The Alters

47| Flickering Light

If it weren't for me impatiently tapping my foot at the top of the stairs, I highly doubt Warren would have gone inside on time.

He doubles over, clutching his side and laughing himself into stitches as if what I had said was causing him to come apart at the seams.

Every now and again, Warren will straighten up, take a deep breath, only to find himself back in hysterics, splitting his sides, and gasping for air.

I try to glower at him, I really try. But I know that with a smile warring its way onto my face, I don't appear nearly as intimidating as I'd like.

When he's finally done braying like a crazed mule, Warren regains himself, straightens his tie, and marches up to meet me at the top of the stairs.

"Thank you for that," Warren says, wiping away a tear. "That was a good laugh." And then he walks away.

That's it. No mention of my comment, no confirmation either—

Ugh.

I hide my face behind my palm and follow him down the hallway.

I probably wouldn't have even asked if Ari hadn't picked apart my figure earlier. That entire ordeal is still very present at the back of my mind, so that, coupled with my introduction to Dr. Golding and her very large...well, I guess it was only natural I'd feel a little curious.

But, again. Warren hasn't convinced me that he and Dr. Golding wouldn't make a good match. Dr. Golding's nice. She and Warren seem to have fun.

But then again, most people seem to have fun around Warren. He's affable.

It's somewhat vexing actually.

Warren strides into the banquet hall, with me trailing close behind. So many people have appeared since the half hour we've been gone. The room teems with chatter from the upper class.

Dozens of white linen tables are now crowded with people, pouring complimentary wines into their mouths and trivial conversation out of them. I pick up bits and pieces of their discussions as I walk by. Something about the weather, something about a yacht, something about someone's daughter.

I weave between their tables and try not to think about how many months of rent just one of their earrings could get me. You're jealous today. I reprimand myself. I'm not usually this insecure. Stand up straight, stop acting small. Besides, you can't slouch in this dress. It's backless. You'd look terrible.

Wait, hold on. This dress was probably expensive.

Holy heck, should I sell it?

Warren stops in front of a table near the stage and I, lost in germinating financial plans, nearly crash into him. Around the table's flowery centerpiece are several place cards. One says Waryam A. Reeves, the one next to it says Waryam A. Reeves +1. Warren pauses in front of the chair that I assume is for me, tapping two fingers against the top as if he's considering something. After a second, he shakes his head and sits in his own chair.