AT EIGHT O’CLOCK, HILARIE and Eric arrived at Ristorante Di Alta Classe.
The minute Hilarie set her eyes on the restaurant, her jaw dropped. Ristorante Di Alta Classe was a building made out of sparkling glass. Inside, under a blinding chandelier, waiters and waitresses dressed in white silk shirts and black silk pants served diners who looked like they had just taken a walk down the red carpet, and who sat around tables covered with red velvet and plates of food that could have come straight out of a magazine.
Swiftly, he carried her out of the Audi and into the restaurant, evoking some stares and whispers, along with sighs and shakes of the head, from fellow patrons.
“That was an entrance,” Ezra commented, looking like an even smugger clone of Eric in his white tux and black bow-tie.
