Fashion Disaster

Chapter 10

(Alice's P.O.V.)

     Though I didn't think it possible, his house--or, well, castle--was even all the more amazing on the inside. Beautiful. Splendous. Breath-taking. *Insert another adjective here*

     I don't think I'll ever quite come to terms with how these rich people live.

     It hadn't taken Lola long to get comfortable. The three of us were sitting on the couch: me huddled close to the arm-rest, practically sinking into the cushions. Lola sat next to me though, due to the couch's excess space, wasn't even brushing my skin in any way. Haydon sat beside Lola--though his eyes were focused on the T.V. (Which seemed about as big as my dining table back home, may I add).

     "Do you want anything?" Haydon asked. His gaze never lifted from the documentary he was watching--he seemed to have quite an affinity for those, I'd learned--nothing moving except his lips as he spoke. And, naturally, the occasional blink every now and then.

     Though I didn't know who the question was directed toward, Lola spoke up. "We should get some popcorn. Oh, oh! And can I have one of those fruity magaritas?"

     "You're 17, Lola," I said, shooting her a pointed glare. "A little young to drink."

     "We're in Paris, baby," She said dramatically, trying to sling an arm around my shoulders in some sort of jest.

     I quickly ducked. 

     Haydon clicked pause on his show, wanting to join in on our conversation but not wanting to miss anything... good. Why he found any of this interesting I had not the slightest idea; this was even less enthralling than my own history class.

     "Where are you from, Alice?" He asks, his sudden interest in my personal life throwing me off-guard. And the way he looks at me--head slightly cocked and an inquisitive glint to his eyes, makes me all the more self-conscious.

     I fiddle with the pillow, wrapping the hems around my finger. "America."

     At that he noticably pales: from shock or excitement, I am not sure. "Is it true they have bull-riding there?"

     "I...I suppose in some parts?"

     He claps his hands together like an excited child, grinning. "Oh my! This all sounds so... exciting! But why do people wear those strange, pointy boots? Is it some kind of fashion trend? If so, and if even not I think it to be cute, it is not so... trendy. Please tell this to your American friends back home, yes?"

     I do not know how to respond to his consistent line of questioning. Again and again he speaks... well, words, and again and again I am at a loss for what to say. 

     "Uh, I..."

     "Ohmigod, Haydon, please get me one of those magiritas!" Lola groans, sprawling her arms across the back cushions in an excessive manner. I hold my breath to conceal a relieved sigh. "Please! I'm dying here! Dying--dying of thirst! Save me, Haydon!"

     "A fair maiden in need of rescuing?" Haydon suddenly jumps to his feet, fist clasped firm over his chest. His voice dips a few octaves as he says: "I will save you, my dear!"

     I catch a subtle wink before he rushes off to what I must only assume to be the kitchen.

     Lola bursts into a fit of giggles as he leaves, and I am not too positive she isn't already drunk. "Isn't he hot?"

     For a moment I just stare at her, the bluntness of her question surprising me. Even though, by now it really shouldn't.

     "Well?" She prompts, studying her nails. "He is, isn't he?"