Rebirth (Hetalia X Reader)

Chapter 7

"I think I'm going to go out on my own tonight." I told Marianne, grabbing my bag. 

Marianne looked up from her artwork and scanned me from head to foot.  "Aren't you dressed a little bit too conservatively for work?" She deadpaned. 

"Hm?" I looked down at my outfit.  It consisted of a white eyelet dress that ended just above my knees with little triangular notches cut out of the sides, black over white strappy high heels and a little black leather over-the-shoulder purse.  I left my hair down in it's natural state and applied a little bit of red lipstick to my lips as well as a stripe of eyeliner.  "You think so?"

She frowned for a second, judging my ability to dress for the job.  "Well..." She gave me a once over again.  "If you're aiming for the wealthier men it works... but we usually do that together, don't we?"

I shrug, brushing my hair away from my eyes.  "I was thinking of giving it a shot on my own tonight."

Marianne blinks.  "If you insist." She dips at thin paintbrush into a gob of fuchsia coloured paint and brings it to the canvas propped in front of her, brushing little flower petals wherever she thought her painting needed it.  "But if you ever need help you know to call me." She flashes me a smile.

I smile back.  "Of course."

"Alright, well, have fun."

===

I found myself wandering through the streets close to Notre Dame.  Perhaps it was my subconsciousnes that lead me here as I was thinking about the restaurant that Francis told me he owned.  He'd given me the name before I left his apartment.  It was scrolled neatly on a torn off piece of paper in a looping hand.  I'd kept in in my purse. 

L'arc

I strolled though the streets casually, peeking up at the name of every café and restaurant... or any were from which the clinking of silver utensils on fine china and the hum of muffle voices carried out into the streets.  When I finally came across it, I was pleasantly surprised.  It was a beautiful rustic building filled with three businesses. 

One was a high end clothing shop where I'm sure a simple flowing shirt would cost me more than my tuition.  The next was an art gallery.  Beautiful paintings and intricate sculptures adorned the bay window.  And finally, the last, was L'arc.  A humble hand painted wood sing hung off the brick face of the building, supported by a curling, black wrought iron bar. 

A few large windows adorned the wall, covered from the inside with heavy burgundy curtains pulled apart just wide enough to get a peek inside.  As soon as I walked in, I was greeted with the welcoming smell of French cooking.  It reminded me of the meal Francis had cooked for me.  The inside of the restaurant was just as appealing as the outside had been.  The floor was tilled with flat stones and the walls remained the same rough brick as it had been outside , simulating a court yard.  Live trees had been dotted around the corners of the room.  The lights were dimmed but not so dark that one wouldn't be able to see what was on his plate in front of him.  Francis' creations were much too beautiful to be put in the shadows.  The chair and tables were made of iron that had been twisted into detailed patterns.  The table tops were made out of square pieces of white granite with a lopsided white table cloth dropped over them.  As a finishing touch, a single red rose in a crystal vase had been added as a centerpiece to every table.

The hostess smiled at me.  "Avez vous une réservation?" She asked in a delightful little voice.  I only understood one word and that was réservation.  It was all I need since the English word sounded very similar to the French one.  I quickly looked around the restaurant, noticing it was packed full.  No wonder she asked if I had a reservation... I probably needed one if I wanted to eat here.