The Fates (Book I) - 2014 Watty Award Winner!

1.11 - The Fiancée

A ringtone sounded from inside his robes.

“If you’ll excuse me, just a moment…” he apologized as he fished for his phone, the gown’s gaping sleeves complicating the effort.

Silvia took a peek at the diploma while Trevor took his call.

Cloe blinked at the pompous sheet of paper as her mother carefully withdrew it from the envelope. She hoped that her future career, whatever it was, wouldn’t be one that pressured her to post it on her office wall. At this point in her life, though, that seemed woefully unlikely.

Reading the vision in her daughter’s eyes, Silvia slipped it back into its crimson sheath.

Trevor had finished his phone call and was waving at someone approaching. “Hello, love.”

Cloe turned to see a lady dressed in dark grey gliding toward them. Trevor greeted her with a quick kiss on her alabaster cheek.

“Love, this is Cloe Turner, my brightest former student,” he introduced, “and her mother, Silvia.”

The woman extended a hand, and then spoke in a voice of pure syrup. “Charmed.”

Cloe caught herself staring at those smoothly angled cheekbones. Found that she couldn’t stop. This was the second face she’d seen today that seemed sculpted of stone—the first having been the man of marble by the garden, mere hours ago.

“And this is my fiancée, Charliese Primor,” Trevor proclaimed.

Somehow, Cloe had managed a functional handshake. Her mother seemed to manage more easily. Of course, thought Cloe; this is only her first time meeting someone from a bygone world.

Prof was busy singing Cloe’s praises, so she had a minute to consider the woman before her without having to speak. Miss Primor’s gaze was the same hue as her impeccably tailored dress, a steely grey that roiled like the underside of storm clouds. She was tall, of course, and thin. Every visible bone in her body was statuesque, from the arch of her brow to her toes pedicured in pitch black.

Perhaps most stunning were her upswept locks. Platinum, nearly as pale as pearl, yet certainly not white. A paradox of color and its absence. Somehow, it screamed that it was utterly natural—she was born with it, no matter how unnatural or supernatural it appeared.

Beneath the high noon sun, the shade of her hair shifted each second, hypnotizing at every turn. It must’ve been long when let down, possibly past her slender waist. For there was so much of it, piled lushly on her head, held in place with completely invisible pins. Or maybe little fairies, Cloe mused.

She recalled that Trevor had spoken fondly of his fiancée many times—he would say that she was a real catch, very special and such. Only Prof would describe a woman of this physical caliber as ‘special.’ It was quite nerdy-cute of him, really.

“And she’s set to attend Sterling Law School this fall,” Trevor announced, regarding Cloe.

Cloe tuned back in to the conversation and hoped that she’d not missed anything crucial.

“Oh, that’s fantastic,” Charliese cooed. “I’d always thought it was impossible to get admitted there, unless destined at birth to be a future president.”

“Which perhaps she is!” Trevor chimed in.

Cloe was about to object, but Prof spoke up again before she could.

“Plus, she did get a perfect score on the LSAT. On her first try, and without any prep.”

Charliese raised her tapered brows. “Well, that makes you a bona fide genius.”