To Be Fake

Jane's favorite Italian restaurant was conveniently located in the city center, overlooking the dark, flowing river and its giant arched walking bridge, which was glowing with hundreds of tiny lights, adding to the already quite serene atmosphere of that fine spring evening.

The dimmed yellow light went well with the dark-brown walls and chairs bringing out the crispiness of the snow-white tablecloth which was enveloping the wooden surfaces of the round black tables like ghosts, pairing up with the thick, long drapes of the same degree of whiteness, shutting out those lucky ones who were able to make a reservation there, from the rest of the hectic city.

Charles helped Jane to sit down and gestured for the tall, young waiter to bring the menus and some drinks while Mr. Devold was still finishing his clearly important call with his executive assistant.

"Your father seems busier these days, is something the matter?"