Erasing Faith(33)
Totally bewildered, I hopped off and watched helplessly as Daniel wheeled my bike through a side entrance and out of sight. Hugo had already disappeared inside the main doors. With no other options, I clutched my messenger bag tightly and rushed after him.
I stepped into the opulent lobby, my eyes scanning from the mahogany bar to the gold-gilded wall sconces, and tried not to feel too self-conscious under the curious stares of the patrons who’d gathered to await their reservations. I suppose I did look a little out of place, in my neon uniform, helmet, and tennis shoes. I certainly felt like a fish out of water.
“This way,” Hugo called, waving me over. He led me out of the lobby and down a narrow hallway, to a room marked with a single word I instantly recognized. I’d memorized it on Day One of my Hungarian adventure.
h?lgyek
He’d brought me to the ladies restroom.
“What—”
“The packages, madam,” Hugo cut in smoothly. “You may open them, now.”
“But, they’re—”
“If you look closely, you will see they are addressed to you.”
Okay, so… Hugo was clearly a few fries short of a Happy Meal. That was the only explanation for all of this.
Or, that’s what I thought until I pulled out the first parcel and saw FAITH MORRISSEY scribed across the top in tiny, silver lettering. I turned disbelieving eyes to Hugo, but he simply smiled again and gestured for me to open it.
I tore through the thin plastic and was shocked when my fingers sank into whisper-soft fabric. Pulling off the wrappings, my eyes went wide when I saw a magnificent cocktail dress in the most stunning burnt-orange hue I’d ever seen in my life. Simple in design, with a sweetheart neckline and a fitted silhouette, the dress somehow managed to be elegant and modern at the same time.
“This can’t be mine,” I whispered to myself, even as my hands curled tightly around the floaty gauze in a proprietary grip.
“There is still another package, madam.” Hugo’s gentle reminder startled me back to reality. Before I could protest, he reached out, plucked the dress from my hands, and draped it across his arm like a sommelier’s towel.
I stared at him for another moment, dumbfounded, before reaching into my bag and pulling out the small black box. In one swift movement, I tore off the paper, lifted the lid, and found myself gaping at a gorgeous pair of strappy, gold lamé sandals. They were dainty, delicate. Whimsically designed to wrap around the ankle and calf like winding golden vines.
My mouth fell open.
It seemed I’d been transported into a live-action, modern-interpretation of Cinderella, complete with a stunning outfit I’d never be able to produce on my own and a mysterious Prince Charming I’d yet to meet.
A semi-hysterical giggle escaped my lips when I realized that my fairy godmother was a short-statured Hungarian man named Hugo. All he was missing was an enchanted wand and some magic words.
“Bibbidi-bobbiti-freaking-boo,” I muttered under my breath, eyes still locked on the shoes.
“Very good, madam,” Hugo said politely. “You may change your attire inside. You’ll find a garment bag hanging on the back of the door, for your uniform. After you’ve changed, please return to the hostess station and we will guide you to your table.”
“But… This is crazy!” I finally managed to form words, as he handed the dress back to me and began walking away. “Hugo! Who arranged this? Was it Konrad?”
There was no response from the mysterious ma?tre d's. He rounded the corner and faded out of sight, leaving me alone with a beautiful dress, gorgeous shoes, and about fifty million questions.
If this was Konrad’s way of finally getting me to go out on a date with him… that boy was in for a world of hurt.
My stomach clenched with nerves as another, far more disturbing possibility occurred to me. What if this wasn’t Konrad’s plan at all — what if it was Istvan’s?
Was this the next step in his seduction strategy?
Crap. I was so screwed.
Sighing deeply, I pulled open the bathroom door and prepared to pull my sweaty self together.
***
Light from the flickering candle refracted off my crystal wine glass, as I slowly rotated the stem between two fingers. I watched wax trickle down the candlestick, dripping in creamy yellow rivulets onto the silver stand as the flame consumed the taper. Taking a sip of my wine, I contemplated checking the time on my phone again.
I’d been sitting here for fifteen minutes, and my date — whoever he was — had yet to arrive.
I refused to entertain the possibility that it was anyone but Konrad.
The kid must’ve spent months saving up for this restaurant, the dress, the shoes…
I almost felt bad. Almost.
“More wine, miss?” My waiter was quite diligent — so much so, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to ride my bike home if he kept refilling my glass at this rate.
I turned to smile at him. “No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
“You’re quite welcome, miss.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know when my date is arriving, would you?”
His eyes darted to the empty chair across from me and he opened his mouth to say something. Before he could express a single word, he was interrupted by the sound of wooden chair legs scraping against the floor, as well as a familiar masculine voice, speaking from the other side of the table.