Chapter Sixteen: Part 3

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“Oh good,” Gabriel said bitterly, “Here he comes.”

            Alice pasted a smile on her face as he neared them.  Alexie Ambrose was dressed head to toe in a brilliant white suit that contrasted with his tanned skin. He had on a black tie, shoes and a cane, as well as a black band on his top hat.  It made for a dramatic contrast.

“Alice!” he cried. “I’m thrilled you’re here!”

            “Hello.” Alice noticed Allira was there, dressed in a scarlet corset and black wispy dress, glowering at her over his shoulder. Of course.

            Since Ambrose had come to a stop, his followers had formed a group that lingered just behind him, most of them staring resentfully at Alice, or hungrily at Altair and Gabriel.  She noted that many of them were vampires, and of course, nearly all of them were women.

            Thinking about how many women he already kept at his beck and call made her flush red with anger. Ambrose moved to take her hand, and Alice kept her face carefully blank as he bent over it.

“Alice, my dear, you look simply ravishing in that gown.”

            “Thank you.”  It was probably proper to compliment him back, but she didn’t intend to.

            “Tell me, did you get my little apologies? I did so feel terrible for what happened at the last party.”

            “I did get them,” she said carefully, noting he hadn’t let go of her hand yet. “Thank you, they were very nice.” 

            “I should like to see the fur shawl on you the next time you come to a party.” Ambrose lowered his voice to a purr, and his finger stroked the side of her hand, his dark eyes drank her in. Her heart beat faster at his touch, and she felt annoyed that he could provoke such a reaction.

 “It is lovely. I’ll see about wearing it to the next party. Tell me, do you already know the theme?”  She was desperate to lead him into regular conversation. Too much more of this low whispering and finger caressing, and her reactions to him would become more obvious. She had never felt more confused. She wanted to hate him with every fibre of her being, but he continued to stir up feelings with each subtle glance or brush of his hand.

            “I haven’t decided yet.” He was still staring at her intently enough to make her uncomfortable. “What do you think?” Abruptly he threw up his arms and said loud enough for anyone walking by to hear, “What do you wish the theme to be? Say it and it shall be done! You and I shall plan my next party together!”

            Alice cursed inwardly. This wasn’t what she’d intended at all.

“Oh dear, I’m afraid I’m terrible at that sort of thing.” She reached back and pulled a startled Tricia forward. “However, my friend Tricia is marvellous at party planning and such. Very creative, aren’t you Tricia?”

            “Oh, yes!” squeaked Tricia, staring star-eyed at Ambrose. “You could do a French theme, with French invitations and fondue and wonderful French pastries! How marvellous! Or a dead poets’ party, where everyone dresses as someone famous and dead….”

            Ambrose interrupted her smoothly, “That sounds wonderful, Tricia dear. You are very… original.” He turned his dark eyes back on Alice. “Isn’t she enthusiastic?”

            Tricia continued to babble about party themes, and as she did so Ambrose nodded and made polite agreeing noises and stared at Alice the entire time. She cast her eyes downwards, studying the ballroom floor. Surely he couldn’t be as besotted as he pretended. She was tempted to ask what exactly he wanted from her, but maybe he would turn around and say he didn’t want anything, that he wasn’t paying special attention to her and to stop flattering herself. Maybe she was just overreacting.

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