She was dressed to kill.
Figuratively.
High red heels clicked on the stone floor as she entered The Tuscan Sun. Her wild hair coiled over her shoulders, a shade of orange complimenting the vibrant rouge keyhole blouse and small silk black scarf she wore. She held her black purse close to her, her curves hugged by a tight black pencil skirt.
The hostess at the podium nodded to her, smiling with an air of professional warmth, "Good evening, Madam! Do you have a reservation?"
Ira raised an eyebrow; the prickling itch of offense tickled the back of her neck as she took in the question, "I have not seen you here before..." She smirked, her thick lips shimmering under the copper sheen of her gloss as her teeth were bared, "You must be new."
The young woman moved her head back in confusion, unsure how to respond to the sudden pressure on her shoulders, "I'm sorry, but you need a reservation-"
"Lady Dante!" A deep booming voice saved the faltering hostess as a large man with a beaming grin walked towards them, his impressive mustache shifting side to side. He gave a flourishing bow to fiery Ira, "So happy you can join us! We owe you so much for helping to keep this place in our family."
The complexion of the hostess paled as she instantly understood her error.
Lady Dante.
Boss Dante.
DANTE.
She knew of the name and the reputation that it carried.
It made her blood run cold.
She looked over to the dark, compact, and now to her knowledge obscenely powerful woman, looking her up and down before she also bowed her head. Her eyes took studied the floor, because closing tightly, hoping her face did not connect to the rich golds and blues of the tile.
Ira chuckled softly, turning her head away from the bowing staff to gaze upon the other patrons in the restaurant. Her smirked widened just slightly as eyes darted away from her in fear. She lifted her palm, shaking her head as she turned her attention back to the exuberance owner and his petrified worker. "I am pleased that you managed to fit me in last minute...but Francesco, you know there is no need for such formalities."
"Oh, Lady Dante, you are welcomed here any time! We are here to serve." Francesco stood up, moving to the side and holding his arm up to lead Ira up the stairs. His other hand moved behind her to offer some sort of imaginary support. He would never risk touching her now that he has saved his newest hostess.
He followed Ira up the black iron wrought stairs to the second level, serving as an exuberant guide. He had the perfect spot for her next to a large bay window with the view of the coast. The sun was setting, and it's intense pink, and orange lights faded towards rich purple and midnight blue of the sea. "The most coveted view in Monterose, for the most beautiful woman in the city." He pulled out a chair for her, making sure to first wipe his sweaty palms on his napkin before doing so.
Ira grinned, appraising the view, "You have certainly outdone yourself. I appreciate the seating."
"Only the best for you. You have done so much for my family, Lady Dante."
"Just call me Ira. I would prefer it if my date did not have my name thrown at him every second." That name carried a lot of weight, and she was not willing to scare Tristan...yet. She sat her purse on the windowsill before taking her seat on the cushioned wooden chair, gazing at the window.
"My apologies Lady D...Ira. I am curious to find out who this lucky man, maybe." He stood back, unable to prevent himself from noticing how much effort she had put tonight, "To have your attention, he must be quite the catch."
Ira gazed out the window, looking down towards the streets, hoping to catch a glimpse of long brown bangs and ocean blue eyes, "He is..." She looked over to Francesco, beaming at him with a little blush. She looked like a maiden with a crush, instead of the dangerous woman he was familiar with, "He most certainly is."
The older man was a little taken aback by those glittering red eyes, the odd optimism and innocence in them. He stepped back to steady himself before motioning over to one of his waiters, "This is Luka. He'll make sure all of your needs are met tonight."
Not all her needs. Some of those were for her date to handle.
She coughed, waving away such pleasantly moist thoughts.
The waiter walked over to her, flashing a bright smile, though he couldn't help eyes for leering a bit, "May I offer signora some wine? We have a vintage merlot perfect for a beautiful evening like this."
Francesco must've prepped his staff. Merlot was her favorite red. She chuckled, "I believe Merlot is a bit more French."
"Please signora; we Italians perfected French wine, among other French things."
"I see, I'll have to keep that in mind." Though she appreciated that flirtatious confidence, her smile and the slight turn of her head away was dismissive. Unfortunately for Luka, his classic looks were no much for the nouveau beauty of her angel. She moved to look for something in her purse before shaking her head, recalling she had left her phone back at the manor. No phone means no calls or texts about 'arrangements' with 'prospects' Edward kept passive-aggressively mentioning.
Good riddance.
She moved her hand back to her to look down at her rose gold watch.
7:20 pm.
She was 10 minutes early. She could start with some wine. Her attention turned back to her waiter, pleased that he remained at attention, "I would love Merlot. Bring over the bottle and..." She paused, looking across from her to the empty chair. He may like to try it with her, or at least not have her drink the entire bottle, "Bring two glasses."
Luka bowed with flair. "As you wish! Please let me know what else your heart desires." She laughed softly, her mood light and joyous. This was their first romance-movie worthy date. After two weeks of picnics and visits to their beloved cafe, this was to be a special night.
This was almost perfect.
Just one last thing was needed.
Tristan knew better than to disappoint her.
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