Page 57 of Serving the Couturier

TWENTY-NINE

SPENCER

Lookingfor the perfect restaurant for a high-profile dinner date was proving to be a challenge. Most celebrities preferred to dine in private, away from the prying eyes of the media, while some craved the attention. And while I understood the appeal of pandering to the press for exposure, I didn’t want to be seen at a hotspot known for attracting celebrities. The delicate balance between subtlety and visibility, combined with a desire for good food, had consumed my entire afternoon.

Seeing London in her sleek black dress when I arrived at her apartment made everything worth it.

“You look breathtaking,” I said, giving her a gentle kiss on the cheek to avoid smudging up her lipstick.

“So do you,” she replied with a smile.

We made our way down to the lobby, nervous that reporters might wait outside. However, despite the growing media frenzy surrounding us, no one seemed to have uncovered London’s address.

As we made our way to the restaurant, the tension between us was palpable, but I didn’t want the reason for our outing to cast a shadow over our evening. So, I took London’s hand and said, “Let’s not let the outside world interfere. I want to enjoy a romantic dinner with my girlfriend. Everything else can wait.”

Her smile beamed. “I couldn’t agree more.”

The mood between us lightened as we were seated at our table, glasses of rich red wine in hand, and our meals on their way.

While we waited for our food, we continued our conversation, delving into lighter topics and letting go of the tension that had previously hung between us.

“I thought Da was going to kill the twins,” London said with a laugh. “Or at the very least, ground them until they were thirty.”

“What did he end up doing?” I asked, intrigued by her family dynamics.

“For the next week and a half, from sunrise to sunset, the twins had to muck out stalls at a local stable.” She chuckled as she took a sip of her wine.

It surprised me how different her family was from my own. I could only imagine how my grandmother would react in a similar situation.

The server arrived with our dinners, interrupting my thoughts and pulling me back to the present. Things were going well and the last thing I needed to be thinking about was my family.

“Can I get you anything else?” the server asked.

“Not at the moment,” I said after a glance at London.

As we started our meals, the only sounds were the clinks of our silverware against our plates and our quiet moans of delight at the delicious flavors of our risotto. If not for the need to be seen in public, we might have never discovered this little gem of a restaurant.

London broke the silence, a thoughtful look on her face. “I didn’t see any reporters out there when we came in. I’m having a good time, don’t get me wrong, but we picked this restaurant for a reason, right?”

I took a sip of my wine and nodded. “Stan’s taking care of that. His publicist is currently alerting a few reporters of our dining experience here. They’ll be eagerly awaiting our departure outside.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Do you think this will really work?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure,” I admitted, setting down my glass. “But I think it’s the best option we have, besides lying about us being together or being at the club.”

As we finished our meal and the waiter brought us the check, I felt a knot of nervousness form in my stomach. This was it. This was the moment that could either make or break our carefully crafted image.

London and I gathered our things and made our way out the door, taking deep breaths as we prepared to face the waiting crowd of reporters.

“Mr. York, are you and Miss McCrae dating?” one reporter asked, snapping a picture.

“Well, I must say, I never thought I’d be caught in the crosshairs of the paparazzi,” I quipped. “But yes, we are dating. And before you ask, yes, we were at a club last night.”

“Did you know it was a sex club?” a reporter asked.

“A sex club? Goodness me, I wasn’t even aware you chaps had such clubs in America,” I replied with a raised eyebrow, as if scandalized.

As we made our way to the waiting car, a photographer shouted, “Mr. York, did you cast London in your show because she promised to sleep with you?”

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