Ian stood just a couple of feet away from the base of the stairs, obviously uncomfortable, but trying his best to put on a confident front. His chestnut hair—a shade lighter than my own—was slicked back, aging his otherwise boyish appearance. Donning a perfectly tailored tuxedo, his red bow tie matched my dress perfectly—Kara’s doing, surely—adding to his debonair façade. Women, both with and without a date, glanced unabashedly in his direction, which shouldn’t have bothered me, but curiously made me take a more defensive stance.
At first, he seemed oblivious to my approach down the staircase, occasionally glancing up its elegant steps, never looking in my direction. It wasn’t until I was almost on top of him that we locked eyes. Ian glanced up at me once, looked back toward the revelers, and then rapidly jerked his head back in my direction, his eyes widened, his mouth opened, but no words came out.
“I honestly think I’ve seen everything now,” I said. “You’ve come a long way from bartending.”
“Me? What about you? You look like...like a girl,” he stammered.
“I think you mean woman. I ceased being a girl when I was seventeen.”
“What I meant to say is, you don’t look half bad,” he backpedaled.
“Thank you. You don’t look half bad yourself,” I said, noticing the envious stares being cast my way. “It appears as though you’ve attracted quite the fan club.”
“It’s the tuxedo.” He held out his arm, inviting me to entwine mine with his. I accepted his invitation and, together, we walked into the action. The photographs in Modern Society had done little justice in capturing the natural beauty of The Park View. Every foot we walked revealed something in the architecture, paint, or décor, from minuscule to grand in detail, that caught my eye and made me gawk in wonderment.
“Apparently, we’re supposed to go into the dining area to eat before embarking on any fun for the night,” Ian said.
“I think any hope of us having fun here has been vanquished by our little pre-arranged meeting tonight.” We entered a dining area adjacent to the ballroom where we were greeted by a maitre de who showed us to a small table near a window overlooking the river in the dimly-lit room. Ian let go of my arm and pulled my chair out for me, gesturing for me to sit down. “Did Kara arrange for an etiquette coach on top of your beautification team?” I asked through my smirk.
“Oh, come on, now. Give me a little more credit than that,” he replied as he folded his napkin neatly in his lap. “Her name was Jill, and she was utterly ghastly.” He did his best attempt at mimicking what must have been Jill’s English accent. “Remind me to personally thank Kara for that experience. I mean, I already knew the basics, pulling chairs out for women, please and thank you, and such. It’s not like I was going to scratch my ass in front of these fine people.” A couple passing by our table simultaneously whipped their heads around, glaring at Ian in disgust. “Pardon me,” he corrected himself, “I meant to say arse.”
I did my best to suppress my laughter. Disgusted, the couple resumed their walk away from our table, leaving a trail of self-righteous, pretentious privilege in their wake. “You certainly have a way with words, Ian.”
“It’s a gift,” he said. His eyes sparkled against the candlelight that lit our table. An unseen force, inexplicable and completely out of my control kept me staring into them as though my very life depended upon unraveling the secrets behind them.
“Hello, I’m Sasha,” our too-perky-for-this-formal-establishment waitress introduced herself at our table, a small tray of ice water balanced expertly on her arm. “I’ll be your waitress for the evening. May I start you two off with something to drink? Chardonnay? Tea?”
“Ladies first,” Ian offered.
“I’ll have the chardonnay,” I said, thinking to myself that it had been a long time since I’d had any sort of wine.
“I’ll have the chardonnay too,” Ian ordered.
Sasha removed two glasses of ice water from the tray and set one down in front of each of us. “You two make a really cute couple,” she proclaimed.
“We’re not a couple,” I replied, without looking up at her.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I just…I just…the way you came in and all,” she stuttered.
“What my wife meant to say is that we’ve been together for so long it’s almost like we’re an institution instead of a couple. Isn’t that right, honey?” Ian’s eyes lit up even more, begging me to keep up the ruse.
“Of course, darling, that’s exactly what I meant by that statement.”
“Aww…isn’t that sweet,” our young waitress gushed. “I hope I can find a love like yours when I’m your age.” With that, she left to presumably fetch our drinks.
“Damn kids,” Ian muttered. “What is she, like two, maybe three, years younger than us?”
“Let’s face it, we’re not getting any younger,” I chuckled.
“Doesn’t that bother you?” he asked, his face suddenly more serious than I believed it had ever been.
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve both been gone—removed from our lives—for almost a year now. Sure, in hindsight that’s not a long time, but what happens when three years have gone by? Five years? Ten years? We may be young now, but each day we grow older, and each day our former lives pass us by. What are we going to do when—if—we succeed? I know exactly what I’ll have waiting for me when I return, but what about you?”
“You’ve been pondering this for a while, haven’t you?” I asked him, unable to resist thinking about what it would be like to attempt to resume my former life alone. Thoughts of Chase, married to someone else, of children with his same bright blue eyes, of him living in a home with a white picket fence—a home that should have been ours—crept through my mind. My stomach turned instantaneously at the thought.
“It’s just a thought I’ve had recently,” he said, looking out the window.
“Here are your chardonnays.” Sasha returned, and set the crystal stemware containing our wine down on the table.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Will you be having the duck or the prime rib tonight?” she asked me.
“Duck for me,” I answered her.
“The prime rib. Medium,” Ian said, flashing his signature smile at Sasha.
“Very well, I’ll have them put that right in for you.”
“Thank you, Sasha,” Ian said. “I’ll try not to grow any older waiting for it to arrive.”
“You really need to stop saying things like that,” I said. “Those kind of thoughts will destroy you.”
“All I’m saying is that it would be nice having something worth losing for once in my life.”
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” I gave him a half grin, knowing exactly what he meant.
*****
Ian and I left the dining area arm-in-arm after dinner, entering the grand ballroom where jazz music was keeping the guests on the dance floor.
“I wonder whether all these people are going to attend the address tomorrow?” I asked, not really expecting an answer.
“I’d venture to say probably not,” Ian said. “Everyone here seems far too hoity-toity to be seen in a dirty park, mingling with us common folk.” The music switched from an up-tempo piece to a softer, more downbeat song, leaving just the couples on the dance floor. “May I have this dance?” Ian asked, letting go of my arm and extending his other one toward me. “I’ve always wanted to ask that.”
“I’m happy you finally got the opportunity to copy every cheesy romance movie ever made, but my dancing is really more of a tragedy.”
“Come on, Stevens,” he sighed, rolling his eyes at me. “We’ve been given this one night, and we’re going to make the most of it, whether you like it or not.” He grabbed my arm, dragging me onto the dance floor. Despite my newly-acquired strength, Ian was still stronger, and managed to pull me as though I were weightless. He stopped just inside the floor, where the concentration of people was thinner. “Now, put your h
ands on my shoulders and move your feet with mine.”
“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you when you’re in your room tonight, icing your feet.”
“I’ll take my chances,” he whispered into my ear just as his arms wrapped tightly around my waist, pulling me into his body. I gasped in surprise, which caused him to laugh. “Yeah, I have that effect on most women.”
“Even in a tuxedo, you’re still a scoundrel.” I looked down at my feet to ensure that I was nowhere near stepping on his toes.
“Yes, but you wouldn’t have me any other way.”
I looked up from the floor, meeting his waiting gaze. Something in his eyes spoke to me, even though, at that moment, we were both silent. Inexplicably, I found myself wanting to know exactly what thoughts were entering his mind, and why those thoughts traveled there in the first place. Ian had been something of a labyrinth to me from the moment I met him. I’d traveled down path after path, fully expecting to have him all figured out, only to be met by a dead end.
His arms tightened their grip around my waist; whether intentional or not, I wasn’t quite sure. All I knew with any kind of measurable amount of certainty was that at least a full minute passed before he blinked, finally breaking our stare. “I’m not,” he began, hesitating near my ear in a voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not really great at expressing myself.”
“I honestly find that hard to believe,” I laughed softly.
“No, really. I’m great at diffusing situations, at not taking myself too seriously. It’s always just been my way of preparing myself for rejection, I think. By not putting myself out there, I can’t be hurt. By not letting others in, I’ll never have to deal with drama in my life. But ironically, by doing both, I’ve missed out on living.”
I took in Ian’s words, realizing that I, too, had lived my life in pretty much the same way. Before Chase came along, I hadn’t really let anyone in. I’d even distanced myself from Lucy, fearful that I’d lose her, too. Chase had to work with me, and it wasn’t easy, but I came around eventually, learning to live my life instead of just getting through each day.
“What I’m trying to say in way too many words is that you really do look beautiful tonight, Celaine. Actually, I had to catch my breath when I saw you walking down the stairs.” He allowed one of his hands to fall from my waist, bringing it up to my face to brush away a strand of hair that had fallen in my eyes.
My heart beat against my chest with so much force that I swore he could feel it as close together as our bodies were at that moment. Anxiousness, coupled with excitement, washed over me, both vying for my attention. The question was, which one of the two was causing the pounding in my chest? I began to feel flushed. Around me, the pristine ballroom became entirely too hot; the walls closed in on where we stood. “I…I,” I started to speak, but images of Chase flooded through my head, rendering me speechless. At that moment, the only thought remaining in my head consisted of Kara’s words: ‘Let go’.
“Are you okay?” Ian asked. I had to get out of there, and I had to do it now. Luckily, the dance floor came equipped with a balcony. “Celaine?”
I broke away from Ian, making a dash—as best as I could in heels—to a gold-trimmed door that led out onto the balcony. Once outside, I braced myself against the railing, closing my eyes and catching the breath I hadn’t realized I was short of. A slew of thoughts returned to my head and created a jumble of mismatched puzzle pieces that I wouldn’t be able to make fit together anytime soon. Letting go. “It’s not as easy as it sounds, Kara,” I said under my breath.
“So, I tell you that I think you’re beautiful, and you run like hell?” Ian’s annoyed voice appeared behind me. “I guess that’s what I get for trying to open up to some…” I looked up at him, wearing an expression on my face that made him forget his anger for the moment. He walked closer until he stood next to me at the railing. “You and I are one and the same, aren’t we?” he said in a more mollified tone. “Irreparably damaged.”
“Yeah,” I answered him, “except you’re able to admit your faults and face them head-on. I, on the other hand, run like the wind.”
“Mr. Grant? Ms Stevens?” An almost comically low male voice beckoned us. Ian and I looked over our shoulders to see a man of large stature, whose body the voice had obviously come from, standing behind us. He wore a tuxedo similar to Ian’s, but better tailored to his body. His long sandy-colored hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail; his eyes were hidden by dark sunglasses that his crooked nose struggled to keep level.
“Yes,” Ian answered him. “We’re Stevens and Grant.”
“Come with me,” he said, gesturing for us to follow him. “Mr. President has requested you meet with him immediately.”
Chapter Twenty
Introductions
Brooks’ aide took us to the aptly-named Presidential Suite on the top floor of The Park View in another wing of the hotel. When he knocked on the door of the suite, it was answered by a gentleman who opened the door only as far as the chain lock would allow. “Stevens and Grant, as the President requested,” our unconventional guide announced. The man behind the door eyed both of us before closing it. A subsequent rattling from inside told us that the chain lock was being undone to allow us entry.
“We must have passed inspection,” I muttered to Ian’s amusement.
The door opened again, wider this time. “Come in,” the clean-cut, well-dressed man ordered. He glanced back up at the man who’d brought us here. “You’re excused now,” he said to him. I looked back at the long-haired man, who nodded his understanding.
Just as he turned to leave our presence, the man removed the sunglasses he’d been wearing, revealing just a glimpse of a scar that began at the arch of his right eyebrow and ended at the inner corner of his eye. With that kind of an injury, I found myself wondering whether the altercation that had left that scar was also to blame for his lopsided nose, too.
Ian and I entered the suite, he in front of me, as though he felt the need to shield me from the unknown. To say the suite was big would be an understatement; to say it was opulent would be a gross misrepresentation. It was one of the most exquisite examples of luxury I’d ever seen.
“Wow,” Ian mouthed to my wide-eyed expression. I nodded in response. The entry room glistened as though it were made of crystal, and with the sheer amount of it in the room, with the elaborate vases, picture frames, decorative figurines and other knickknacks, it practically was.
Lining the walls, providing somewhat of a detraction from the glamour surrounding us, stood soldiers. Each of them donned the same helmets and attire the ones at the protest had worn. As we passed them, I found myself studying their faces deliberately, noticing that they, too, wore the same resolute, yet soulless, expression the others had. Unfeeling and uncaring, their eyes never blinked once in our passing, nor did they turn their heads to meet us when we walked by.
“Are they even breathing?” I muttered to Ian.
“Probably only when they’re instructed to,” he answered.
“Our soldiers are the most disciplined around,” the clean-cut man said, smiling back at us.
“Obviously,” I responded.
The man held out his hand to stop us in our tracks before we could enter the suite’s living area.
“Mr. President,” he said. Butterflies fluttered back into my stomach.
“Yes, Jones,” an all-too familiar voice answered him. “Have my special guests arrived?”
“They have, sir.”
“Splendid. Send them in, please.”
The man turned to us and nodded, thus giving us the signal to enter the room. I stole a glance at Ian, who reciprocated my gaze and, together as a unified team, we entered the room.
“My, my,” President Carver Brooks stood up from his seat at the table in the dining area. “Look at the both of you. Don’t you clean up nicely.” He wore the same smile that had captivated the trust and votes of millions of citizens over the last several y
ears.
I examined his every step he took to meet us where we stood. Even though I’d seen him countless times on television, the pixelation on the screen hadn’t even come close to doing him justice. Brooks was a handsome man. The kind of handsome that made women break every promise of chastity they’d ever made; the kind of handsome that commanded respect without ever having to do anything to earn it; the kind of handsome that allowed an individual to rule a country for over a decade unopposed. But as he drew closer, his height was what shocked me the most. I’d expected him to be of short stature, mirroring that of Napoleon, another ruthless leader, or even his avatar in the simulation. Instead, he was quite tall, towering over me and making even Ian seem of average height.
“It’s nice to finally meet the both of you,” he held his hand out to me, which I took after a slight hesitation. My body shuddered inconsiderably, not enough for anyone but me to notice, but still enough internally that my veins felt as though they had ice water flowing through them. “Being the first woman superhero, you’ve become quite the inspiration to other women in this country,” he said to me before releasing my hand to take Ian’s. “And Mr. Grant,” he said. “I hear you’re steadily becoming a rising star.”
“I try,” Ian said with a more sincere smile than Brooks could ever hope to muster.
“Indeed,” Brooks pulled his hand away and motioned across the room to the table. “Let’s go have a seat to discuss a few things.” We followed him across plush, white carpeting that was almost downright impossible for me to walk across in my heels. “For the lovely lady.” He pulled a mahogany chair out, eyeing me expectantly.
“Uh…thanks,” I said to him without really looking him in the eyes.
“My pleasure,” he beamed.
I sat down on the cushioned chair. Next to me, Ian took his seat, never taking his eyes off Brooks. For beneath Brooks’ well-manicured, polite exterior slept a hibernating bear with the full intention of mauling you upon its arousal. Brooks took a seat across from where we sat, his strikingly handsome face inspecting us, trying to decipher the thoughts running through our minds. He waited momentarily before speaking to us, perhaps believing that either Ian or I had something to get off our chests. After an uncomfortably long time had passed, he finally spoke.
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