Confession

The restaurant appears as a residential place; you enter the property to get to the house. It seems very discreet. The place has a beautiful entrance, full of greenery and flowers. Great, he told me how important it was to avoid paparazzi, gossip and all that.

If on the outside it is beautiful, on the inside, it is pure craftsmanship. It is bright and white and looks a little rustic, quite different from what I've seen for an Italian restaurant. We sit down at our table, and the Maître soon comes and gives us the menu, but first, he greets Hunter in an overly exaggerated way.

“Good evening, Miss,” he says, analyzing me.

Does Hunter bring all of his girlfriend’s here? Is this fellow rating me on his huge list of girlfriends? I can understand his Spanish as he speaks with Hunter.

“It’s always such a pleasure to see you, Sir, what a most beautiful girl you’ve given us the honour of serving,” he says. I smile, instantly turning red like a tomato.

He praises me so much. Nobody has ever pra