I'll take my chances // au Zayn Malik

Chapter 30 - Black Powder

I was still fidgeting with the piece of lace around my finger when we stepped into the Grand Hall.

As if in slow motion I could hear the murmuring of the crowd halt the moment I set one expensive Christian Louboutin heel through the double doors; the only remaining sound in the room was the music coming from the person filling in for me at the piano and the thirty piece orchestra supporting him.

From the quality of the sound they were producing, I could tell they were probably world class. 

I immediately straightened up to my full length of 5'0. Well 5'6 now, thanks to my shoes. Mrs Andrews moved closer as if to support me in the moment of silence passing through the crowd. I could feel their eyes burning on me; sizing me up.

I scanned through them making sure to look most of them dead in the eye. The right corner of my mouth quirked up. I was not intimidated that easily. They'd have to try much harder than that.

I started making my way through the crowd, back straight, a firm smile plastered on my face. I could hear the silent murmur of disapproval versus approval making its way through the crowd. I lightly shrugged them off and keep walking.

They parted like the red see; some of them still recovering from the initial shock of what must have been the color of my hair. Well, I did want to make an impression.

Then I saw her.

I have never seen Zayn's mother in my life, but judging by the superior aura surrounding her, very much like the one her son had, I just know it was her.

Her slightly tan skin was still flawless and the rich dark brown of the hair framing her face made her look younger than she probably was . Her black dress was clearly made for her and even for her age she was still extremely well built.

Over all there was this pulse of power and dominance emitting from somewhere inside her and for the first time ever, I got the feeling that I should probably stay on this woman's good side.

She gracefully rose from the same uncomfortable couch Zayn and I almost traumatized last night. I would've blushed if it was not for the fact that we were busy on the floor. She shot me a glance, her calculating gaze piercing into my own. I straightened my back more and looked her squarely in the eye.

She might be intimidating, but she definitely didn't need to know that I thought so. I smiled slightly as we continued our staring competition, both of us waiting for the other to give in. To look away.

The crowd seemed to have lost its ability to speak. Tension was slowly rising at an exponential rate between us. Up to a point where I seriously contemplated on giving up just to see if the air between us would shatter. But then her perfectly waxed eyebrow shot up.

Her eyes left mine and I silently praised myself for standing my ground. Then I noticed that she just moved her piercing gaze to the hollow of my throat.

The necklace.

I looked up at her raised eyebrow, trying to read her. Thank Glob Mary waxed my eyebrows this afternoon.

She crooked her head to the side as she assessed me further, moving from my flaming red hair to tip of my studded shoes. The corner of her mouth pulled up into a crooked grin when she saw the priceless jewels hanging from my ankle.

I didn't know what to make of that yet. 

"You must be Violet. The girl with the musical hands. Although I must say your name quite contradicts your hair color," she finally said after what felt like an eternity. 

Her voice was cool and collected, but not completely unfriendly. I refrained from frowning.

Violet?