Amber Frost (7 page)

“You’re embarrassing yourself enough as it is,” Sebastian murmured in a low though obviously angry voice. My mother’s sharp eyes shifted to him. I winced; this was going to be bad.

“What did you just say?” she demanded. Her thin lips were pursed together in distaste as she glared expectantly at him, her hazel eyes were sharp and threatening.

Sebastian opened his mouth as if he were about to answer, his expression unexpectedly apologetic. Before he could say a word though, a waiter walking behind my mother with a tray full of drinks suddenly slipped on some unseen object. The tray flew from his hands as he fell, the crystal glasses of wine launching into the air and drenching my mother as one landed right in her lap. There was a moment of shocked silence as the dark, red wine soaked into my mother’s creamy, silk dress, the wine spreading rapidly like blood from a wound. Then everything happened at once.

The waiter jumped up and began rapidly apologizing; my mother was speechless in her rage. Others moved towards her to offer assistance and she quickly managed to compose herself, graciously accepting the waiter’s apologies and trying to laugh at the turn of events but I could see the hidden fury in her eyes. My father reluctantly suggested he drive her home so that she might change. I watched in all happen in stunned silence. I couldn’t take my eyes from the spot where the waiter had tripped. There was nothing on the ground; the rich, red carpet was smooth and flat. It shouldn’t have happened. And why were the Jensons looking at Sebastian with such exasperated disapproval? Could he possibly have had something to do with this? No, I was being absurd. But how had that glass of wine ended up in my mother’s lap? Its trajectory couldn’t have been more specific if the waiter had thrown the glass himself. And not a single drop had touched me though I’d been seated only inches from my mother the whole time. It didn’t make any sense.

“Grace, I’m going to take your mother home to change.” My father’s deep voice interrupted my paranoid thoughts. “You should stay here; Clarke won’t want you to leave and I’m sure the Simons will keep an eye on you. We should be back in time for the dancing.”

“Yes, father,” I automatically agreed. I tried to keep the sudden surge of excitement from showing on my face. I no longer cared how the waiter had tripped or how the wine had soaked my mother, for things couldn’t have worked out more perfectly. I might even enjoy the Gala a little with my parents absent and I would certainly enjoy Sebastian’s company once I was no longer under my mother’s critical and accusing eye. My mother stared at me suspiciously.

“Perhaps we should move you over to the Simons’ table. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind making room for you,” she suggested.

“No, let’s not disrupt the evening any further. We’re quite happy to entertain Grace here until you return,” Mr. Jenson quickly interjected. My father seemed pleased by this but my mother looked even more sour as my father led her away. I glanced across the dance floor to the Simons’ full table. They all wore matching expressions of disapproval; whether it was her fault or not, my mother had made a scene and they certainly wouldn’t want to be associated with it. It should keep Clarke away until at least after the speeches and dinner were through. A smile tugged at my lips as I watched my parents leave.

“Are you pleased with the turn of events?” Sebastian asked from beside me.

“It certainly has made for a more interesting evening,” I answered, somewhat carefully. I looked quickly at the Jensons but they were whispering together quietly, giving Sebastian and I some privacy. “You shouldn’t have said that to my mother though, it was rude,” I scolded.

“She didn’t hear me,” he dismissed with a cheeky grin. “Besides, she was being rude to you. And she was wrong – you look exquisite tonight. Your beauty outshines all else.” I shrugged uncomfortably. It wasn’t the type of compliment I was used to – the words sounded the same but the genuine, intense emotions behind them were unfamiliar.

“She was just trying to look out for me. She likes me to look my best, she’s proud of me, in her own way.”

“You shouldn’t make excuses for her, especially ones you don’t believe yourself,” Sebastian quietly replied. I tried to glare at him but there was no real anger behind the look. He just stared back at me with his soft, dark gray eyes. I looked away, suddenly feeling self-conscious. I watched the waiters circulating around the room as they began to serve the appetizers. Each moved confidently, with obvious years of experience.

“So what’s the story behind your tattoo?” I asked, changing the subject.

“What do you mean?” He was frowning slightly as if he didn’t like the new direction our conversation had taken. I was happy for the attention to be off of myself.

“What does it mean? How long have you had it for? Does the school know you have it? And why don’t you get in trouble for having a tattoo, or for your earrings, or the way you wear your uniform?” The questions tumbled from my lips, gaining momentum after I got the first one out. He appeared to be amused by my sudden enthusiastic interrogation.

“I don’t want any trouble, so there isn’t any,” he answered cryptically. He watched my reaction curiously. “And my tattoos… I’ve had them for a very long time. I’m sure each has a different meaning but it’s very hard to explain…”

“They’re personal?” I guessed, trying to follow what he was saying. I often found myself struggling to decipher his words, grasping for meaning in his convoluted statements.

“I think so.” His eyes clouded over as he became lost in thought.

We sat in silence for a while. Conversations around the room were beginning to die down as the first speaker approached the podium. I turned my attention to the small stage, mentally preparing myself to feign rapt attention and interest in the boring speeches that would run through the course of our meal. I was in for a pleasant surprise. Once the first speech began, Sebastian snapped out of his introspection. He leant closer to me to add his own running commentary to the speeches in his low, musical voice. His thoughts were both entertaining and intriguing and I soon found myself pulled into various whispered debates and discussions with my strange new friend. The evening flew by and before I knew it, the last speaker was being applauded as our plates were cleared and the musicians began to set up on the side of the dance floor.

“What’s wrong?” Sebastian asked, a touch of concern to his lilting voice.

“Nothing,” I answered, suppressing a sigh.

“You’re really not as good a liar as you seem to think you are.”

“Who says I’m lying?” Sebastian silently arched a brow at me. I hesitated, debating on whether to speak truthfully or not. “My parents will be back soon. And Clarke’s making his way over here now. I’ll have to go speak with his parents and then he’ll expect me to dance with him for the rest of the evening. And… I just wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye,” I admitted.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Gracelynn,” he argued, solemnly.

“I do.” Even I could hear the sadness in my voice.

“Grace,” Clarke greeted me as he approached. “I trust you’re feeling better? My parents are waiting to see you. My father wants to apologize for the seating mix up, especially after seeing what company you were forced to keep over dinner,” Clarke added rudely. He made no attempt to lower his voice in front of either Sebastian or the Jensons. Sebastian was watching him, a blank, unreadable expression on his face. Mr. Jenson was red-faced and glaring, Mrs. Jenson was staring down at her hands, looking ashamed. It was too much.

“No,” I whispered. Sebastian’s eyes moved to my face as I spoke.

“Come on, Grace. Let’s not keep my father waiting,” Clarke continued. He either hadn’t heard me or was choosing to ignore me. He tugged impatiently at my hand. I pulled away.

“No,” I repeated in a slightly stronger voice. “I’m happy here.” The words rang true as I said them. I felt empowered by my pronouncement, bold. It was a rush.

“Grace, what’s wrong with you?” Clarke hissed, his eyes darting around nervously, ensuring no one would overhear us. The small orchestra was starting to play, the flowing classical waltz disguising our conflict. “Come with me,
now
,” he insisted. He reached out and grabbed my wrist, squeezing it harder this time as he attempted to pull me up from my seat.

I hadn’t noticed Sebastian get up, but suddenly he was standing right there beside me. He pushed Clarke’s hand from my wrist, easily breaking his strong grip. Angry red finger marks were left against my pale skin.

“She’s made her decision,” Sebastian told him firmly. His voice no longer sounded inviting; his tone was dark, his voice flat. His eyes seemed to have darkened and hardened as he stared unwaveringly at Clarke. Clarke hesitated a moment before responding, obviously unsure of how to react. He wasn’t often challenged.

“You’re going to regret this,” Clarke warned. His eyes shifted back and forth between Sebastian and myself, making it unclear to which of us he spoke. Perhaps he meant his threat for us both. Another mask had fallen tonight; Clarke’s handsome face was twisted into an ugly sneer, his eyes beady and glaring. It lasted only a moment. He quickly regained control of himself, clearing his expression to neutral passivity as he spun on his heel and strode back towards his own table. My hands began to tremble as I watched him walk away. What had I done?

“Your parents are back,” Sebastian told me quietly. He watched me with uncertainty.

I turned to look towards one of the arched entranceways into the banquet room. My parents had indeed returned, my mother sporting a beautiful red gown, appearing flawless and happy once more. They were slowly making their way towards us. My hands shook even harder and my mouth went dry as I realized they would soon discover how I’d snubbed the Simons.

“I can’t…” My voice trailed off weakly. Sebastian quickly put one of his smooth, warm hands over mine, stilling my trembling.

“It will be okay,” he told me reassuringly, staring deeply into my eyes. He rubbed my hand gently, comfortingly. A small thrill ran through me that had nothing to do with my anxiety. “Don,” he turned to Mr. Jenson as he spoke, “Grace needs a little more time before facing her parents again. Would you distract them for us?” Both of the Jensons rose as Sebastian spoke.

“You know we will,” Mrs. Jenson replied quietly, she sounded tired. Mr. Jenson nodded his agreement but hesitated, looking like he was debating whether or not to speak. His eyes moved to Sebastian’s hand on mine and he frowned.

“Sebastian, you don’t know what you’re doing. Be careful,” he warned. He looked worried as he took his wife’s hand and weaved with her through the tables, on course to intercept my parents’ path towards us.

“What –” I began to ask.

“Come, dance with me,” Sebastian interrupted. His hand tightened around mind as he gently pulled me up.

“You want to dance? Now?”

“Yes. And I always get what I want so don’t waste your breath arguing with me,” he told me with a smile. I allowed him to guide me around our table to the dance floor, aware of the many eyes that were upon us. I hoped Clarke wasn’t looking; he’d be even more furious with me. I didn’t look in his direction though – I couldn’t. I found myself unable to look away from Sebastian. My heart pounded hard in my throat. And then before I could think of what I was doing, before I could question what I was feeling, Sebastian spun me into his arms and out amongst the swirling, dancing pairs, his movements steady and sure and in perfect time with the waltz’s rising tempo.

I fell into the smooth, bobbing rhythm of the waltz effortlessly, automatically. My mother had insisted I take ballroom dancing lessons from a very early age onwards and though I had always hated classical dancing, I loved the concept. The idea of expressing oneself through movement and dance had always appealed to me but ballroom dancing itself felt so repressive, so structured and rigid. It was yet another form of control, another expectation that I always felt like I was failing to meet. I was a good dancer, I knew I was talented, yet I still secretly despised it. Of course I would never admit so to my parents; they’d never understand.

As I moved across the dance floor with Sebastian I gave in to my training and instincts, letting Sebastian lead. He surprised me by leading well; he danced confidently, his rhythm perfect, his steps smooth and sure, his control impeccable. His eyes were fixed on my face as we danced, a curious, speculative look in his eye. I stared back at him, examining his long, dark lashes, his smiling lips, his soft and mussed black-blue hair. I was struck again by the realization of how truly attractive he was. It was hard for me to think of him that way though, he so obviously wasn’t my type.

“You’re a very good dancer,” he complimented me.

“Thank you,” I replied automatically. Truthfully, I wasn’t flattered. I’d heard it many times before. The compliment was so generic, it was almost a disappointment to hear it from him. He arched an eyebrow at me, seeming to guess my thoughts.

“You’re unhappy,” he stated.

“Yes,” I agreed as we bobbed and span in time with the music, our feet gliding across the floor. “I’ll have to face my parents in a moment. And dancing… dancing isn’t the best distraction, for me.” He nodded thoughtfully. His face suddenly brightened.

“Let’s make things more interesting then,” he suggested, a playful, dimpled smile lighting up his face. “See if you can keep up.”

Before I could ask what he meant, he suddenly changed his rhythm, his movements hitting the wrong beats for a waltz. I followed his lead, adjusting my steps to fall in time with his. I gave him a puzzled frown. He laughed softly as he spun me out into the center of the dance floor, out of formation with the other dancers.