I'm Normally Perfect (re-upload)

Chapter Twelve

When we were done Anthony said, 'Don't you like wine? It's a very good reserve,' his cold eyes flicked to my still full glass and back to me. He had the same oddly coloured eyes as Alex and their maternal grandmother, Laetitia.

'I-I don't really care for w-wine.'

'Then why did you let Constance pour it?'

I shrugged and looked at my lap.

Alex spoke up, 'Oh, really, Anthony. It's not that big of a deal.'

'It's just going to waste now. Americans are a wasteful lot, though, aren't they?'

Tears welled up in my eyes and I bit my lip.

Alex's tone was hard, 'I'll drink it, for God's sake.' I couldn't decide if she was irritated with her brother or with me.

'No, no. It's Catherine's. If she doesn't want it, she doesn't have to have it. She is our guest.'

He made it sound like I was a trial from God.

I could feel him watching me and when I finally forced myself to meet his gaze he was smirking, making me cry had amused him. I pushed my chair back and choked out, 'Excuse me,' before leaving the room. As soon as the heavy doors closed behind me I ran in the direction of my room. I had to slow down eventually and find a staircase; my room was two flights up, that was the only thing I was certain of. Once on the correct floor I wandered around in the dark. The house wasn't nearly as frightening in the dark as I should have thought. I was lost, but at least I wasn't with Anthony. I pushed open a door I thought might be mine and turned on a light to reveal a music room. It seemed like a rehearsal space, all of the walls were white and there was a grand piano in the middle of the floor, a bass was propped in the corner and a violin case was resting on a chair in another corner. I closed the door behind me and went to the window to watch the storm. That was a comfort to me; I slept better when a thunderstorm was raging outside. All I had to do was find my room, I decided to sit in the windowsill and enjoy the weather for a while before setting back out on my search.

After several minutes there was a knock on the door then Alex stuck her head in, 'Hey, you. I saw the light under the door. Are you all right?'

I shrugged, 'I'll be fine. Just being a baby.'

She closed the door and leaned back against it. 'No you're not, he was being a right jackass.' She held her hand up in a 'halt' gesture, 'He's my brother, I can say that.'

Tears pooled again and I turned toward the window, I didn't want to cry in front of her. 'I'm just not very...sophisticated. I've never been to a dinner that had a host, I didn't know you were supposed to wait for them to start.'

She put her arms about me and I rested my head on her chest. I could feel her chin on the top of my head. 'My brother thinks people are born knowing those things.'

'I'm sorry about the wine thing, too.'

She patted my back and gave me a squeeze. I didn't want her to let go. 'Oh, sweetheart. He didn't care about that, he was just trying to wind you up.'

I sniffed, feeling an idiot, 'It worked.'

'I think he's a bit jealous of you. He likes to have me all to himself, you see.'

'I understand that.'

The warmth of her was the most comforting thing. After a particularly long roll of thunder she asked softly, 'Do you know where your room is?'

'No. But I know where the piano room is.'

She chuckled and kissed me on the top of the head before releasing me, 'Glad to see your sense of humour has returned.' She took my hand and led me into the hallway, where we backtracked to a forking I hadn't noticed before and I saw I should have taken the right forking.

'I thought I was in the west wing.'

'That's more the north-west wing.'

'Oh.' I swung our clasped hands gently to and fro as we walked.

We came to a halt, and she opened my door, 'Here you are. The loo is the next door on your right. Are you going to be all right?'

I nodded and we hugged again and said our good nights, then parted for the evening. I took my pyjamas to the bathroom, found some Radox beneath the sink and had a long soak, then piled into my enormous bed and played that I was a character in a Dickens novel. Some bedridden aristocratic lady forced to conduct the business of running her estate from her room. I tried to get comfortable, but was having my usual difficulty falling asleep in a strange bed, a problem that had never plagued me at Alex's house for some reason, and only I managed to drift off after I closed my eyes and pretended that she was sitting up in bed, reading beside me.