Chapter 27 Even This
Even This
The manor is exquisitely decorated. A glimmering chandelier hangs from the ceiling and throws light across walls stamped with sophisticated, golden designs.
A large, gilt mirror reflects the trickle of guests as coats are removed by staff and whisked away with demure professionalism.
I try to look dispassionate, bored even, as if I attend events like this every day.
I accept a flute of champagne from a passing waitress and move with the flow of the crowd.
All the newcomers gravitate towards a grand room and I pass an ornate, heart-shaped staircase, into a ballroom.
All the while I glance around, trying to spot Marlowe amongst the mass of people.
There are easily two hundred bodies milling about, laughing and dancing in vivid outfits.
I see more white skin than any other, but that doesn’t surprise me given that Gryphon’s business is based on Telluria; their social hierarchy is still dependent on inane prejudices, and the wealth disparity between races is noticeable.
It makes the fact that the rich keep buying huge swathes of real estate in Suryavana that much more insidious.
A string quartet plays on a terrace erected at the back of the room, and a champagne fountain gleams nearby.
The frescoed ceiling stretches above for at least two stories.
There are more mirrors, more chandeliers, more delicate embellishments dripping gold.
Floor-to-ceiling windows stand open, and guests pass through French doors to an expansive, stone terrace framed by white balustrades beyond.
I take a deep swallow from my glass to hide the fact that I’m studying the scene. Marlowe once commented that her ex proves his worth by throwing money at everything.
It shows.
I’m surrounded by people who look comfortable in this expensive fever-dream.
The susurration of conversation undercuts the soft music of the quartet.
I pin a smile onto my face and make my way across the room, trying not to look like a trespasser on the hunt.
I’m not sure how well I do, considering my face hurts and no one approaches me.
I try to picture Marlowe in this world. From what I know, she was with Gryphon before his company took off, and by the time his net worth rocketed, they weren’t even on speaking terms. She’s never been a member of this community, never had to dress up and fit in.
I can’t imagine her elegantly draped over Gryphon’s arm, flute in hand, diamond-clad, with that gently tinkling laugh they all seem to perfect.
Unsuccessful, I finish my circuit and head back to the vestibule, swerving people who’ve had too much to drink.
Others drift in and out of the tall, arched entrance next door, and up and down the stairs.
There doesn’t appear to be any staff penning guests into the ballroom, so I might not even have to sneak around.
I don’t like that there’s no sign of Gryphon yet. I doubt he’d recognise me, but I’d prefer to avoid him. The memory of his threat to Marlowe sticks in my throat, and I lift the champagne flute to my mouth to hide a scowl. I thought my father was a piece of shit.
“Well, fuck.”
A broad shoulder nearly knocks the flute right out of my hand as a man stumbles into me.
I sway into him to absorb the momentum, cringing at the mix of heavily applied cologne and vodka that assaults my nostrils.
Before I can berate him for almost flooring me, his arm twines around my waist, and he pulls me into his chest. He’s tall and muscular, but I could resist the move—I don’t, allowing him to grin down at me.
“Hello,” he grins.
His breath is hot against my cheek, but I’m busy glancing over his shoulder, where I could have sworn I just saw—
Yes, there. Mae. There’s a flash of her conspicuous tattoo through the crowd, which then parts to reveal her amused expression as she watched me clutched in this man’s arms. She stands with a foot on the bottom step of the grand staircase, the rest of her body twisted towards me.
Her earlier words come back to me, and I wonder.
.. if she really doesn’t care about Gryphon beyond a paycheck, would she give me information?
My acquaintance is still murmuring away, his words made slushy by the alcohol staining his mouth. At this point, I think I’m holding him up more than he’s holding me. I place a hand on his chest, prepared to disentangle myself without drawing attention to us, when he says something that I do hear.
“You copperheads are so fucking sexy.”
Rage streaks through me like sparks, and my hand spasms into a fist—creasing his expensive shirt and pinching his skin—before I manage to contain it.
He yelps but I don’t let go. Copperhead is a slur that evolved for Suryavans, oh-so-creatively named for the colour of our skin.
I’ve only occasionally been called one, and always by these pale-skinned Tellurians with more money than sense.
They really hate that we’re strict about expansion here; they already destroyed their own planet, and we don’t want them poisoning our community, too.
Doesn’t stop them from sexualising us, though.
His hands, once pulling me in, now push at my hips but I hold on. I step into his body, tightening my grip on his shirt and pressing the heel of one shoe directly into his foot. He yelps, but it’s lost in the music.
“Call any of us that word again—hell, touch any of us, again—and I’ll break all the bones in your body one at a time, starting with the really small ones.”
He grimaces but nods furiously, and only then do I let him go.
As he hurries away from me, I hand my glass to a stranger and make a beeline for Mae.
I was hoping to fly under the radar tonight, but I can’t stand the fucking hypocrisy of some Tellurians.
Thankfully, that guy was so drunk no one thought his stumbling was out of the ordinary.
Mae hasn’t moved. I suspect she’s security for the event, but the only thing she’s being observant of right now is me.
She gives me a laconic once over as I approach, dragging her eyes from the tips of my toes to my face and making a point of stopping at my lips.
If we’d met two weeks ago, I might have enjoyed the attention; now, I couldn’t think of anyone other than Marlowe even if I wanted to.
Mae raises an eyebrow as I reach her side. “Didn’t know you swing that way.”
“I don’t.” With my fingertips pressed to her hip, I guide her into the tiny alcove to our left. “Are you feeling particularly helpful tonight?”
“For you? Maybe.” She smirks. “Although I heard you got fired. Not sure the boss would have invited you to his party in the same breath.”
“The boss?”
She rolls one shoulder. “We’re on for the evening.”
“But just as security for the gala.”
Mae scoots back onto the expensive looking bureau behind her, ignoring the indignant gasp of a passing guest, and tilts her head back to look up at me.
It forces me to step between her legs so she can hear me without having to raise my voice.
Irritation tightens my jaw, but I let it go.
She might be trying to make me uncomfortable, but her new seat puts her in a vulnerable position.
“Now, just what are you after?” she purrs, trailing fingers just above the skin of my exposed thigh. She’s not touching me, but the heat of her hand creates a ghostly sensation. I hate it, for multiple reasons.
Encircling her wrist, I ask, “Have you seen Marlowe?”
Mae rolls her eyes hard, but she doesn’t try to free herself. “Eurgh, you are so very boring. Lusting after Dominik’s woman is unoriginal, but chasing after the woman is worse.”
“Do you know where she is?”
With a mighty sigh, Mae slithers to her feet and neatly unhands herself. The flirtatious expression drops off her face, replaced by one of boredom. “You’re lucky I like you, Sekmith.”
“Mae,” I practically growl.
“She’s upstairs in the East wing. I was just given orders to check on her, but I’ll gladly let you do the honours.”
I meet her eyes. “Thank you.”
Mae snorts. “Good luck, she’s in a foul mood.”
As I turn away, she stops me. “I wouldn’t let Eduard see me, if I were you. He’s much more professional than I am and much less a sucker for a beautiful face.”
I hadn’t factored in Gryphon using Securitas for the event.
A man like that has his own security, but I should have realised he’d need a bigger team for a gala.
I head upstairs, following the wrought iron railing as it curves to the left.
It’s mirrored on the right, and both sides meet at the grand landing, creating the heart shape.
I take the left hallway, slipping past a few people meandering on the terrace.
With ornate settees and gilt wall sconces, it’s the most obnoxiously beautiful hallway I’ve ever seen.
I pass what must be generations of family portraits rendered in oil, as plush Persian rugs muffle my footsteps.
The sounds of the string quartet are muted up here; my heartbeat is thundering so hard I’m surprised I can’t hear it.
I hadn’t thought this far ahead, and now my hands are sweating, my throat dry. What am I going to say to Marlowe when I find her? I tried to come up with something of a script earlier, but my mind kept skittering away from the topic. I’ll have to improvise.