The boy was debating if it was worth tossing his half-filled glass of champagne at the visiting Prime Minister from some outlandish providence, just to get a reaction. He was that bored.
Bored of the pleasantries and fake niceties of upper society, bored of the fancy imported table cloths that cost more than some men made in a year, and especially bored of the endlessly dull tale the Prime Minister had been telling for the last five years, it seemed. He knew how this story ended -- the way all these stories ended -- the directionless young chap pulled himself up by the bootstraps and made something of himself, thanks to his sharp wits and a generous loan from his politician father.
With a broad smile, the boy pulled the closest Duke over for a polite but brief introduction, touching the Prime Minister's arm cordially in farewell. The Prime Minister was so thrilled by his new listener that he barely noticed the gesture, much less the missing wristwatch.
The boy pocketed the time-piece without so much as breaking stride.
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The girl wore a sleek dress of ruby red that pooled at the floor. When she walked, it left the illusion of a trail of glittering fire. Or blood. Her hair was swept up and fastened with a matching ruby brooch, concealing the back strap of the mask she wore. A Fox. Cunning, clever, and so fitting.
He watched her work her way across the ballroom, and where she went, it was indeed blood she left in her wake.
Setting down his glass of champagne, the Wolf approached.
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"You'd be better off with the Versace."
The girl startled from her observations at the intruder's voice. Spinning to her left, she beheld a Wolf. Yes, wolf was the right word, for he better resembled the wild counterpart his mask embodied. His brown hair looked darker in the dim light, his suit uncannily the exact matching shade. He towered over her, even with the red stilettos she wore.
"I'm sorry?" She straightened her dress, concealing the diamond bracelet she held, a borrowed token from her last interaction.
He cocked his head. "Well, I'm assuming the poor blond chap in the Armani suit that you've been ogling for the last five minutes is your next mark. But you're better off going for his buddy in the Versace -- his suit isn't rented."
Her face heated, and she was immediately grateful for the mask's coverage. "I have no idea what you're talking about." She couldn't see the entirety of his face, but his eyes seemed to twinkle in amusement. It annoyed her unreasonably.
"Just like you have no idea how the bracelet in your left hand got there? I'm sure Lady Wellsworth will be thrilled you managed to recover it for her. Come, why don't we return it to her now?" He placed his hand at the small of her back, as if to guide her in the other direction. She flinched away from his touch, and shot him a withering glare that no mask could disguise.
Her face smoothed out immediately, and he wondered if he had imagined the anger there only a moment ago. She offered him a gloved hand, cooly. "Lets. And then perhaps we'll stop by Prime Minister Douglas, who will be positively delighted you found his Rolex. These royals are just so careless with their belongings these days."
He did his best to stifle his surprise. She smirked. No, she was not the amateur he had expected.
(Chapter in progress!)
YOU ARE READING
The Getaway Car
RomanceKate (whose-name-is-not-really-Kate) has not only mastered the rules of a perfect heist--she's come to crave it. She's good at what she does, and she does it alone. But when she quite literally collides into the annoyingly handsome, equally devious...
