The House of Grey- Volume 5 (9 page)

Monson, Marie and Grayson approached the group.

“What’s up fellas?” called Monson when he was finally within earshot of his friends.

“Grey!” Casey and Artorius echoed in unison. Casey stepped forward and he and Monson smacked hands, sliding back across each other’s palms, and then pounded their fists together.

They walked towards the arch as admirers strayed close, shuffling around them like stray dogs. Other boys, some Monson recognized, others he did not, stared openly at Indigo, Marie and Christy as they all talked. He tried not to laugh. Casey pulled him aside and spoke nervously.

“So what’s up?”

“Nothing much going on here. You guys look terrible, by the way.”

Casey ran a hand through his hair as he grinned.

“You’re one to talk.”

They both laughed, relieving some of their tension.

“So what’s with all the people?” asked Monson, looking around at the assembled crowd. There seemed to be more people here than there should be. He glanced around once more, this time noticing that many of them had cameras.

“Not a clue.” Casey shook his head. “I knew this was going to be high-profile but I thought all the picture stuff was supposed to happen at the entrance ceremony. Kind of weird, isn’t it? I wonder why they’re here.”

Artorius was the one who answered, surprising both Monson and Casey.

“I’ll give you one guess.” He pointed towards the door.

Taris Green was exiting the building

Stunning was the only word that described the glamour presence now filling the doorway. Her strawberry blond hair was pulled into an elegant up-do, tight spirals framing her face and a large cream-colored flower adorning the back. Her long, clingy dress was strapless; a tight band of iridescent green across the bust wrapped around to her back, gems sparkling against the fabric. The color of the dress gradually lightened to a creamy white at the bottom and continued to the end of the train making the lower part basically see through. Her light green shoes matched perfectly and added a very edgy look to the outfit; the straps wrapped around her legs, stopping just below her knee.

There was a collective gasp at her appearance. She stopped before the crowd, allowing people to swing their cameras to eye level and take dozens of shots of her million-dollar smile, which was accompanied by a look of surprised innocence that Monson was not quite sure he bought. Flashes erupted around them, lighting up the surrounding area. After a minute or two of this, Taris walked calmly towards Monson and the others.

“Good evening, everyone,” she said as she closed the distance between them. Monson tried to look at her properly but the cameras were still going off; it was really annoying.

“Evening,” replied Monson, approaching her. He gestured to the cameras. “Did you know about the photo op?”

Taris shot him a dimpled smile. “I had an inkling they might be here.”

Monson laughed. “I wondered why you weren’t upset about me not coming to get you.”

She shrugged. “Being a star is awfully cutthroat, you know. You have to take every advantage.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Taris’ eyes tightened playfully. “You’re making fun of me!”

Monson gave her incredulous look. “Now, would I do something like that?”

She gave him a smack on the arm; it actually hurt. “Silly boy.”

More cameras snapped at Monson as their lights blinded him. He shielded his eyes while Taris posed for more pictures. His gaze inadvertently shifted when a suspicious movement tugged at his peripherals.

Two people were now exiting the building, only one of whom Monson recognized. Kylie Coremack wore a sultry, ankle-length, Chinese-style dress of the deepest red. The dress’ slit was high, allowing free range of movement. Her crimson lips matched the dress, while her hair hung long and straight in all its golden glory. Kylie moved conspiratorially, apparently doing her best not to attract attention as she shielded another person whose head and shoulders were covered by a dinner jacket, a girl judging by the visible portion of the outfit. Damion Peterson, suspiciously jacketless, stepped out a half-second later and followed Kylie and the person under the jacket. Kylie led them quickly out of sight, taking an alternative route away from the flashbulbs. Monson strained to see. Who on earth could that be?

“Monson sweetie?”

Taris startled Monson as she grabbed onto him forcefully. Monson turned to look at her as she did. He cocked the eyebrow.

Sweetie?
he
thought. Since when do you call me ‘sweetie’?

Coherent thought died in the blitz of camera flashes that started up again right as Taris grabbed his arm. Monson instinctively threw up a hand, but dropped it as Taris whispered in his ear.

“I know it’s annoying, but roll with it for just a bit.”

Monson gritted his teeth and tried to do just that.

***

The Senators Room at Coren University was located on the eastern side of the campus. The central chamber of the Senators Room was where the festivities would commence, including the four-course Dinner of Elegance, which was part of the Spring Solstice tradition.

Monson and the others arrived at the gleaming marble staircase of the Senators Room and huddled together uncertainly as pandemonium descended upon them.

Reporters, security and wait staff lined the area, calling out, taking pictures, and herding guests up the stairs to the main entrance. Monson leaned into Taris, who was still holding onto him.

“Is it always like this for you?”

Taris drew him closer as she answered, breathing softly into his ear.

“An unrealistic life made up of unrealistic people, Mr. Grey. This world is the true test of any relationship. Can you handle it?”

“You sound like you’ve had some experience.”

Taris ignored his statement.

Monson pulled back to look at her as her words, as they so often did, left him baffled. His eyes connected with hers; connected in a way that they never had before. She gave him a look, a look that made him see only her, despite the tug and pull of unimportant people. Her eyes. They were shy, yet expectant. Monson was not sure how to respond to this coy Taris.

Taris leaned towards him, her eyes starting to close as she did. Monson kicked into panic mode; what was she doing? She was not going to…do that? Here? Now? Monson suddenly noticed that he was moving towards her as well.

She was…they were…Taris freakin’ Green was going to kiss him in front of all these reporters and TV cameras. Monson hesitated for just a fraction of a nano-second before Taris closed in. Wrapped up in their illusionary isolation, situational awareness fell to the wayside.

Still, something nagged at Monson, a bothersome lingering feeling. The situation seemed wrong.

The rush of the crowd behind them forced them to move and Monson pulled away from a closed eyed Taris.

After they parted, and began to automatically ascend the stairs, Monson and Taris–still in their own world
–walked headlong into the people in front of them. As he bumped the head of a girl in a dark dress, Monson instantly crashed back to reality and prepared to apologize.

“Sorry about that…” His voice trailed off as
a pair of frosty blue eyes
met his.

Chapter 50 –
Solstice

“Damion!”

Taris spoke in a strained tone. The cameras and voices were distracting. Damion answered Taris but Monson could not hear them, could not hear any of them.

Cyann looked like she had never looked before.

Appearing taller than normal above him on the first of one of the many landings of the staircase, her mountain of dark hair was curled and pulled elegantly to one side as rosy color lit up her cheeks—Cyann was wearing makeup! She never wore makeup! She did not need it; she, of anyone on the whole planet
, did
not need it. Monson wanted to look at her dress but was unable to pull his gaze away from her face…and her eyes.
Her eyes…were soft.

Those eyes dropped from him, enabling him to break away from her face and study the rest of her. Monson searched Cyann up, then down, and then up again. She had wrapped herself in floor-length black satin. The dressmaker had magically twisted liquid darkness into a tangible albeit airy
form; the sleeveless dress, with a slit to mid-thigh and a teardrop cutout below the neckline, was as beautiful and stylish as any found in the shops on Coren’s Main Street. .  Monson tried not to stare at that open space below Cyann’s collarbone as he contemplated whether it was the dress that made the girl or the girl that made the dress. Regardless, it fit her. The dress fit her like it was painted on. This observation did not apply only in the physical sense either, but to
her overall presence. It…no…
she was normally reserved, but now she totally overpowering in beauty and personality.

He wanted to tell her his thoughts but stumbled over his words even as Damion steered her away at a brisk pace.

The touch of Taris’ hand jolted him.

“Come on, Monson. They’re expecting us.”

Taris guided Monson up the remainder of the stairs, gripping him firmly as they ascended. They touched upon the final landing of the Senators Room, momentarily overwhelmed by the grand entrance doors towering above them. A virtual flood of flashing light smacked the two of them, forcing them to slow their place as they stepped into the opulent space.

The place was large and decadent to the point of being ridiculous. Suffice it to say that everything—everything—glowed creamy white, from the massive stone columns to the marble floors to the diamond-laced chandeliers. The distinct absence of color in the space, besides likely being impossible to keep clean, made the individual people milling around in their colorful evening attire really pop.

Reporters littered the place like rats in a junkyard, many screaming hysterically and calling Taris’ name. Monson spotted Cyann and Damion a short distance away talking with a group of reporters while burly security men stood impressively on either side. He narrowed in on Cyann’s face as she spoke. Her irritation was evident. The sound of his own name drew his attention back.

“Mr. Grey, what is it like being one of the richest people in the world?”

“How do you respond to continuing allegations of your grandfather’s involvement in the events at Baroty Bridge?”

“Is it true that you and Ms. Green are engaged?”

Monson did his best to push past the groups of reporters and cameramen while barely maintaining his composure. He muttered under his breath.

“If one more of those idiots mentions my grandfather, I may just hit someone.”

The smile on Taris’ face remained firmly in place. “It’s frustrating, I know. Like I said, unimportant musings of unimportant people. They can certainly try the patience.”

Monson leaned in a little closer to her. “You know, there’s something that’s been bothering me.”

Taris gave a perfunctory wave to a few enthusiastic fans specifically invited for the purpose. “Really? What’s that?”

“Why do you strive so much for the limelight when you obviously don’t like it?” 

Taris stopped smiling, arched her back, and turned to look at him. “Wow—that was random. What makes you say that?”

Monson started to run a hand through his hair, which Taris caught before it could do any damage.

“Don’t,” she said. “You don’t want to mess up your hair.”

Monson felt a renewed conviction as Taris stepped into him.

He stopped her, placing a hand on her hip to keep her from getting any closer to him.

“What’s the truth, Taris? What is it that you’re seeking in the camera flashes and gossip columns? What is so important that it drives you to remain in a lifestyle that you find so distasteful?”

The last hint of Taris’ smile faded as she looked at Monson. It was like the haze was lifted between them
;
like she was really seeing him for the first time. He actually pulled her closer without even thinking. Her answer sounded meek.  “You’re talking all crazy. Why would I do this if I didn’t love it?”

Monson laughed. “I don’t know, you tell me.”

A tug at Monson’s shoulder interrupted them. They both turned to face the newcomer when a particularly bright flash blinded them. The hand on his shoulder forced Monson into a hurried walk as yells of disappointment trailed him and Taris. What was happening? Why were people yelling?

Monson attempted to clear his vision and head, all while the sound around them swelled to a grating level. Monson heard the creak of a
seldom-used
door, then a resounding click and finally, silence.

Monson’s eyes slowly cleared and the form of a person came into view. While the person’s features were still fuzzy, his voice told Monson exactly who was directing them. Mr. Gatt clamped Monson on the shoulder.

“Mr. Grey, Ms. Green, welcome to the seventh level of Hades. I hope you brought your idiot repellant.”