Alexia POV
So yeah, just like I suspected, the place was damn luxurious.
We're talking the kind of restaurant that you see on TV—the ones with golden chandeliers, napkins folded like swans, and waiters who look like they were plucked straight from some posh butler academy. Just standing outside the entrance made me feel like a fish out of water. No, scratch that—like a fish stranded in the middle of the Sahara Desert.
I tugged at the hoodie I'd chosen—my old, stained, spaghetti-splattered masterpiece—and glanced at my shoes. Sneakers that had clearly seen better days. My reflection stared back at me from the restaurant's polished glass doors, and for a second, I almost chickened out.
Okay, Alexia, maybe this was a bad idea.
