Chapter 12
Francis POV
I looked into the mirror and looked at my reflection. I looked handsome as always. In the blue shirt and khakis I had picked out myself, no one could compare to me.
I heard the sound of heels on the stair case and turned around. What I saw, I can truly say took my breath away.
Clara stood at the bottom of the stairs looking like she had the night at the Christmas Party. She wore a dress that looked amazing. It had a pale blue flowy skirt that went from just below her boobs to her knees and a white halter top with lace over it. She wore matching open toed, white lace wedges and her mother's diamond ring. She had curled her hair and pulled the top layer up into a twist. She hardly needed the little makeup she was wearing, sticking to lip gloss, foundation, a little bit of mascara, and blush.
I couldn't help the smile that came upon my face. She looked radiant and completely stunning.
"Not to much, is it?" she asked in her sweet accent.
"Pas, you look magnifique," I replied, smiling and letting her entwine her hand around my arm. She did and I led her outside, gently closing the door behind me.
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Clara's POV
I smiled to myself as we walked down the street. The look of shock that had come across his face when I came down the stairs had been priceless, and I wished that I had had a camera to take a picture. The guy honestly thought I couldn't dress nicely! The look on his face proved that I could take that theory and shove it back up his ass.
"What are you smiling about?" Francis asked, knocking my mind down from la la land.
I looked over at him and saw him looking at me. I blushed.
"Nothing," I replied quickly.
He just shrugged it off, and we continued walking. After a couple of minutes, we walked into a fancy restaurant; the kind that had valet parking. It was the type of place I would've hated a year ago.
The waiter led us to our seats next to a window on the 2nd floor. The window overlooked the night life of the city with all the lights making it look almost enchanting.
"Soo," I started, not really knowing what to talk about. This evening kind of had that date feel to it, but he already knew almost everything about me, and I, the same about him.
"What?" France asked, looking curiously at me.
"I don't know. It's a conversation starter." I replied, picking at the salad the waiter had brought out earlier.
"Oh is it?" he asked, mocking me.
"Yes it is," I said. He didn't reply and just looked at me.
"Or if you don't wanna talk, I could just rant on and on about how The Brow is more handsome than you," I replied, smirking.
I heard his chair screech as he quickly stood up, which was what I had expected. What I had not expected to hear was the crash of plates. I looked up at Francis and saw him covered in caviar. Most of it was on the top of his head and on his khaki coat.
It got really quiet and no one spoke. The waiter stood there frozen in place. His mouth slightly open in surprise while Francis looked like he was about to implode. His face was bright red and a look between anger and shock was splayed perfectly on his face. Then I did the only thing I could think of; I laughed. I laughed so hard that I was pretty sure I snorted once or twice. I probably looked like a dying seal, falling to the floor like an idiot, but I didn't care because that expression on Francis's face was the highlight of the night so far.
