Alice
Christian's warm steady hand on the small of her back calmed down her nerves a fraction.
"You look lovely tonight," he said when they start to dance.
"Aren't you even going to ask?"
"He's an asshole," Christian said.
The word was harsh but his voice had no particular inflexion. He either didn't care or he was in a league of his own when it came to hiding his emotions. He must have sensed her confusion, because he elaborated.
"Whatever happened between the two of you, there is no excuse to be rude in public."
"It really doesn't bother you, does it?"
"That you had a life before we met? That you made mistakes?"
"Caesar's wife…" she said.
"Must be above suspicion," he finished the quote in her embarrassed silence.
He laughed softly and twirled her around gracefully.
"Alice, we are Illyrians, not ancient Romans. Our current prime minister had an affair with the previous prime minister, while she was still married. Our politicians have to be mildly competent and not overtly corrupt. Scandals about personal issues that would shake more puritan countries barely register here."
"You're not like the other politicians," she said.
"No," he said soberly. "Or more accurately, not yet."
She looked at him attentively. His classically handsome features reminded her of statues of Greek gods. So did the cool, Olympian calm.
"You must be one of the most self-aware people I know," she said.
A warm smile softened his Olympian coldness.
"That's because you hang around clueless artists too much."
She smiled back. The tone was kind, conveying the acceptance she needed so badly. It would be nice if she could count on him in the stormy times that were to come.
#
Despite her promise to Leonie, the crowded ballroom became too much to bear and she snuck onto the terrace. She pretended she needed to smoke, when all she needed was to be on her own for a few moments.
She wasn't surprised when Carter showed up on the terrace before she even lit her cigarette. They would have the place to themselves as long as they could stand the cold.
"Could you have chosen a more boring dress?" he asked, pacing around her like a predator circling its prey.
"Yes," she said.
"Who are you trying to sell this wholesome image anyway?"
"I'm not selling anything," she said.
"Of course you are. I should get a discount as a frequent customer."
"Do you want me to apologize again?"
"You didn't apologize the first time."
She bit back the comment that he hadn't given her time to apologize.
"Do you want me to apologize?" she rephrased the question.
"I would not expect it of you."
"It's not what I asked."
"Don't tell me that all of a sudden you lost the skill to know what I want."
"I am sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone."
He looked at her for a long time. She really didn't know what he wanted any more. This situation wasn't on any of her maps.
"What do you want most in the world?" he asked.
"I, umm... don't know."
He shook his head, clearly not believing her.
"I will find out. And I will give it to you. Then I'll destroy it in front of your eyes."
She looked down, unwilling to hold his gaze. His hatred for her shone too bright to bear it. She wished there was something she could do to take away the pain she had caused him.
He stepped closer, and leaned to whisper in her ear. His lips almost brushed her skin when he spoke.
"And if you really don't want anything," he said, in a low and silky voice that gave her goosebumps. "I will make you want something so badly, you will bleed to get it. And I'll make sure you never, ever do."
He sounded like his Shakespearean characters on stage. His Macbeth was the most impressive performance Alice had ever seen on the stage, but his words were sounded like the witches' curse not like the king's guilt-ridden soliloquy.
He left her alone on the terrace. The cigarette had turned to ashes between her fingers.
They say never meet your heroes, but I don't think they had this in mind.
Her hero was pretty damn unbalanced to begin with. He had just crossed the border into dangerously insane.
#
Carter materialized next to her when she was back in the ballroom.
"My lady, may I have this dance?" he asked, mocking Christian's tone.
She barely managed to conceal the surprise. Why was he acting like they were the best of friends? As far as the rest of the world was concerned, he didn't care about her one way or the other, but they both knew the depth of his hatred. Why would he pretend that nothing had ever happened? He couldn't expect her to be taken in by his attitude, could he?
"I'm a terrible dancer," she said taking half a step back, trying to blend into the coffee colored curtains.
"If I didn't know any better," he drawled, "I'd say you're a terrible liar. That was a very careless lie."
"I was trying to be polite. I don't want to dance with you."
"Color me surprised."
She hated it when he used her own words. "Color me surprised! I did not expect you to read the Discworld." Oh, how much she had loved discovering things they had in common!
"Since you ask so nicely," he said in her silence, taking her hand without waiting for her to offer it, "I didn't need to see you float around the dancefloor like a ballerina with young Christian. I already knew you were an excellent dancer because your best friend told me you tried to teach her to dance. You failed miserably, by the way."
"I know," she said, and followed him to the dance floor.
Lately, her life seemed full of battles she could not win.
"She told me many things about you, Alice. You see, Vy cares about you. She thinks you're a nice person."
"If you plan to make Vy hate me, you're kind of late," she said. "She already despises me."
"Good for her," he said cheerfully.
They danced in silence for a few moments. She was an adequate dancer, but in his arms she felt fluid. He was leading her so effortlessly.
"I danced with her for hours, you know" he said, breaking the silence. "I'm not going to claim it was graceful, but with a lot of compassionate editing, it made for a good music video."
She knew the one at which he was referring. It was one of the most romantic songs he had ever written. Not just for Vy. In all his career. The video itself was very tender. Vy had ruined the effect by telling her in detail about how horribly she had danced that day, and how much of a jerk Carter had been to keep her dancing.
"It's a beautiful song. All the songs you write for her are amazing. She made the right choice last year."
A muscle twitched in his face. He obviously neither appreciated, nor believed her compliments.
"The choice you suggested."
"It's not like that," she said, unwilling to let him believe she had manipulated Vy. "She didn't choose you because I told her."
"Why then? We both know I was her second choice. Why would she choose the amazing Andrew King?"
"Because she's in love with him!"
The words burst out and even if she bit her lips until she drew blood, she couldn't unsay them. Panicked, she looked at him, hoping that for some miracle he'd gone deaf for a few seconds.
"Oh, don't look so terrified. I'm not blind."
Relief washed over her and she rested her forehead on his shoulder. It didn't count as betraying a secret if the other person already knew it. She smiled sarcastically to herself. She was getting awfully good at justifying her blunders.
His arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her closer, allowing her to hide her face in the hollow of his neck. Her nose was pressed against his skin. He smelled so good. It was such an old fragrance she didn't even remember its name. She didn't even know they still made it.
She was twelve the summer her grandmother, Tatiana, had taken her to the perfume's launch. She had visited the Royal Palace with her grandmother and general Lewis, her grandfather, after the fashion show. The gardens were resplendent in the bright July day. They sat on a bench in the shadow of an oak tree. The general told war stories, and her grandmother braided her hair. She mellowed into Carter's arms, while the music wrapped around her soul.
The sudden pressure on her hand jerked her back to reality. When she was back in her proper position she darted a glance at Carter, who was still squeezing her hand to the point of pain. He was staring at her with the same fiery anger she saw in his eyes when he confronted her about Isabella. He must have realized he was doing it, and he rearranged his features into his usual carefree expression. The TC mask as Alice called it.
"I have a feeling we're going to see a lot of each other from now on," he said in a casual tone that matched his mask.
Her hand instinctively tightened on his shoulder. He grinned, delighted to feel the effect he had on her.
"You're so good at hiding your true self, little monster. I'll have a lot of fun tearing your mask to shreds."
"Don't you have a million other things to do? More important than exacting vengeance on me?"
"I can multitask. And I can delegate. But most of all, I can prioritize."
"And you see pestering me as a priority?"
The song was over. If he had any decency, he would escort her to her seat and leave her alone.
"Pestering," he said slowly, pulling her hand toward his lips. "I like that word."
Her heart went crazy when she felt his lips brushing against her skin as he spoke. He pressed his lips on the back of her hand, and kept them for a few seconds longer than it was polite. His voice was heavy with honey and venom when he delivered his whispered threat.
"It sounds so much less violent than ruining your life."