Special Agent | ✓

Twenty (II)

TWENTY (II)

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The building rose from the cobbled ground like a behemoth of shining glass, spires and intricate stone carvings. A dark red carpet appeared from its entryway, rolled out all the way to the edge of the canal. The straight line of the carpet was broke only by a bevy of photographers, who vied for the attention of various profiles who posed before a wallpaper of various logos.

Gavin climbed out of the water taxi, while Quinn paid the driver. They'd luckily fetched a water taxi which edged toward upper-class, as it blended in among the other private boats whose owners were attending the gala of Mr. Fabio Ricci. Slowly, they eased toward the entrance, shuffling in with the other guests. As they neared the entryway, Quinn felt her heartbeat increasing to an almost hummingbird-like frequency.

Breath caught in her throat, Quinn watched as the guards by the entryway to the gala peered at their tickets. With a curt nod not even a second later, they were ushered inside. The glitz and glamour continued inside of the grand building, the red carpet guiding them further into the belly of the elegant beast. Tons of guests milled around, carrying flutes of champagne of dainty canapés, satin skirts swishing past the shining floors.

There were at least three larger-than-life chandeliers dripping with shine from the ceiling, with crystals casting light across the cavernous roof. Barely — just barely — Quinn could see the intricate paintings detailing the roof of the gala hall.

"Bloody hell," muttered Quinn, tone low. "It's even ... fancier than I'd imagined."

Gavin glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, "Never been to a gala before?"

Quinn scowled at him, "You —" she glanced around, lowered her tone," — you special agents."

The emphasis on special was enough to clue Gavin in on the fact that it'd been less of a statement and more of an insult to his character and choice of profession. Taking the snide comment in stride, Gavin straightened up and offered his arm to Quinn.

Raising her brow, Quinn eyed his offered arm.

"We are married, after all." A rare grin breezed past Gavin's face, one that stunned Quinn to the extent that she rocked forward on her heels, grasping his arm lightly. They strode forward as a unit, eyes scouting the elegant guests floating past.

Quinn had to force a steely posture to keep her head from whiplashing everytime she thought she'd spotted Fabio Ricci. Instead, she had to paste an artificial smile across her face as people glanced at the two of them, inclining their heads in greeting.

They strode past the band, whose light, strumming music floated across the entire ballroom. Apologies fell out of their mouths as they brushed past several more of the guests. Quinn turned her head, let her eyes roam the cavernous room once more.

"We'll never find him like this," came her analysis, " — it'd be better to find higher ground."

Gavin had craned his neck, eyes fastened in the opposite direction from where Quinn had been looking.

"I don't think we need to search for him."

As if on queue, the Also sprach Zarathustra by Richard Strauss started echoing through the room, although not courtesy of the band. Instead, hidden speakers started belting out the familiar chords, to which Quinn listened with half an ear. Instead, she noted how the lights of the chandeliers dimmed, before a spotlight was turned on, a circle of light beaming down onto a set of sweeping marble stairs. The stairs ended in a flat, marble-floored balcony, before splitting up in two different sets of smaller stairs who led down to the floor on which the guests were mingling. However, Quinn's eyes were no longer on the stairs themselves.