Chapter Thirty

Stephanie

I check my image in the full-length mirror one more time, though it’s not as though I want to impress anyone.

Who am I kidding? It’s the first time I’ll be in the same room as the leader of a country. I guess I shouldn’t feel too guilty about wanting to dress for success.

That Alfie will be there should have absolutely nothing to do with it, right?

The last we communicated about anything personal was two days ago. We’d ridden all the way to the airport in total silence. We then got on the chartered plane, which was already filled with the rest of the band who had taken the same plane in from L.A.

In the plane and no longer needing to keep his eyes on the road, Alfie took every opportunity to glance at me, albeit surreptitiously, at every opportunity. I kept telling myself that it shouldn’t bother me, but before the plane even left the runway, I texted: Stop looking at me. Right before I pushed the send button, I added a comma and the word “please.” I’m not a total bitch.

The Others looked a little startled when we didn’t sit beside each other, but no one said anything, and I quickly closed my eyes and feigned sleep.

That was the last time our eyes met, which is amazing considering we speak all the time about logistics. Between arranging transportation, meeting times, practice rooms, and a thousand other working parts, we talk several times every waking hour. Well, that is if you consider texting to meet the definition of “talk.”

Just like Alfie and the members of the band, my work wardrobe consists entirely of Labyrinth t-shirts and jeans. I work for a rock band, an Other rock band, no one expects anything more than casual clothing from me.

Except tonight. Before Alfie and I broke up, Zoey drove with me to Atlanta and we went to a dozen stores, from high-end to fancy second-hand ones, to find a dress. This one is shimmery silver, made of fabric similar to the Saturday Night Fever halter top Alfie bought me.

Damn. I hope he doesn’t think I bought this to look good for him, although that’s exactly what I did. I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. That was before we broke up.

This is a state affair with many high muckety-mucks in attendance. The room has a high ceiling, dotted with chandeliers dripping with sparkling, iridescent crystals. The festively decorated banquet hall is ornate, yet somehow gives a welcoming feeling, seeming almost intimate. Luckily, all the fancy Ysarians don’t even notice my existence. They all seem gaga over the Others.

Alfie and Potentate Velorian are engaged in a one-on-one discussion. It appears serious until they burst into spontaneous laughter. This is what Velorian hoped for when he reached out to Alfie. It looks as though they’re both having a great time. We may have broken up, but I’m happy to see Alfie accepted and admired.

A very pregnant Emma sidles next to me, looking amazing in a knockout red dress with a generous helping of cleavage.

“Kam was so nervous; I’m surprised he didn’t barf on the way over.” She watches her hunky orc mate as she sips on her orange juice from a champagne flute. “Luckily, everyone’s so focused on the Others, you and I are chopped liver.”

I laugh, happy to be on the sidelines and out of the limelight.

“And Alfie? How’s he doing?” She turns from watching the crowd to assess my response.

When I don’t immediately answer, she adds, “Things seem decidedly… cooler between you than when you two visited the Zone.”

For a moment, I consider telling her to mind her own business, but I think better of it. After my fight with Alfie, before we left the country, I was in no shape to talk to anyone. I couldn’t exactly complain to Zoey about her fiancée’s brother, nor did I want to burden my parents. A sympathetic ear would be much appreciated.

“We broke up.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She doesn’t look surprised. I guess that’s not a shocker. Anyone with eyes would have noticed we don’t speak, and I’m on a separate floor of the hotel from him.

Somehow, the words come tumbling out. I tell her everything. Everything. Including Ashley and the sex shack. Well, I guess I didn’t tell her everything, because it’s only with persistent prodding on her part that I also dish about all his good qualities: his support, his generosity, and that he cooked me homemade biscuits. That brought a smile to her face.

“Orc males cook for their females as a courtship ritual. I didn’t know minotaurs did that too.”

Courtship ritual or not, it sure was sweet.

“Look at that.” She gestures with her flute of juice.

“At what?”

“There’s a lovely woman in a shimmering gold dress on your ex’s right. Watch that. Oh, she’s good. Managed to dip low, give him a great glimpse of her cleavage while appearing not to notice she’s putting on quite a show.”

I thought we were developing a friendship. Why would she point that out?

“Are you trying to make me jealous?”

“No. I’ve been watching him. She’s not the first flirtatious socialite to approach him, but it’s not her I want you to notice. Did you see his response?”

“No.”

“Well, he must have given her a clear rejection, because she’s moving on to the next single Other. I could be wrong, but it seems to me his eyes keep darting to you when he thinks you’re not looking.”

“I asked him not to.”

“Not to what?”

“Look at me.”

She steps closer, gently grips my wrist, and pauses until she captures my gaze. “Steph, are you sure you don’t want to patch things up? If you broke up because he’s such a player, I wonder if he’s changed his ways. From where I’m standing, he only has eyes for you.”