The Things We Do (Under Editing)

High Society

Kacie would be proud of me. I managed to get all the way to the gala without twisting my ankle. That's not to say it wasn't uncomfortable, but I managed to not make a fool of myself or have to make a detour to the hospital.

Elliot didn't seem to be in the mood to talk and spent the entire drive tapping a rhythm on his knee. I got more conversation out of his personal driver.

He actually had a personal driver. The man's entire job was driving Elliot around. Why was I even surprised at this point?

It wasn't until we reached the party that Elliot spoke again. He got out of the car and offered his hand to help me out, which I gratefully accepted seeing as I probably wouldn't have succeeded without it. Once we were standing side-by-side, my hand once again resting in the crook of his arm, he leaned towards me slightly.

"Do me a favor and smile like you love these people." His own fake smile was already spreading, practiced, across his face.

"I don't even know these people," I murmured back, keeping my voice as low as his had been and doing my best to copy his expression.

Elliot snorted so quietly I almost didn't hear him. "That should make it easier."

"Maybe next time you should show up in a floral suit with tassels and embarrass your father enough that he begs you to never show up to another gala."

"I'll consider you suggestion."

He straightened and raised his voice to a normal volume.

"Ready?"

It seemed more like he was asking himself, but I nodded anyway, taking his arm.

He led the way into the gala, following the path into the garden beside the city's art museum. Immediately, I was greeted by the smell of blooming flowers, most kept at the height of their beauty by the late spring weather. Lights glittered on the surfaced of the numerous fountains that spotted the area, just beginning to show in the growing dark.

The whole place reeked of excessive money. Everywhere I looked, the upper-class stood sipping champagne and pretending they weren't judging everyone else's every move.

"So this is what Hell looks like," I thought to myself. "And here comes a demon to torture us."

A slightly older woman, maybe thirty or so and wearing a white dress so sparkly I can't say whether I imagined the diamonds covering it, approached us.

"Elliot," she crooned, drawing out his name. "It's absolutely lovely to see you again."

I already didn't like her.

Elliot's mask never faltered. "Layna, I thought you were still in Europe."

I had never heard the man sound so polite and agreeable... It was creepy. I think I preferred it when he was being awful.

"Oh, I would never miss one of your father's parties. I couldn't hold my social standing if I did."

"Of course." How Elliot managed to not sound forced amazed me. I barely stopped myself from responding sarcastically. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I was about to get my date a drink."

He grabbed my arm and led me across the garden to a quiet corner, grabbing two champagne glasses off a waiter's tray as we passed, and breathed a sigh of relief.

I tipped my head. "So, the real reason you brought me was as an excuse to get out of awful conversations?"

That earned me a small smile and one of the two glasses. "One of them."

"One that you're making full use of, retreating to the edges after a single interaction with someone else."

"Me retreating? Absolutely not. I simply thought that you would be more comfortable over here."

I'd have snorted, but the current environment suggested that wasn't the best idea. I settled for a small, "Uh-huh, sure," and then, "Let me guess your other reasons."

He gave a wave of his glass. "Go ahead. For every one you get right, you get absolutely nothing."

"Number one," I started. "You get a free pass out of most conversations."

Elliot nodded.

"Number two, the one you gave me earlier: Someone is sharing in your suffering."

"It's very helpful."

"Number three: Your father has been telling you either that you need to bring a date to one of these or that you need a girlfriend and being seen with me will quiet him for a while."

Elliot sighed. "An unfortunate reality. He thinks it would be good for my public 'image'."

"If it's public image you're worried about, I'm sure Kacie would have been more than happy and far more suited to make an appearance."

"Were it not for the purple hair, I would agree."

I pulled air through my teeth. "Right, 'proper' people don't like colored hair."

"Unless, of course, it's to pretend that they aren't going grey." I thought he was going to give one of his almost-smiles again, but then his eyes left me and focused over my shoulder. All humor dropped from his face as someone behind me spoke.

"Elliot."

Heckity. Heck. Heck. And may I also say: heck.

I turned around the see the shade of blue that had a bad habit of glowing out of the darkness, both while I was awake and in my nightmares.

Even after abandoning Phantom Banshee, I was clearly stick stuck with it. Standing in front of me was none other than William Gray, looking me over with apathy in his unreasonably blue eyes.

Could I just leave now? Was that an option? Probably not.

"Amelia," I realized Elliot was talking to me. "You probably know who he is already, but I should introduce you anyway." He waved his hand toward the other man. "This is my brother, William."