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chapter eleven
florence thompson
song: heaven – julia michaels

When I arrived at the restaurant I nearly drove right past and back to my apartment. I quickly realized he'd reserved us a spot at the most luxurious restaurant in town, Oiseau de Nuit. The priciest dining in town and the only restaurant that stayed open past midnight in town.

Glenn's stayed open until one in the morning but I can't say that it is exactly on the same level as Oiseau de Nuit.

Everyone who dined here spoke about the food and service so highly that it put any other restaurant in a fifty-mile radius to shame. Of course, if you could afford to dine at such an expensive establishment.

Fun fact: I cannot.

Anxiety bubbled in my stomach, sweat pooling in my palms as I pulled up to the valet who refrained from eyeing my car as most everyone else does. I unbuckled my seatbelt, getting out of the car and taking my keys with me.

Are you supposed to give them your keys?

Are you supposed to leave them in the car?

Are you supposed to leave the car running?

These are the things that this poor girl does not know.

"Good evening, Miss," the valet spoke, his voice smooth and even. He held out a gloved hand and I plopped my keys onto his open palm.

"Good evening." I smiled warmly.

"Enjoy your meal." He nodded courteously before rounding my car and sliding into the drivers seat. He looked so big in my tiny car, and very out of place.

Panic struck me when I tried to recall if I'd thrown away my McDonalds trash from the other day that I'd stuck in my passenger seat.

I live to embarrass myself, I swear to god.

"Good evening, Miss," the man at the door nodded like the valet had, holding the door open for me and revealing the inner workings of the immaculate restaurant.

"Good evening," I repeated for the second time, nodding respectfully at him and thanking him before ambling into the building.

As soon as I stepped foot into the building a delicious aroma washed over me, causing my hungry stomach to growl. The atmosphere was quiet, French music playing at a low volume as the people spoke softly. It was dim, the lights not bright and obnoxious like most restaurants. A beautiful, intricate chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, causing me to be quite awe-struck.

"Bienvenue," a soft, quiet voice pulled my attention away from the decoration and instead down to the small woman in front of me. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a slick bun, she was wearing a pink button up blouse and a black pencil skirt. I suddenly felt very underdressed. "Do you have a reservation?" She asked, holding one expensive ass looking clipboard in her arms, flipping a sheet over the top as she eyed me.

My words seemed to get stuck in my throat for a moment until I relearned how to properly speak and unstuck my tongue from the roof of my mouth.

"Uh, well, I believe so," I spoke softly, quite unsure whether or not he had actually been able to reserve seats so close to the date we'd decided on. "De Bellis? Vincent De Bellis?" I asked, gnawing nervously on the inside of my lip.

She'd been glancing down at the paper on the clipboard before she'd heard his name, and the second his name left my lips her eyes widened, realization falling over her features.

"Oh, Miss Thompson, yes, right this way," she nodded, motioning for me to follow her.

I furrowed my brows as I followed behind her, passing the tables of annoyingly beautiful people in ridiculously expensive looking clothing.

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