It's as I feared. Athena inhaled deeply, clutching her purse tightly as Antonio led her through the expensive restaurant, toward the most valued table, which he had reserved some minutes ago.
A table that could only be available to a person if he or she luckily reserved it months before. But this was Antonio, and to some degree she had always known he was a bit of a show-off.
Whose reservation had the hoteliers cancelled for them to have this dinner?
Meanwhile, she was surprised by the paparazzi crew hanging around, dressed like normal people, thinking she wasn't aware of their presence–she wouldn't have been if she was not who she was.
Did he invite them? She wondered, attempting a perfect smile when Antonio gentlemanly ushered her to her seat, before taking his.
She could hear, distinctly, though faint, camera snaps, and she could see the servers darting nervous glances—which were supposed to be subtle—between her table and the tables of the paparazzi.
