by Holly Rayner
Sergio folded the rest of his pizza into his mouth and licked his lips, waggling his thick eyebrows. “I see you want to get right to business. Absolutely.”
Lisa nodded. “If you don’t mind.”
Sergio paused for a moment, the air growing tense around them. A police siren blared down the street, causing Lisa’s ears to ache. The city was never quiet.
“The Prince and Princess will be dining at the Manhattan restaurant ‘Matador’ tomorrow evening,” he said, extending his fingers, his palm gleaming in the lamplight.
Lisa slipped a third of the bills upon it, a question appearing in her mind. “Will they be alone?” she asked.
“They bought out the entire establishment for the night,” Sergio revealed. “Apparently they’re so pretentious they can’t deal with common people dining with them.”
Lisa stifled a giggle as she placed more of the cash in the driver’s hand. “And what time is this grand dinner taking place?”
“Eight, on the dot. The Princess doesn’t like to be late, ever. And—Lisa?”
Lisa tilted her head in response.
“Good luck getting in there. That’s an exclusive restaurant, for fancy people. I can’t imagine they’ll let you in with your camera on show.”
Lisa frowned with sudden apprehension as she dropped the last of the money into Sergio’s palm. Her limbs felt limp, but her voice still hummed with professionalism. “I think I’ll be all right, you know,” she said primly. “I’ve been doing this for a long time. I know what I’m doing.”
“If you say so,” Sergio said, tucking the money into his wallet. He turned from her, slipping a cigarette between his lips. He took a step toward the curb, where the limousine was parked. “Good luck,” he said, without looking back.
With that, he drove away, his tires squeaking. He left Lisa alone, with the smell of grease-laden pizza and the memory of his tired, money-hungry eyes. With four hundred dollars having been stripped from her in the previous hour, she felt naked, barren. Fatigue pushed her toward the subway station, back to her one-bedroom in Brooklyn.
In the morning, she’d rectify her predicament. With her industry-honed survival tactics, she’d be halfway to five figures in less than 24 hours. And about a million steps closer to a professional photography career. Which would make everything else worth it.
Chapter 3
The following evening, Lisa arrived at the Matador with her blond ponytail swept cleanly behind her head, her body cinched into tight black pants and a black button-down shirt, and her mind buzzing with knowledge of the menu, the wine list, and the necessary cocktails. She’d stayed up all night, but her bright eyes showed no sign of fatigue.
She entered the restaurant, her chin high and her skin glittering. As she stepped into the kitchen, she heard the frantic yelling of a chubby-faced man in the corner, telling the chef that this was “the most important night” of their careers, and that he better not screw it up.
“You’re new here, kid,” the chef said to the chubby-faced man, scoffing beneath his grey-tinged beard. “So sit back and relax. Let the big kids do the cooking.”
The chubby-faced man, who was clearly a manager, took a step back, frazzled. But the chef turned away from him before he could sneak in another dig, and he began to sizzle some vegetables, whistling a tune.
In that moment, the manager caught a glimpse of Lisa, behind the pots and pans. “What are you doing here?” he said gruffly. He powered toward her, his belly bouncing. “Get out. GET OUT!”
But Lisa held up her fingers, her expression apologetic. “Oh. I’m so sorry. I suppose—I suppose I didn’t meet you yesterday,” she stuttered.
The man frowned. Beneath his name tag, which read “Hank,” was a mustard stain. He looked chaotic, strained—and less than ready to greet the royalty that would be appearing later that evening.
“Yesterday?” he said. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m sorry. My name’s Lisa,” she said, smiling and extending her hand to shake his. “The other manager hired me yesterday. Quizzed me on the menu and everything. I’m proud to say that I’m up on all my truffles, Wagyu beef, and caviar. Although I might get the two wines from the Florence region mixed up.” She smiled sheepishly.
“Walter hired you?” Hank asked, tilting his head. “He didn’t mention anything—”
“Well, he seemed rather busy,” Lisa said. “But he said he needed me this evening. That you had some big event, and you were understaffed anyway.”
Hank sighed, swiping his thick palm over his hair. “I suppose that’s true,” he said, scoffing. “All right. Let’s not waste any time, shall we? The dining room needs organizing. It’s a goddamn mess, frankly, and our head server seems to be going through some kind of personal crisis that could not have come at a more inconvenient time. That’s Evelyn. You’ll find her weeping about her boyfriend over the silverware.”
Lisa nodded and turned toward the dining room, stopping when Hank grasped her elbow.
“Wait. Get yourself in uniform, at least,” he said, turning his finger toward the side closet. “We’re expecting Prince Francesco and Princess Rose tonight. This is big! I mean—this is royalty. Do you understand?”
Lisa did. She nodded quickly, accepting the uniform from Hank before moving to the staff bathroom where she donned a tight black dress and a black apron with red stitching. She was in the dining room less than three minutes later, draping long, linen tablecloths over the tables, consoling Evelyn about her breakup, and setting forks and knives and plates upon tables that wouldn’t be eaten at. The Prince and Princess had asked that each table be set, so as to give them a selection. How ridiculously snobbish, Lisa thought to herself.
Five minutes before the clock struck eight, Lisa lined up at the side of the restaurant with Evelyn, another server, a bartender, and a bus boy. Anticipation simmering through them all, and through Lisa for very different reasons. Her camera was tucked within her server’s apron, a heavy reminder of what she was there to do.
Evelyn whispered in her ear. “I can’t believe this is only your first day with us. It already feels like you’ve been on a journey with me.”
But Lisa couldn’t remember any specifics she’d told the woman. She smiled blankly, looking straight ahead as she spoke. “Let’s just get through this together.”
In that moment, the restaurant doors opened, and a crisp autumn breeze rushed over the set tables, sweeping across Lisa’s cheeks. The Prince and Princess stood in the foyer, dressed luxuriously. Prince Francesco removed the Princess’ fur coat, sweeping it from her thin shoulders before handing it to the cloakroom boy.
As he walked closer to Lisa, she couldn’t tear her gaze from his attractive face. His high cheekbones gleamed in the candlelight above the five o’clock shadow that outlined his jaw. His dark eyes revealed clear intelligence, and his black hair was wavy, wrapping around his ears.
“Look at her dress,” Evelyn breathed to Lisa, causing Lisa’s eyes to flicker right to assess the Princess. Rose’s dress was long and glittering, sweeping around her model-like legs, and allowing just a bit too much cleavage to spill over the bodice. Her hair was curled and adorned with jewels, which highlighted the sharpness of her collarbones, and the height of her nose as she walked.
“She looks like a bulldog,” the other server whispered, and Lisa stifled a giggle.
The Prince and Princess sat at an off-center table, the Prince pulling a chair out for the Princess. She blinked at him, looking like a selfish child.
“We’ll talk about it later,” the Prince said darkly, referring to something Lisa and the others hadn’t overheard.
“Go,” Evelyn murmured to Lisa, gesturing. “Ask them for their wine selection. We can’t keep them waiting.”
After a beat, Lisa tapped forward, delivering a dazzling, American service smile. “Hello,” she greeted, trying to remember her old server days. “I’m Lisa, and it will be an honor serving you this evening. How are you?”
“Just fine,” the Prince affirmed, giving her a warm glance. The Princess didn’t move. Her expression was icy; her eyes like glass. “And yourself?”
Lisa nodded, sensing the tension between them. “I’d love to get you started with a bottle of wine. Our finest from the Chateau de Lyon, perhaps?”
“Which one?” Princess Rose asked, scoffing slightly.
“I’m sorry?” Lisa asked brightly, recognizing the gaps in her knowledge of the wine menu. She hadn’t had enough time.
“Which chateau of Lyon?” she asked, looking at Lisa the same way a lion would stare down a mouse. “There are plenty of them, you silly American.”
“Enough,” Prince Francesco said, swiping his hand through the air in a cutting motion. “We’ll have whatever you recommend, Lisa.”
“Absolutely,” Lisa said, turning swiftly from the table and making eye contact with Evelyn, over by the kitchen. Evelyn gave her two thumbs up, even as she blinked back tears. Even the mania of her restaurant’s biggest night couldn’t distract her from her pain.
The bartender delivered the wine to the couple, uncorking the bottle with professional precision, and pouring them both hefty glasses. The couple seemed to have turned to a more amicable conversation, with the Prince speaking rapidly and gesturing excitedly with his hands. His warm tones wafted over Lisa as she stood in the corner, assessing them.
Her fingers twitched, yearning to snap a few photographs of this at-times happy couple. Even if they didn’t bicker tonight, a photo of them in this romantic setting would net her a couple thousand. And she’d already climbed mountains to get that far.
In that moment, the first course arrived at the couple’s table. The Prince refilled the Princess’ wine glass with a brief smile, and she cut a piece from her quiche and stuffed it into her mouth, reminding Lisa of Melanie’s spotting of her scarfing a hot dog. She chewed sloppily, and eyed her fiancé without pleasure. She said something that Lisa couldn’t quite make out—something that seemed to make the Prince’s hair stand on end.
Lisa’s eyes widened as she recognized what was going on: she was witnessing the beginning of one of their famous arguments. Almost anything set them off. Any word could be used as a match to start the fire.
As Princess Rose began to argue, her face brimming with red, her engagement ring flashed beneath the chandeliers. She was speaking so rapidly, in accented English, that Lisa couldn’t work out just what had irritated her so much. But she was spitting with anger and resentment, clearly pushing it all upon the Prince.
The other server, Jenny, began to walk toward the table with the Prince and Princess’ second course, but Evelyn held her back, mouthing: “Can’t you see what’s going on? Don’t go now.”
Lisa meandered toward her fellow servers, eyeing the steaming bowls of soup that Jenny had meant to deliver, whispering to Evelyn. “What is this one about?” she whispered.
“She doesn’t like the food. Can you believe it?” Evelyn asked, her eyes wide. “The snob. Doesn’t she know how hard our chef works? Does she think that everything comes lined with gold? I’ve never seen a more spoiled princess in all my life.”
“Have you ever seen a princess?” Lisa asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I mean. No,” Evelyn admitted.
Lisa nodded, just as Jenny swept back to the kitchen with the soup, to the uproar of the chef. Hank, the manager, had begun to sweat, eyeing the servers from the kitchen.
“Is Hank going to survive this?” Lisa whispered.
“He’s new, so no. This will kill him,” Evelyn affirmed.
Lisa eased toward a corner that was closer to the table, with a full view of both the Prince and the Princess. From her new position, she could hear their bickering—which had evolved from a complaint about the food to something deeper.
“I don’t understand why you treat me this way,” the Princess wailed, stabbing her finger on the table. “When I say that I want to stay in, I want to stay in. But you don’t take me seriously. It’s like you don’t even hear me!”
“I thought it would be nice to spend some time together, is all,” the Prince said, his eyes flashing. “We’ve been traveling separately for weeks. And we haven’t exactly been getting along. I thought—if we took some time—”
“Well, you didn’t listen, so you’ve already messed it up,” the Princess said, crossing her arms over her chest. She rolled her eyes like a spoiled teenager, flipping her hair.
Sensing that this was her moment, Lisa lifted the lens of her camera from her apron pocket and snapped a few shots, thankful for the lilting classical music which masked the sound. She moved around languidly, getting several different angles. With everyone’s focus upon the fighting couple, she was all but invisible.
Suddenly, the Princess rose from her chair, allowing it to fall back on the floor. She stabbed her finger into the Prince’s face, challenging him. “If you want to find me, I’ll be in Holland. I won’t spend another wretched night on this continent with you.”
And with that, she turned from the table, her glittering dress flashing in the light. The cloakroom boy scrambled to grasp her coat and wrap it around her shoulders before seeing her to the door. As Lisa stood, shock ebbing through her, she watched Princess Rose collapse into the backseat of Sergio’s car, which zoomed off into the bustling Manhattan night.
Prince Francesco sat alone, his eyes upon his half-finished glass of wine. With a flourish, he lifted his hand and wrapped his fingers around the stem, downing the rest of it. Evelyn shot forward and filled his glass for him before racing back to her corner, not wanting to be in the shadow of his sure anger.
All eyes were upon the Prince, wondering what he would do next. Even Hank had emerged from the kitchen, his expression tense. Evelyn crept over to Lisa and whispered to her, her breath hot in her ear. “This is just like what happened between me and Tyler last night. Everyone breaks up. Everyone falls out of love!”
But Lisa wasn’t really listening. A realization had washed over her: the knowledge that her career had just opened up, that she held the key to her future with the photographs she’d just snapped. She couldn’t believe her luck.
She began to tug off her apron, sensing that it was time for her to sneak out, wanting to deliver the edited photographs to Rocco before midnight. She could have the funds in her account before the weekend.
Jesus. The world was her oyster.
Lisa and Evelyn walked back toward the kitchen as the Prince finished off the bottle of wine. Evelyn muttered that she needed to speak with the chef, and Lisa began to plot tossing her uniform in the closet and rushing from the premises. But as they turned from the table, Lisa heard her name behind her.
The deep, brooding voice of the Prince carried her name so well, it made her shiver. “Lisa.”
Lisa spun around, her back cracking. Her eyes were wide, like a doe’s. Did he know she was paparazzi? What had given her away?
She eased toward him, nervous. “Can I get something for you, Your Highness? Perhaps your next course?”
The Prince’s eyes were far away. “The meal is off,” he said, gesturing. “For obvious reasons. I’ll pay the bill now, and there’s no reason to bring the rest of the food to the table. I apologize for wasting your time. All of your coworkers’ time, as well.”
Lisa bowed her head, unable to find words. She felt the weight of the camera in her apron, a reminder that this man’s private life was about to be plastered across the Daily Sneak, with her name on the photographs. He’d remember her face. He’d remember this conversation. He’d remember apologizing to her, moments before she ruined him.
“That’s quite all right,” Lisa murmured, turning back toward the kitchen door. She pressed her palm against Evelyn’s back, leading her to the kitchen, where they found the chef having a tantrum. He smashed pots and pans against the countertop, muttering in French.
Evelyn stepped back, frightened. The chef turned his eyes toward Lisa, the messenger. “He’
s decided he doesn’t want to eat the rest of the meal,” she announced. “But he’s still going to pay for it. And he gives all compliments to the staff, and, of course, to the chef.”
“He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” the chef said haughtily. “He’s missing out on the best dining experience in Manhattan. And you know it.” He stabbed his finger toward Lisa, almost declaring her the problem.
“I do,” Lisa lied. She hadn’t taken a single bite of the food; hadn’t even breathed the name “Matador” before the previous evening. “No one knows more than us. But isn’t this the best-case scenario? We all get to go home early. We all get to relax, for once. And I bet he’ll even drop a hefty tip on the way out.”
Perhaps sensing that Lisa had taken over his role as manager, Hank moved in front of her, smacking his palms together. “Yes. Precisely. Let’s all take the rest of the night off, shall we? And everyone, take the food to go. For your families or your friends. This should be read as a gift.”
Evelyn printed off the Prince’s bill, blinking back tears, clearly thinking about her breakup once more. She handed the book, with the bill, to Lisa, winking at her, her face still tight with sadness. “He seems to have taken a liking to you. Win us that tip, girl.”
Lisa grinned sheepishly, knowing she had no right to the tip. She accepted the bill and walked slowly toward the Prince’s table, where he held his cheeks in his hands. His shoulders were heavy, slumped forward, but the moment he saw Lisa once more, he seemed to brighten. He opened his palm and accepted the bill, offering her a bright, open smile. A single black curl coiled from the top of his head and down his forehead, bouncing lightly.
“Lisa,” he said, eyeing the bill in his hands. “I have one final request for you, if you don’t mind.”
“What is it?” she asked. Her voice was quiet in her ears.
“I wondered if you might want to join me for dinner,” the Prince said. “I’ve been reading good things about Matador for years, and have always wanted to visit.” He paused, his mouth forming a single line across his face. “I hope I’m not being too forward, but tonight, I am alone. And I see no ring on your finger. I’d love to spend a night, here, with you—getting to know a stranger. What do you say?”
