Bloody Heart (Brutal Birthright #4) - Sophie Lark Page 0,21
my dress.
I can tell he’s nervous, driving us over to the History Museum. We’re never really alone together, always meeting at social events, in public places. I want to tell him he can relax, because this isn’t really a date, but of course there’s no way to do that.
“Where did you go the other night?” he asks me.
“Hmm?” I was looking out the window, thinking about something else.
“You disappeared from the Young Ambassadors’ dinner. I thought you were going to sit at my table.”
“Oh. Sorry. I left early. I wasn’t feeling well.”
“Okay, good. I mean, not good you were sick. But I’m glad it wasn’t because you didn’t want to sit with me.”
There’s a little color in his pale cheeks, under the freckles.
I feel a pang of guilt. Jules is a nice guy and not bad-looking. He’s fit, well-mannered, smart. An excellent skier and violinist, from what I’ve heard. But the little sparks I’ve felt for him in the past are nothing compared to the inferno Dante can light inside of me with a single glance.
We pull up to the museum. I feel a thrill at the sight of the long brick facade. This is where Dante dropped me off the day he stole the car with me in the backseat. I wish he were taking me to the ball, instead of Jules.
Since the party’s already in full swing, we have to wait in a line of a dozen limos and sports cars. Jules hands the valet the keys, then takes my arm to help me up the long, carpeted steps to the entrance.
In the grand hall, there’s so much chatter and clinking of glasses that I can hardly hear the music playing. I can’t deny that the array of brilliant masks and gowns are absolutely lovely. I see peacocks and butterflies, harlequins and fairies. Some people have gone with Italian-style gowns with bustles and lace sleeves, others with strapless princess-styles.
The men are mostly dressed in suits or tuxes. Some wear the classic columbina half-mask. Others wear the slightly disturbing volto full-face, the angular bauta, or the sinister scaramouche with the long nose.
“Would you like a drink?” Jules asks me.
“Thank you,” I say.
As he heads off toward the bar, someone sidles up next to me in a Plague Doctor costume.
“Simone . . .” a low voice whispers.
“Yes?” I say hesitantly.
“It’s me!” Emily giggles. She pulls her mask down just a little so I can see her bright blue eyes.
I laugh. “What are you doing in that?”
“Spying,” she says. “Sneaking around. Listening in on conversations.”
“What have you learned so far?”
“Oh, only that Jean VanCliffe brought his mistress to the party, not his wife—you can see her over there in the burgundy gown. And that Angela Price is high as a kite, which is why she’s been dancing all by herself for the last half hour.”
“Riveting stuff,” I tell her. “You should write a book.”
“Don’t tempt me,” she says. “I’d love to write a tell-all novel about the rich and famous of Chicago.”
“I don’t know if they’re actually that interesting,” I say. “Except to themselves.”
Jules comes back to join us, handing me a flute of champagne.
“Oh, sorry.” Emily grins. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your date.”
“It’s not—” I start.
“That’s okay,” Jules says, his lips smiling under his mask. “We came to socialize, after all.”
“Oh!” Emily says sarcastically. “I thought we came to support poor little kiddos that need new computers.”
“Right. Of course,” Jules says uncomfortably.
“She’s just teasing you,” I tell him.
“Right,” Jules says again.
That’s always been his weak point—no sense of humor.
“Should we dance?” he asks me.
He pulls me out onto the dance floor amongst the endless rotation of couples swirling around us. The band is playing “The Vampire Masquerade,” fittingly enough. Jules is a much more practiced dancer than Dante. But he’s almost flamboyant—he whirls me around, spinning me, even dipping me a little. It’s clear he wants as many people as possible to see us.
I do like dancing. I love all the rich colors, beading, and brocade all around me. The way the dresses swish and rustle, the way the fabrics shine, bending the light that glitters down from several chandeliers overhead. I like the sweet scent of champagne and a dozen perfumes, over the more mellow scent of the men’s pomade and aftershave, and the lower notes of shoe polish and leather.