Billionaire's Pregnant Ex-wife

Chapter 7

The hand of the grand antique clock on the pristine white wall turned exactly at ten. As if on cue, the magnificent glass door opened. The employees scattered to their posts before the first guest arrived, clad in fine silk and an expensive tuxedo.

Standing near the door, I greeted the young couple. “Good morning.” They both looked at me. Usually, wealthy guests would snub a waitress, but this couple turned and smiled, greeting me back cheerfully.

“A gem,” I thought to myself. That is how I labeled courteous guests like them, as they were rare and valuable. I had the highest respect for them.

“May I ask if you have reservations?” I asked politely.

“Yes, we do,” the woman replied, surveying me with her intent amber eyes.

I self-consciously touched my face, wondering if there was dirt on it. Guests often stared at me for a long time, but this woman was overdoing it. Was she surprised my eyes looked different?

Clearing my throat, I asked for their family name.

“Blaze,” the man replied, wearing the same bewildered expression as the woman.

Checking the note on my hand, I found their names. “Mr. and Mrs. Blaze, please follow me.” I ushered the couple to a table in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, which offered a clear view of the magnificent rose garden outside.

The man pulled a chair for the woman. I felt a tinge of envy as I watched them exchange sweet glances. For a woman whose marriage is on the rocks, this scene was not pleasing to the eyes. The woman sat down gracefully, like a queen. After the man sat, I collected their orders.

“She really looks like the woman in the painting. Is she?” The woman’s bewildered tone reached my ears after I turned away to hand their order to the counter. I didn’t catch the man’s response; the sound of high-heeled shoes slapping the floor drowned it out.

Reaching the counter, I handed the note to the cashier, who then passed it to the kitchen staff.

Summoning a bright smile, I turned to greet the new guest, but I stopped short. A sudden chill ran down my spine upon meeting a pair of smoky cat eyes.

The woman standing in front of me was none other than Natalia Romani, the Italian model who had captured the heart of one of the most notorious billionaires in town, Grey Bradford.

Describing her as beautiful was an understatement.

Natalia’s fiery red curls tumbled down past her elegant shoulders, bouncing enigmatically with every movement. Her deep-set eyes, framed by exquisitely long lashes, stared at me unblinkingly. They were exquisite, as if sculpted to perfection. Her nose, her best feature, gave her a queenly aura.

The expensive silk wrapped around her like a second skin, accentuating her gorgeous curves. No man could say no to this woman.

Elegant arched eyebrows rose as her eyes surveyed me from head to toe. The corner of her lips twitched into a smile. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Bradford,” she said softly, so only I could hear. “Or shall I call you Miss De Silva now?” she added meaningfully before walking past me.

My fist balled up at my side. No, I would not let my emotions get the best of me. I inhaled deeply, then exhaled until I felt myself relax. Unclenching my fists, I followed her.

“Do you have reservations, ma’am?” I asked in the same polite manner I treated every guest.

“No, but I’m waiting for someone,” Natalia replied, not bothering to look back at me. She sat down at the table reserved for unexpected VIP guests. The hem of her gown hitched up, exposing her flawless white legs. She crossed them.

Natalia looked at me, flashing her best smile.

“I’m waiting for your husband.”

Natalia’s words painfully rang in my ears. Instead of showing how affected I was, I summoned a sweet smile and stared back at her. “Shall I inform him of your arrival?” I whispered, ensuring she was the only one to hear.

Color spread on her cheeks as she fought to meet my eyes. Then something resembling anger sparked in her gaze. She opened her lips, but no words emerged.

When she met my eyes again, the anger I thought I saw was gone, replaced by a look cold enough to freeze the depths of hell. “No need to do that, Miss De Silva,” she finally spoke after a long silence. “Grey will be here soon.”

“While waiting for Mr. Bradford, may I offer you some refreshments?” I asked, maintaining a civil tone. Natalia looked away, as though the sight of me was painful. With a flick of her finger, she dismissed me, like shooing away a pest.

“No,” she replied curtly when I made no move to leave her table.

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call any of the staff,” I told her one last time before turning away.

“I wonder what Grey found in you that led him to marry you,” Natalia spoke behind my back just as I was about to welcome the guests entering through the door.

Abruptly, I pulled to a stop. She intended to insult me, but I was professional enough not to let her words get under my skin.

Turning in her direction, I summoned a bright smile. “Do you really want to know?” I looked her straight in the eye, ignoring how she glared at me as if she wanted to skin me alive. I had faced enough rude customers in my job to know exactly how to handle this situation.

“You’re not even pretty,” Natalia continued her insults, raising an elegant eyebrow as she surveyed me from head to toe. Bitterness shone as her gaze returned to my face.

“It’s simple, Miss Romani. I don’t just jilt a man at the altar for my career.” Natalia’s cheeks flushed at my words. She stared at me with daggers in her eyes. If looks could maim, I would be severely wounded and bleeding on the floor.

I watched as her fists balled up in her lap. Seconds later, she was already on her feet.

Though Natalia was ten inches taller than me because of the heels she wore, I wasn’t intimidated. I met her gaze with equal ferocity.

“It doesn’t matter if he married you, Lily. Grey has plans to divorce you anyway,” Natalia bit back, rage still burning in her eyes as she stressed each word.

“It’s his loss, Miss Romani. Not mine. I don’t care if he marries you after we divorce. But I have one favor to ask: don’t jilt the same man at the altar twice.”