9. SOPHIE
SOPHIE
The Arsenal. Is. OPEN!
And it’s freaking amazing. I have no words, honestly. I can barely contain myself, trying hard to maintain my composure, greet guests, handle questions from the staff, oversee the food as it goes out. But I cannot stop smiling.
The restaurant is so packed it’s practically alive.
Every table is full and people are waiting at the bar and in the upstairs lounge area to be seated.
A jazz quartet plays softly in the corner, filtering into the buzz of conversation and laughter.
Everyone seems to be as happy as I am, and for a moment, I let myself feel how incredible it all is.
Then I get back to work.
The dining room looks and feels exactly as I imagined and the food is making people happy, but without Giovanna’s networking, no one would have even known about the Arsenal.
I knew she was good at all things social, but I had no idea what she was capable of.
The press are here to photograph not only the food and restaurant but the famous patrons she brought in: politicians, socialites, A list actors, C-suite employees of major companies.
And all of them are not only eating but loving my food, leaning across my reclaimed oak tables to tell each other that they need to come back.
Ordinarily, I would be nervous, but for some reason I’m not. The Arsenal is ready. I’m ready. This place was built to be seen and enjoyed.
I cannot believe how well my staff are doing as well. My new wait staff are doing great, especially Marco, pleasant with the patrons even though they’re slammed. Plus the plates look incredible. The new line cooks listened well and pulled themselves out of the weeds twice without my help.
I am so proud I could cry, but I don’t cry in my kitchen.
“Table six wants to know how the burrata is made,” Marco says without looking up from inputting their order.
“Tell them with love and let them be frustrated.” I plate the branzino on my way past and slide it onto the pass-through window. “Fire the carbonara on seven.”
“Already fired.”
I smile and head back out onto the floor.
My parents are at table three, and my father waves as my mother brushes a tear from her eye. She’s been crying on and off since she walked through the door, which is her way of showing she’s proud.
My father ordered the osso buco and is eating it with the reverence of a man in church, the highest compliment in our family. When I stop at their table, he says, “Sophia!” with his eyes rolled heavenward and a hand gesture that says it all.
I smile and blow my mother a kiss. My parents’ reaction alone is enough to make my whole night. I will remember this moment for the rest of my life.
Siena is sitting with Matti, Giovanna, and Tommy in the round corner booth I feel is the best seat in the house.
No babies tonight; they are home with Olivia and the nannies, which means they’re all fully indulging.
I made sure to pile their table with appetizers and my best wine to keep them here as long as possible.
“This carbonara,” Giovanna says, pointing her fork at me like a weapon, “is going to ruin me for all other pasta for the rest of my life. I want you to know that.”
“Good.”
“I’m serious. I’m going to resent you every time I eat inferior carbonara and that’s going to be every time I eat carbonara that isn’t yours, which is basically all the time.”
I laugh. “I’ll take it.”
Tommy looks up from his plate long enough to meet my eyes and nod once, his version of a standing ovation. I feel like I’m flying.
Matti raises his glass. “To the Arsenal. And to Sophie, who stopped at nothing to make it happen.”
“I couldn’t have done it without my girls,” I say, winking at Giovanna and Siena.
Siena shakes her head, stuffing a bite of arancini in her mouth. “Nope. This was all you, babes. You take all the credit. Now, sit. For five minutes. You’ve been on your feet all day.”
“I sat down this morning.”
“Sophie.”
“I’m fine. I’m better than fine.” And I mean it. “I’ll sit when the kitchen closes.”
She winks at me as I continue making my rounds.
Gavin is at a two-top near the window where I put him when he arrived an hour before opening, bearing a bottle of my favorite Barolo. I asked him to open it without me, which he did when I served him the braised short ribs he’s eating now.
As I pass, he gives me a soft smile and mouths, “wow” pointing at his plate, then winks when I blush.
I don’t mind his attention, but mostly I appreciate the lack of pressure or expectation of any kind.
He’s just himself, laidback, a quiet supportive presence.
Otherwise, he’s not on my mind at all. Though he’s apparently on Siena’s because every time I stop by his table, she watches me like a hawk then gives me a big thumbs up.
Tonight is all about me.
There’s a commotion at the hostess stand, and I head over to see what’s happening.
“I don’t have a reservation because I don’t need a reservation.”
It’s Valentina, showing up in the middle of the rush on opening night demanding a table because of course she does. She’s sparkling, the low lights catching on her jewelry, glittery threads in the fabric of her dress, and her shiny long nails.
I keep my smile firmly in place as I join my nervous little hostess and Marco in the face-off. “Hey Valentina, we don’t have a table at the moment, but would you like to take a seat at the bar until we do?”
Valentina scoffs, gesturing down at herself. “Do I look a ‘sit at the bar’ kind of person? No. Table for two, please. Not sure who my plus one is yet, but I’m sure I’ll find him here somewhere. Girl, this place is absolutely star-studded!”
Coming from Valentina, that is a rave review. “Perhaps you’ll meet him at the bar. You know, I saw the guy that stars in that new detective show on Netflix. What’s his name? Floppy brown hair, big blue eyes—“
Valentina looks at me like a viper. “Ice blue eyes, like icy icy blue that make your pussy wet and your whole body freeze at the same time?”
I glance around at the patrons crowding in behind her and blush. “Uh, sure. I mean, they’re really blue.”
I barely have the sentence out before she’s on her way.
“Sophie, girl, this place is fucking gorgeous!” Valentina yells out in a sing-song voice and I laugh.
I make my rounds, taking it all in, stopping to say hello and answer questions about the menu.
I get a photo or two with some of the politicians in attendance and smile for the press in front of the Arsenal sign.
Everything about tonight is going perfectly.
I could not be more proud of what I’ve built.
Vin may have provided the bones, but everything else is mine.
Feeling like I’m on a cloud, I drift back to Siena’s table, flushed from the kitchen and happiness.
“This is incredible! Will this always be on the menu?” She’s holding up a bite of lemon asparagus.
I nod. “So good, right? Really complements the heavier dishes.”
As I’m speaking, I feel the energy shift at the table as one by one each of them shift their gaze to something behind me. A look of fury crosses Siena’s face before she darts a glance at me. “Can you sit down?” She asks like she’s in a rush. “Like sit right here. I need you to sit.”
The booth is huge and there is plenty of room for a couple more people but the way she’s asking me is weird. “Why?”
I turn slowly to confirm what the rest of the table is looking at, but I already know what I am going to see.
Vin is in a dark suit, no tie, his jaw set. His eyes are locked on mine instantly as the hostess leads him toward us.
As devastating as he looks, it’s the beautiful woman next to him that crushes me.
Ashlyn’s dress is a show-stopping emerald green and backless, dipping in a long elegant line to the base of her spine. She moves through my dining room like she’s floating, her hips swaying softly, her hand tucked into the crook of Vin’s elbow.
I pull my attention back to Siena, swallowing hard, a fake smile plastered across my face.
“You didn’t invite him, did you, Soph?” Siena practically hisses the question.
I shake my head. “I haven’t spoken to him.”
Siena turns on Matti and Giovanna looks questioningly at Tommy.
“I thought we agreed that Vin wasn’t coming tonight,” Giovanna says.
Tommy shrugs. “As far as I knew he didn’t want to.”
Matti nods. “We didn’t invite him.”
Yet he’s here. With his fiancée. Uninvited.
Typical Vin. Coming inside me not 25 yards away from his fiancée a few weeks ago and now shoving their relationship in my face. On my night.
I exhale hard. “Excuse me,” I say, smiling at each of them in turn. “I need to check on the kitchen.”
Threading through the dining room I barely hear the people around me as the hostess seats Vin and Ashlyn at the big booth.
I push through the kitchen door and let it swing shut behind me then stand at the pass-through window with both hands flat on the stainless steel counter. I breathe deeply and try try to force myself to relax.
Get your shit together, Sophie.