Olivia

We took the elevator down to the lobby, where a sleek black Mercedes waited at the curb. The hotel had arranged it, another perk of staying in the Presidential Suite. The driver, a middle--aged man with kind eyes, held the door open.

"Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Carter. Where would you like to go today?"

Alexander glanced at me, then back to the driver. "Ristorante Pappagallo."

The drive took about fifteen minutes, the car cutting through palm tree ...