sparkling chandelier earrings to complete the look.
Owen finally walked in through the front door, moving the crowd aside like he owned the place. Our eyes met across the lobby, and he moved toward me, slicing through the room as though it were empty. His dark gray suit somehow made his eyes even bluer as he smiled at only me.
"You look better every time you put on a dress," he said as soon as he reached me. I kissed him gently, not wanting to leave a lipstick mark. He took my hand and held me out as though we had just finished dancing, his eyes going up and down, appraising the dress. He held my hand up over my head, coaxing me into a spin. The fabric floated gracefully before settling again. "I think this is my favorite dress I've seen you in."
"Thank you," I said, blushing to the roots of my hair. "You look pretty good yourself."
He grinned and did a model spin for me, finishing with a flamboyant hand on his hip. Even with his goofy antics, he looked hot. The dark gray of the suit stood out against the white of a dress shirt, and a tie the exact color of his eyes pulled everything together. The suit accented his broad shoulders and tapered waist, even showing off his perfect ass.
A camera flashed and I remembered that we weren't in our private hotel suite, but instead in the lobby of a very stylish and popular hotel. A woman in a wide brimmed hat and oversized sunglasses looked at us with wide eyes.
"Are you two celebrities? I hear celebrities stay here," the woman babbled, her eyes excited as she held up her camera to take another picture.
"No, we're just normal people." Owen said as he smiled politely at the tourist. She looked disappointed, and she turned to walk away. I giggled, the idea of being mistaken for a celebrity amusing me. No one at home would ever mistake me for a movie star. Owen carefully folded my hand into the crook of his arm, and escorted me out to a waiting car.
I had given up on trying to figure out what expensive model of car we were driving. Owen seemed to enjoy having a new fancy car at every opportunity. He had told me he didn't actually own any of them, he just rented whatever he felt like when he needed one. I had laughed at the idea that I actually owned more cars than a billionaire, since I actually did own a car, but then he pointed out that he owned a plane. I told him planes didn't count as cars, so I still had more.
This one was a silver convertible. It was early afternoon, and sunshine peeked through the clouds, casting a warm, dappled light across the city. The weather was finally nice enough that a convertible sounded wonderful. Owen opened the door to the passenger side, his face going pale as I sat down.
"I just realized your hair, and the car..."
I laughed. "Don't worry. There is enough hair spray on this to hold it through a hurricane. Besides, I think the windswept look is in right now. I'd rather drive with the top down and enjoy this weather than have the roof up."
His face brightened again, and he jumped into the driver's seat. With a roar of the engine, he pulled out onto the busy street, the wind blowing gently in my hair. He drove through the city, pointing out different landmarks and places that he thought I might enjoy. It wasn't long before we reached a stylish white brick building with ivy crawling up toward the windows.
Owen tossed the keys to a valet and hurried over to help me out. I smoothed my hair from the drive, a little surprised at just how well it had held up. It was surprisingly easy to maneuver out of the fancy sports car in my flowing dress, but I gladly accepted Owen's hand to help me stand. Any excuse to touch him was a good excuse.
Inside the white building, we walked through the main room to a private dining area. Everything had a golden glow, as though the entire place was candlelit. A string quartet played softly in the corner, their music soothing and the perfect volume for dinner conversation.
Owen pulled an ornate chair out for me to get my legs situated under the heavy wooden table, and then helped to push me under once I was seated. I glanced nervously at the array of utensils displayed before me. I was used to a salad fork and regular fork at restaurants, but there were tiny forks, an extra spoon, and more glasses than I knew what to do with. I was out of my league here.
The waiter placed my napkin on my lap and handed me a large leather-bound menu as Owen ordered a bottle of wine. I opened it up, wondering what culinary delights I would find inside. Instead, I stared at the pages, feeling foolish. I couldn't understand a word on the menu. It was all in French, and despite my French last name, I couldn't read a word.
Owen peeked over his menu at me and caught my blank look. He whispered softly, "Chicken, fish, or beef?"
"Fish."
"Do you mind if I order for you?"
I shook my head, grateful that I wouldn't have to choose between butchering the beautiful language or pointing to the menu in silent shame.
"Is there anything you don't want to eat? Are you all right trying escargot? It's amazing here," Owen asked. I smiled, glad he was making sure I would enjoy what he ordered for me.
"I'll try anything. Escargot is snails, right? I'll try it, but I have no idea how to actually eat it." I gave him a brave smile, a touch of nerves hitting me. This place was far fancier than anything I had ever even imagined possible. Back home, even the nicest places let people walk in and order wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Here, everyone was elegantly dressed in designer gowns and suits, and I had a feeling that jeans and a T-shirt would never even get to look at a menu.
When the waiter returned to fill up our wine glasses, Owen ordered in perfect, or at least what sounded perfect to me, French. The waiter nodded an
d took our menus, disappearing once again.
"You speak French?" I asked Owen, impressed at learning of his talent. He blushed a little.
"Only enough to sound like I know what I'm doing when I order in a restaurant. Pierre, my chef, taught me a little. I can swear decently in French, though, also thanks to Pierre." He gave me a little boy's naughty grin and I couldn't help but smile back.