The Seven Day Regency

1

Delia tips her head back when she finally makes it to the sidewalk, tossing her arms out like a bird taking flight. Somewhere behind her, she can feel Reggie's eyes follow her, probably drunkenly laughing over her display of joy. Delia knows the look of complete adoration that would cover his face if she turns to look. It had first appeared when she had warred with her history professor over a callous comment, and the smile has made an almost daily appearance ever since. Reggie loves giving it to her, whether he thinks she sees it or not. And she does see it. Quite often.

When she is studying while humming to herself, when she dances around the dorm's kitchen in an oversized shirt and underwear, the smile always appears. It's one of life's great certainties. And Delia knew she would see it tonight, even before she and Gen battled over how to do her makeup. Alcohol makes the smile appear like the weather: Reggie has no control over when it comes or goes.

"Thank God," Gen says, tying her blonde hair up with the same ponytail holder carrying her dorm key, "I thought I was going to die in that furnace, and by the time you all would have found me, my body would have been mummified by the heat."

"Oh, please, we were fine!" Delia laughs. She is always shocked to hear her clearly foreign accent, especially after almost four months in the United States. It feels strange and out of place like a cell phone ringing in a fairy tale world. And that thought is completely wrong because Delia does not feel any of those things. She doesn't feel out of place, and she doesn't feel foreign.

She is content and right at home in her American university, where she can dance her way into the early morning, drink a little too much hooch, and stumble into her astronomy class the next day. She has been nothing but content since she snuck onto the plane with only a bodyguard and a large suitcase. Delia is at home in the place the Morattan press has yet to find. And a place where that apartment and that staircase don't glare at her each day.

"You were. Reggie was not."

Reggie's eyes snap to Gen, "What about me?"

"You were almost sweating all over that dude you are talking to. It was bad enough you were already yelling at him."

Reggie shakes his head, throwing his hands up with disdain and passion, "I just don't understand. He went to the same lecture I went to, but he didn't see how amazing it was. How could he not understand the need to hold politicians accountable–"

"Ugh!" Gen says, covering Delia's ears with her hands, "Don't listen to him."

Delia laughs loudly. It's a roarous, drunken laugh that has surely never been heard in the Tower.

"If we hear it again, our brains are going to leak out of our ears. We get it! You liked the lecture!"

Delia sweeps Gen's hands away from her head and walks backwards down the street, leading them to their next party. "Yes, darling. We get it. The new world order is coming. We need to overthrow the politicians who have held American political office for the last fifty years and have refused to give power to the next generation. The institutions of government all over the world are corrupt and dysfunctional, and every politician and diplomat only want to lime their pockets and bask in their power. Blah blah blah."

Delia rolls her eyes. And that's when the figure appears in her field of vision. Behind Reggie's head, Delia can see a man who is distinctly not drunk, walking in the same direction of their group about fifty feet behind them. Delano is still with them. Just like he always is, and his presence comforts her. She may have run away from home, but she likes that she brought a piece of it with her in Delano.

"We don't need to just fire the politicians. We need a total reboot of the system." Reggie insists, slamming his fist into the palm of his other hand.