Unwritten

Chapter 5

The car stopped, Clover's eyes were immediately drawn to the imposing, white palace-like structure that loomed before her. The restaurant, its ivory facade, exuded a regal elegance. Marble pillars framed the grand entrance, and soft lanterns cast a golden hue over the lush gardens that flanked the walkway. The sight left her momentarily breathless.

The car door opened, and a hand reached inside. Clover hesitated for a second, her nerves tightening in her chest. But she quickly composed herself, gripping the outstretched hand as she was pulled out of the seat. The click of her heels echoed softly against the smooth stone pavement. She took a deep breath, lifting her chin and steadying her thoughts.

Ahead, Oliver Hargrove stood waiting. He was just as she'd imagined—tall, sophisticated, with the kind of effortless charm that had made him a literary legend. His suit, dark and impeccably tailored contrasted with high white blond hair and honey brown eyes.

Clover's heart raced, but she maintained her composure as she approached him. His warm smile greeted her as he stepped forward. "Miss Dalton, you look stunning," Hargrove said, his voice smooth. Without missing a beat, they shook hands.

"Call me Clover," she managed, her voice calm despite the nervous energy swirling inside her. "I'm truly honored to meet you."

"The honor's mine. I've been following your work—it's truly remarkable," Hargrove said. They say to never meet your heroes, but her's was just as perfect as she'd imagined.

They turned toward the entrance, Hargrove offering his arm as they made their way inside. The warmth of the evening air lingered around them, but Clover barely noticed. Her thoughts were spinning with a mix of disbelief and anticipation. She was here, at this restaurant, with him.

Mere seconds later, a stampede of paparazzi ran towards them, though they were stopped by merely two bodyguards. Clover and Oliver ran inside, followed by Nancy and Brandon who stumbled out of the car. Once the wide doors swung open and closed, she spotted white round tables, each elegantly set with fine china and sparkling crystal glassware, scattered throughout the dining area. Each table was adorned with delicate floral arrangements, vibrant bursts of color that contrasted beautifully with the crisp white linens. The chairs were upholstered in deep green fabrics of velvet. The soothing sounds of live bossa nova music floated through the air, weaving a gentle melody that infused the room.

As they were escorted to their table, Anthony seemed shocked at the sea of people swarming the entrance. No wonder Paulo had said he'd recognize them.

With a quick motion, he grabbed four menus from the front counter, steadying himself with a deep breath as he navigated through the tables, weaving past cluster conversations.

He arrived at their table. "Good evening, welcome to Bela Vista. My names Anthony, and I'll be your waiter tonight," he said, flashing a practiced smile as he approached the table. But just as the words left his lips, he caught a glimpse of the woman seated there. For a fleeting moment, he thought he recognized her as Charlotte Daisy—the very same woman from earlier at the clinic. In a panic, he instinctively raised his notepad to cover half his face, desperate to avoid being recognized.

Clover raised an eyebrow, surprised by his sudden, odd gesture. The familiarity of his eyes sparked her curiosity, but before she could dwell on it, Oliver interjected with his boisterous charm, "Anthony, bring us your finest bottle of wine!" His confident smile aimed squarely at Clover, who wasn't paying any attention to him, but to their waiter.