how to love // z. m.

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

When you first walk into the Gatsby Plaza, you'd think it's a ballroom, and not a restaurant.

The first thing that you see when you walk in there is white marble, all over, and the ceiling towers up for seemingly miles, which makes you realize that the building itself isn't five stories high. The ceiling is.

Oh, and everything is all glittery. Even the outfits that people are wearing in the ballroom as they dance. It's like sequins is the new black. Odd.

Zayn and I made our way through the crowds of dancing people until we'd made it through to the back room, which was the restaurant.

But that didn't mean that it was any less fancy.

I groaned when I saw that every male in the room (yes, even the waiters and chefs and hosts) were wearing tuxedos, and every female was wearing a dark shaded dress (even myself).

This made Zayn look quite out of place, and I could sense him tensing up because of it.

"Just take deep breaths," I whispered. "That's no reason to get worked up."

In a hushed tone, Zayn replied, "What are you talking about?"

I turned to him directly. "You know what I'm talking about."

Before he could say another word, a hostess had walked up to us.

"Ah, Zayn Malik," she smiled professionally. "So nice to see you here at the Gatsby Plaza. Who is your date, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Uhm," Zayn shifted his weight to the other foot nervously. "she's not my date. She's just a friend. But, uh..."

"Toni Shay," I said, holding my hand out to the hostess. She shook it, pleased with my actions. Knowing that was like lifting a huge boulder off of each of my shoulders. It felt good, relieving.

"Right this way, Mr. Malik and Miss Shay." She nodded to her left as she quickly grabbed two menus and started walking in that general direction. "Booth or table?"

I shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

"Table it is?" she said with a question-like tone of voice.

"Table is good," Zayn confirmed quietly, still looking around, an ashamed look on his face as he looked from Brad Pitt's tux down to his own leather jacket and dark jeans.

I almost gasped out loud when I noticed Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian drinking shots over by the bar section.

Well, heiresses are gonna do what heiresses are gonna do.

We sat down, and the hostess went through the normal, "Your server will be with you in a moment," deal before leaving us in privacy.

"Zayn, you look chic," I reassured. "You've got that rugged look. I'm sure if Paris turns her head at a forty-five degree angle right now and sees you, her knees will go weak."

He smirked at that thought, then sighed, relaxing a little.

"Good," I smiled. "For a second there, I thought we'd have to start doing some meditation right in the middle of the Gatsby Plaza. And you know what that would do to a celebrity's reputation."

He nodded. "Don't do anything crazy or risky like that in the Gatsby, please."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I said sweetly. "This is to say sorry for all that, anyway."

Or not.

Once we were given our menus, I went straight to the specials and saw a pasta deal.

It was for spaghetti. Ten pounds of the stuff on one huge plate. If your party can finish the whole thing in one sitting, that, plus anything else you order, is free.