The Heart Stoppers

FOURTH QUARTER BALL

"Well don't you look dapper," I comment, using an accent like his.

He rolls his eyes at me. "Only if you look ravishing."

"Offense taken," I glare before sweeping my hands over the watercolor floral halter dress with a skater skirt that flares out to the tops of my thighs. Matte black heels adorn my feet, and soft, rolling amethyst curls flow down my back.

Zack, on the other hand, has gone all out. Full tux with a black bow tie and a cummerbund. Though I did give him a light blue handkerchief so that he would match me.

As we make our way to the garage, where his car is parked, Tigger is sure to block our path. Before Zack can bend over to pick him up, the oversized cat has pounced onto his jacket and shreds it as he slides down.

"Tigger! Dammit, Tig," I grumble while Zack angrily takes off his jackets and hits Tigger with it one time.

"You would've been a sweaty mess with it, anyway. Buchanan believes the warmer and more intoxicated people are, the more likely they are to give us their money," I laugh before instructing him to take off the cummerbund and grab a vest from his room.

"So this ball," he raises his voice so I can hear him from his room upstairs, "it's for these rich people who give us money to fund the AFO?"

I scoff, "This ball is to fundraise, yes. The way income works at the AFO is the government gives us the money to pay the agents. These investors pay for our equipment and supplies. Usually people who put their money in the AFO feel like they're paying for their protection; these are people who can give ten billion dollars at a time, so obviously they'd be a target."

"So Obama is giving you your pay check, but rich bitches are funding Austin's lab and our cars?" he comes down now, having left the bow tie on and now doning a black vest over his white button-up.

"Precisely, you little shit. And for the record, I vote Libertarian," I state, raising my eyebrows.

"Well, I don't know what that sodding means, but it sounds like not for Barack," he slips past me and jogs down the stairs to get to the black Range Rover that he had picked out yesterday.

"Smart ass," I grumble as I follow him gracefully to the car.

"You know, where I come from, we say arse," he tells me as if I didn't know.

I buckle my seat belt as I reply, "Thank you; I'm from Brighton, so I know perfectly well."

After starting the car, he looks over to me with confusion.

"Born and raised," I answer his questioning eyes. "I was shipped over here on my twelfth birthday. And eventually the accent just went away. I think I was sixteen or so by the time it had really faded," I purse my lips as I think of the time when I still had the accent.

"And your family? Are they still in England?" he asks as he navigates himself onto the highway.

"Couldn't really tell you. Last I heard, my father had died. I know my brother, Harry, is teaching somewhere, but I couldn't tell you there either."

"And your sister?"

I grind my teeth in rage as images of my hands wrapped around Zack's scrawny neck flash in front of my eyes. "Whoever the fuck told you about her should've had the decency to fucking inform you that bringing her up puts people in the hospital. Now shut the fuck up and drive."

Fear consumes his expression, and he apologizes abundantly as I sit in a fuming steam the whole way.

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