❝Love without conversation is impossible.❞
—Mortimer Adler
Three hours. Three whole hours to get me ready.
I spent my morning in bed, filling up on ice cream and bitterness. I would've downed some vodka if I had any. Frankly, that vodka bottle Hercules stole and gifted me would really be appreciated now, but unfortunately, I left it at our apartment in Manhattan.
It was around two PM when the swarm of makeup artist and wardrobe coordinators came flooding into our room like a cloud of bees. Reynolds and Joy Nova were at the head of the hive, already dressed elegantly in very expensive clothing.
Alexander and I were taken to separate rooms to be worked on. It's been three hours since we've seen each other and...
March 31, 2059.
The day of the ball.
"Ouch."
"Sorry!"
"Ack! Too tight."
"We won't tighten it anymore."
"I am not wearing that."
"I'm afraid you have no choice.
By the end of the three hours, it was nearly five-thirty and I was done with the hair, makeup, and wardrobe working. I was aware that I was being transformed into something beautiful. I've been in my cocoon for a long time, and now it's time to emerge as a butterfly.
The team, under the supervision of Joy, makes final adjustments to the long, elegant dress I'm wearing. Then they take a step back and admire the work.
I stand (rather shyly) in the middle of the room, giving the most elegant pose I can produce. They gawk and beam.
"Oh my. She's absolutely stunning."
"Don't cry, Matilda."
"We've done a wonderful job."
I don't know how I look yet. There is no mirror in this room, but there is a large, full-body mirror in the next room. That's where our next stop is.
"Would you like to see yourself?" Joy asks.
Despite all the anger that's been bubbling in me all day, I feel a spark of childish excitement pulsing in me.
"Yes, please," I softly nod.
Joy takes me by the arm carefully and leads me through the door and into the next room.
"I want you to see yourself alone," she hums. With that, she exits the room and closes the door, leaving me by myself.
I feel a little nervous, but very excited. I catch sight of the large mirror on the opposite wall, and gradually, I walk towards it.
I freeze upon seeing my reflection. My immediate thought terrifies me.
Who are you?
My skin seems to glow gorgeously. It's flawless. My eyelids are painted with a misty-blue eye shadow, an eyeliner wing stroked on. My lashes are elongated with a light amount of mascara. My lips look dangerously kissable with the gentle lip gloss. My hair is done up in a complex and elegant style, a blue ribbon is woven into the hair and tied into a bow at the end, the ends of the ribbon falling to my neck. Diamond earrings hang from my ears, a matching diamond necklace around my neck. I'm wearing a pair of silver heels that give me an extra two inches to my height. But the thing that pulls the whole look together is the dress. It flows behind me in beautiful shades of blue, silver, and a little black. In the front, the expensive material sparkles softly in the light. The neckline is low enough to tease a man's desires, but high enough to seem modest. Similarly, there is a leg cut along my left leg, showing off my skin starting from my mid-thigh and below. A blue ribbon, similar to the one in my hair, is tied around my waist, seeming to make the curve of my body more prominent.
I inch closer to the mirror, looking at my figure up and down. I reach my hand out, stroking the surface. I whisper to the girl in the mirror, hoping for a response.
"Who are you? You're not (Y/N). You're beautiful. You're famous. And you're loved. That's not (Y/N). I wish I were you."
My train of thought is interrupted when another door opens on the opposite side of the door I entered from. It's a slow creak. I turn on my heel and look to see who it is.
Alexander.
He enters cautiously, his eyes trained on the floor.
Alexander looks amazing.
I've always known Alexander, as far as handsomeness goes, is high on the charts. The work done on him seems to accentuate this. His hair is freshly cut and combed stylishly. He wears an expensive-looking five-piece suit. His dress shirt underneath is a clean white. The waistcoat over that is a dark blue — the same color as my dress; his trousers and suit jacket match this shade. A black tie is perfectly done around his neck. In his breast pocket, a black handkerchief is tucked neatly. His shiny black shoes seem to make him a little taller. An expensive watch is wrapped around his left wrist. I've always envied Alexander for his natural looks. But, God...
Alexander's violet eyes gaze up at last, and he freezes in place upon seeing me.
Just as I had been analyzing him, Alexander's eyes scan me up and down. From the ribbon in my hair to the heels of my shoes. He looks transfixed. It takes him quite a while to bring his eyes back up to meet with mine, but when he does, his expression remains dazed.
"You look beautiful."
I purse my lips together to an appreciative grin.
"You look quite dapper yourself, Alexander."
Alexander strides next to me. We stare at our reflection.
"Look! I'm almost as tall as you now!"
"I feel like less of a man."
"I'm glad we're matching," I giggle.
Alexander scoffs. "I don't understand what it is with women and matching."
"Matching is cute." I place my hands on my hip, then look over at Alexander. "Ready for this show?"
"I'm glad you finally noticed that this is nothing but a show."
"I've always known," I roll my eyes.
"You sure? You've been acting really pissy about it for the past month."
I nudge him away playfully. "So, tonight is really the night, huh?"
Alexander nods and heaves a heavy sigh. "That it is. Never in a thousand years did I think we'd stand here — you and I — preparing to attend a ball in our honor."
"Aren't we a special little pair? You know this situation is your fault, right?"
"I hope it is," Alexander teases.
I take a deep breath, honestly assessing my emotions, and admitting them blatantly. "I'm not ready for this."
Alexander, noticing my confession, offers his own. "I'm a little nervous. How about you?"
"Very nervous."
He gently pats my head, making sure to avoid ruining my hair. "I hope I can ease you a little as we drive to the venue."
I know what he means.
We have been discussing this night for a while now, but more so as of late. We have been coordinating our movements through the void. It's impossible to enter that ball and just have a fun time. We're on a mission to conquer the unconquerable.
He and I know exactly who we're going to talk to, who we're going to avoid, and who we're going to charm. By the sound of it, Alexander intends to do a run-through of the plan as we get to the venue.
Yes, that would ease my nerves a little more. If I remember the plan, I won't be so anxious.
I grab Alexander's wrist and look at his watch. "Alright, we should be going now."
As if on cue, Reynolds comes in from the room Alexander came from. He's dressed in a black and white suit. He gives us a sideways glance, then flashes a small grin. "Off we go, team. The venue doors will be opening soon."
It's a blur for quite a while. In a few minutes, Alexander and I are sitting in the back of a luxury limousine. I've never been in a limo before, let alone seen one in person. Behind and in front of our limo are two black cars with bodyguards. I don't understand; do they expect someone to try to murder us tonight? It's ridiculous.
Joy and Reynolds take separate vehicles. I don't know where they are.
But I'm glad we're alone. We need to be alone to talk.
Lounging in the comfortable seats, Alexander and I begin the discussion.
"This is our one chance, (Y/N). Tonight can make or break our chance at conquering all sides."
"I know, Alexander."
"The most elite of the three sides will be present. That means we can't afford to be standoffish or shy. We must be deliberate and demanding."
"Yes, I know."
"You remember the names of the people you must talk to, right?"
I nod. "I know the names and faces."
Seeing as there are so many essential people we must speak to, Alexander and I decided that we must split up responsibilities. He will be talking to a dozen or so folk, and I'll be talking to another dozen. It's like covering more ground.
"Name a few," Alexander challenges.
I bite my lip and dig into my memory. The names and faces are clear in my mind. "Among others, I'll be targeting Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, John Adams-"
"Who is your number one target?"
I bite my lip. It was either Jefferson or-
"Maximilian Lakes, the Speaker of the House and the most influential politician at the moment. Right?"
Alexander gives an approving nod. "Don't be intimidated by all the testosterone."
I scoff. "I'm surprised you're letting me talk to so many men."
"I was hesitant at first, but I figured you and your targets are smart enough to keep things professional, especially considering the swarms of reporters that will be present."
I cringe at the thought of reporters watching my every move. I give Alexander a reminder. "The reporters will be watching us constantly. Who we're talking to, for how long, and about what."
"You're right," Alexander sighs. "Which means you must be careful. Beware of eavesdroppers. There will also be reporters trying to ask you questions."
"Should I answer questions?"
"Well, that depends. If you can answer the question without making unnecessary enemies, then go ahead. If not, it's best to ignore."
I squint my eyes. "Something tells me you're going to be answering a lot more questions than me."
"Maybe it's because I'm smarter."
I smack his arm.
"Geez, I was joking."
"I lean back in my seat and bite my lip. "Did you ask if Lavien would be coming?"
Alexander and I consulted with me a few times in the past month while he was planing, figuring it's best to just leave me alone. But one thing he did tell me was that he made the executive decision to deliver Lavien a "special invitation".
I was astonished to hear Alexander asked Lavien to come. I don't want Lavien breathing the same goddamn air as me. But Alexander apparently wants him present... I could have and would have argued with Alexander over this, but I didn't.
Alexander wants Lavien here... for reasons I can only begin to imagine. Perhaps he sees this ball as another one of his achievements, and he wants Lavien here to make him proud.
But I thought Alexander didn't need Lavien's approval, regardless of his yearning for it.
"I don't think so," Alexander murmurs, his eyes downcast. "It's kind of shitty to think about. I thought he'd want to come..."
I put my hand over Alexander's shoulder, my heart aching to see the saddened expression upon his face. "Don't worry about him. Just keep our goals in mind. Do you remember who you must talk to?"
Alexander inhales deeply. "Among others, Thomas Paine, Benjamin Franklin, Chase Felder, Abigail Adams-"
"And your number one target?" I ask his question back.
Alexander gives me a small smile. "Elizabeth Schuyler, famed actress and the most influential social symbol of our time. Right?"
He's mimicking me, so I smack him again.
"Ouch."
"Keep the flirting to a minimum."
"No promises. I mean, have you seen her? She's quite the specimen."
"She's a person, not a science experiment, so don't play with her heart."
"It would be fun to flirt with the girl," Alexander sighs. "And it would be easier to gain a higher position on the social side."
I furrow my brows. "Fine. I guess I'll grind up against Maximilian Lakes, make it to the top of the political sphere, and we can call it a day, right?"
Alexander chortles sarcastically. "Haha, no."
"Then keep it family-friendly with Elizabeth."
Alexander gives me a dubious look, then he smirks. "We'll see."
♙♟♙♟♙
How long is this party supposed to go on for?
When we got there, I was surprised to find the place already packed. The large ballroom, lit appropriately for the night, is alive with politicians, celebrities, and soldiers. It turns out, we came rather late... A little detail I'm sure the media will emphasize.
I was amazed by the scenery. Beautiful music being played by a band. Several refreshments tables along the left side of the room. Tables and seats along one corner. The walls are decorated beautifully with American flags.
The guests are all dressed formally. AC troops, upon our request, wear their ASU uniforms — formal black suits with their medals and ribbons. Celebrities wear — as could be expected — overly expensive and dramatically large outfits; I saw a woman pass by dressed like a fucking giraffe. It attracts the attention of the people, which they want. Politicians are dressed modestly; suits and knee-length skirts. Reporters, as was required, have large stickers on their clothing, saying their name and the media they work for.
For example, "Uriah Carlson. Foe News."
For the first hour or so, Alexander and I laid low. We greeted some people who we were familiar with and made small talk with.
Rory and Peggy. They seemed to be enjoying themselves as they taunted the media and planned to steal their notepads and pens. They also took the time to seethe with me about the French soldiers denying our invitation. I'm glad they still feel comfortable around me, despite how massively-famous I feel at this moment.
Charles and Burr. We were happy to see Charles. Charles was happy to see us. We weren't happy to see Burr. Burr wasn't happy to see us. But we played nice with Burr and Burr played nice with us. It was really great to see Charles again — I missed him a ton. And he said it was nice to see me too, so I've got that going for me.
Alexander and I even sought out Molly Pitcher. We said hello, and that's pretty much it. She was surrounded by journalists, asking her questions about other photos of us. I would pity her if there weren't a line of journalists walking behind us like some goddamn ducklings.
We all have our own shit to deal with.
I wanted to find John. I know he's here, I just need to find him in the crowd. Alexander told me it was no use. I believed him.
As the night went on, Alexander and I gave each other a quick nod, then departed. The journalists seemed confused at first, then they split into two groups to follow us. It concerns me that they haven't asked me any questions yet. What are they waiting for?
I couldn't worry about that. I had people to talk to.
I found my targets pretty quickly, and I made polite chat with them.
Patrick Henry. Quite the polite Republican politician. Reserved and smiley.
It makes me wonder how he was somehow the same Representative who shouted out he'd rather die than have Russian influences in the country.
"Considering the current climate, I believe it is crucial to remain united as a nation to ensure we can stand against the Voyna forces," he said softly. "Regardless of political parties, we are all Americans. I believe the Democrat's refusal to accept this is the reason why they lost both chambers in Congress, the Executive Branch, and soon, the majority in the Supreme Court. Their continued support for the Russians deters the sane in the country."
I nodded and pretended to understand. I replied mildly so the surrounding journalists wouldn't misconstrue my words. "Oh, yeah. It's quite the mess in Congress. I agree. If the Democrats want to gain any leverage in the federal government, they need to bring themselves closer to the center."
"That hasn't happened since 2004."
We laughed together, and I pretended to know what I was laughing at. Still, I saw the journalists madly scribbling in their notepads. Laughing was a bad move, wasn't it?
I moved on.
John Marshall. A cold and curt Supreme Court Justice.
Supreme Court Justices aren't supposed to have biases. John Marshall very much does, just like everyone else. He's very fond of Democrats.
"I have no doubt that those obnoxious Republicans coordinated to dress in red," he hissed. "They're always so cultish like that. They're trying to use this ball as an opportunity to make some sort of political statement. What do you think it is?"
I blinked, highly intimidated. I was relieved that I'm wearing blue. "I don't... I'm not really sure of the message. Do you know?"
"They're trying to tell us that we're going to lose the Supreme Court majority. Those revolting men and women are taunting us."
I nodded my head fervently, looking around and trying to look for anyone else to talk to. The journalists seemed to note my urgency.
I moved on.
Mateo Yale, Joseph Wolf, and Camille Oakford. The three political pundits and influential journalists, sometimes referred to as the "Triple Threat", were more interested in me than I was in them.
"My goodness, your hair is absolutely fabulous," Mateo gasped, his voice laced with a British accent. He hovered his hand over a loose strand of hair. He then hovers it over my dress. "And this dress! Dear me. It's simply marvelous. I'm afraid to get too close or touch it... may I?"
"Umm, go for it," I force a grin.
He touches the fabric gingerly, listing out all the materials he thinks it's made of. Meanwhile, Camille flashes me a pearly-white smile.
"Don't mind him. Anyway, how are you enjoying the ball so far, (Y/N)?"
"Oh, it's going great. I've met so many people so far," I beam.
"You sure do have a crowd," Joseph huffs, giving a wicked glare at the journalists behind me. He also has a noticeably-British accent.
"Yup," I nod.
"They're all insufferable," Camille murmurs. "A biased journalist isn't a journalist at all."
"Which is why they hate us so," Joseph growls. He points to the journalist sticker upon his chest. "We're founders of the Alliance Post. Have you heard of us? One of the fastest-growing online news providers in the nation."
I nod and spew out a lie. "Oh, I've heard of it."
"Your dress has some of the finest material I have ever seen," Mateo fawns, fluffing the furry coat he wears. "Oh, and yes. The media hate us. Joseph and Camille here think it's because we're such powerful figures. Such sweethearts. But I think it's because I'm so much more attractive than them all! All three of us are so fabulous!"
"Of course," Joseph nearly rolls his eyes at his friend. "But yes, I warn you to beware of the media. All they do is lie to push a political agenda. On our news site, we prioritize the truth over political leanings."
"We'll come to your defense if you need it," Camille nods politely. "You're our ally as far as we're concerned."
"Thanks."
The mass media journalists swarming behind me were practically foaming and hissing at the Triple Threat. Fake media doesn't appreciate truth media.
My heart drums in my chest as I begin to seek out my more important targets. Some of the highest of the high in America.
John Adams.
I find the man by the refreshment table, looking quite pompous and royal-like with his big belly. He was speaking to another man, but once they see me approaching, the man finds interest in something across the room and abandons Adams. I pounce.
"Senator John Adams! It's nice to meet you!"
He glares at me for a moment, forcing an insincere grin. "Ah, Miss Hamilton. Have you come to keep me company as your brother makes chat with my wife?"
Adams points a thick finger, and I follow it to see Alexander standing several meters away, talking to a small, sweet-looking woman. She's giggling and talking cheerfully with Alexander.
"Ha," I laugh softly. "Pardon my brother. He acts like this often. But I came here because, frankly, I wanted to speak to you!"
The portly man blinks a few times. He pours two glasses of punch, handing one to me.
"Thank you."
He takes a long sip from his glass, and, assuming that he will wait a while before answer, I also take a sip of the fruity drink. I can taste a tinge of bitterness — alcohol.
He holds his glass in his hand, his eyes seeming to demean me. "I've been the Senate Minority Leader since President Eaton won his first term and took office in 2053. Do you know what the Senate Minority Leader does?"
I sip my punch. I've never been more grateful for Alexander's government teachings than at this moment.
"Yes, I do."
"I have been planning to run for President ever since I saw that deplorable man take office," Adams says. "But as it stands, the people are fond of Eaton. Despite his flaws and his temper, he has both Republicans and moderate Democrats planning to vote for him in 2060."
"They are," I agree blankly.
"Which is why I have been standing down and waiting for a chance. I've been waiting for the people to turn on Republicans. It hasn't happened yet. I'm getting tired of waiting, and I think it is best to prevent Eaton from running in 2060."
I scoff. "You can't stop him."
Adams grins wickedly. "Do you know of the 22nd Amendment?"
Really. Thank God for Alexander's lessons or I'd feel like a goddamn idiot right now.
"Yes. It says you can only serve two terms in the presidency. The 22nd Amendment was repealed by the 28th Amendment."
"I'm planning on getting support to bring it back. Reinstate it, meaning Eaton can only serve two terms. Considering he is in his second term, he'd be unable to run in 2060. It would give a Democrat, like me, a chance in 2060. I already have support from the likes of Representative Cuneyt Uyghur of California, Representative Angelica Schuyler of New York, and a dozen others."
I furrow my brows, the whole situation seeming shady. Not for the reason you'd think. Alexander taught me a lot about these things and I don't hesitate to bring them up to Adams.
"If I recall correctly, it was Democrats who were the driving force in passing a ratifying the 28th Amendment. When was it passed? The early 2030s? Yes, I believe so," I coo.
Adams glares at me suspiciously, appearing unappreciative that I'm speaking up. "That's irrelevant."
"I'm not done," I say. "The Democrats passed this because they controlled the Presidency and both chambers in Congress. Democrats hoped to keep the Democratic President at the time — who was it? — President Adlen in office for more than two terms, right?"
"Yes..."
"But now that Republicans control the Presidency and Congress, you want to remove the limitless term rule? So that President Eaton, a Republican, can't run anymore?"
Adams is bitter now. "Yes."
"That's a little hypocritical, don't you think?"
He lowers his voice. "Who cares? It's what one must do to get control in politics. That's the rules in these games! We have to break rules and break morals. That's just part of the game."
"I suppose you'd break knees if it came down to it, wouldn't you?" I sneer.
The man bears his teeth. "I was hoping that perhaps you and your brother would be willing to publicly announce disdain at Eaton's 2060 run. But by the sound of it, you and your brother are little partisan fans of the temperamental rat."
"I wouldn't say that," I shrug hauntingly, setting down my glass of punch cooly. "But I don't think we're fans of the idea of President Adams either."
He looks me up and down as if assessing his chances of successfully kicking my ass. Perhaps knowing that he'd get the shit beaten out of him, he stands stiff. "I'd think a Russian like yourself would be supportive of Democrats. We're fighting for you."
"You're fighting for Communism... And I'm not Russian."
He smirks wickedly. "Whatever you say, Comrade." He glances over at Alexander, who has ended his conversation with Abigail Adams. "And your brother is a bastard."
I let the fat fuck get the last word. It will give him something to soothe him to sleep after crying over his low chances of ever being President. After watching him saunter to his wife, I turn away. Just as I do, I catch a glimpse of a woman pass by. I smile. She's not one of my targets, but I can't help but call out her name.
"Angelica Schuyler."
The woman stiffens up for a moment. She looks over her shoulder, and upon seeing me, her top lip raises... in disdain. Holy shit. Does she dislike me? What did I ever do to her?
Hoping that this isn't the case, I begin to stride to her. She quickly turns away and breaks through a group to get away from me. Yeah, she definitely dislikes me.
Why? I haven't done anything to her. If anything, she should be comfortable with me; I'm sure she's aware that I'm friends with her little sister.
I stop in my tracks, feeling quite embarrassed. I look around, hating how quickly the stupid journalists are writing in their notepads. I can see the headlines already: "(Y/N) Hamilton Ignored by Angelica Schuyler!"
I can't let that happen. I continue to follow her, but just as she comes back into view, I'm met with another sight: Alexander has gotten to her first. What the fuck? Angelica isn't one of his targets either. He and I both agreed that making chat with Angelica was pointless since we could probably get to her through Peggy anyway. So why has Alexander made the decision to talk to her? Why is he smiling like that?
I hold my breath for two seconds, then turn away. I have other things to worry about.
Just as I do turn, I bump into one of my bodyguards. I've gotten around to knowing the names of my two personal bodyguards: Calvin and Reagan (they're brothers). Both stern, strong, and surprisingly willing to die for me. It's all apart of the job. The one I bumped into is Reagan.
"Pardon," he says.
"My fault," I breathe.
Calvin gives Reagan a "you idiot" look, then they take a few steps back to allow me to pass.
Calvin and Reagan, just like the journalists, have been watching me from afar. But unlike the journalists, it's not to catch juicy news. They're dressed as any party attendee would be as to blend in.
Well, the stupid reporters obviously can't tell that this is my bodyguard. They scribble madly. I don't want to imagine what they're writing: "(Y/N) Hamilton in Love With Mystery Man?"
They'll blow anything up.
Ooo. If there's anything they should blow up, it's who I'm about to talk to: Thomas Jefferson and James Madison.
How can I not recognize them?
James Madison: rather small and thin. Almost frail and delicate. A butterfly. He has powerful blue eyes that seem to glow with thoughts and intelligence.
Thomas Jefferson: he's tall enough for both Madison and him. My, is he tall. His hair is reddish in color and his eyes are bright with motion and life.
The pair are stars in the Senate; the two Senators for Virginia, in fact. (Thomas Jefferson is the Senate Majority Leader, and James Madison the Senate Majority Whip). They're stronger than glue, from what I've heard; best of friends since forever. They're feathers of birds... or something like that. Powerful Republicans... Time to slide into their cheerful conversation and act like I own it.
They don't see me coming until I'm there.
"Hello!"
"Gah!"
Jefferson and Madison jump up, looking over to me. They calm when they see it's just a girl in a dress and not someone to murder them.
"Dear Lord," Jefferson gasps for air.
Madison blinks rapidly, seeming to be put out of breath just by my sudden entrance. "(Y/N) Hamilton," he breathes. "The star of the ball."
"You flatter me, Mr. Madison," I smile.
"So you know us already?" Madison raises a brow.
I grin wider. "'Course I do! You two are quite respectable men."
Jefferson beams cockily. "And despite what others may say 'bout you, we think you're quite the respectable woman."
I blush a little. This will be a nice exchange. "Thank you, Mr. Jefferson."
"It takes a strong woman to be thrown into the social spotlight and remain sane," Jefferson says light-heartedly. "Plannin' on divin' deeper into the void? Specifically the political abyss?"
"Don't encourage her," Madison pats his friend's shoulder. "Politics have corrupted too many nice women like her."
Both Jefferson and Madison have southern accents, although Jefferson's is stronger than Madison's. Nevertheless, both remind me of a certain Southerner that I'm missing dearly at the moment.
"Diving into politics may be dangerous," I start, "but it sure is exciting."
"We'll welcome you in," Jefferson smiles. "Actually, it depends. Which party would you join in?"
Political parties, huh? I don't hold much fondness for either party, and I quite despise them both to be blatant. But since Madison and Jefferson are both Republicans and I want them to like me...
I drop my voice low enough so the reporters don't hear; I don't need them making any articles about this.
"I'd join you Republicans."
Jefferson and Madison beam.
"Excellent," Madison says. "You'd make a perfect addition to our team... How old are you?"
"Twenty."
"One more year and you can get into the House of Representatives... Ha! Those Democrats will regret lowering the running age!"
We all laugh for a moment. How funny! That happened in the late 2030s, just like the term limit fiasco. It's funny because I understand.
"Alexander is twenty-one," I smile, knowing in my mind that he and I are the same age. "He can run if he wants."
Jefferson and Madison share a look.
"He'd beat Maximilian's 'Youngest Representative' title by one year."
"He might be up for the idea," Madison tells me.
Of course, the whole conversation is hypothetical. I think we all know neither Alexander nor I plan on running for any public office any time soon.
As I am about to ask them another question, it's my time to get spooked. A large bird flies in from my peripheral vision directly at us. I jump back and gasp. In my peripheral, I see Calvin and Reagan twitch.
The bird flaps in the air for a second, then it lands on Madison's shoulder.
"Hello!" the bird says. "Hello!"
I inch closer, my eyes wide. I've never heard a bird speak before!
"Sorry," Madison apologizes as Jefferson laughs at my expense. "Polly didn't mean to startle you. She likes making surprise entrances."
I blink at the bird, smiling a little. "Polly?"
She's a beautiful bird, with the most vibrant shades of red, blue, and green feathers, rich and luscious in size. The way she perches on Madison's shoulder makes it clear that she is close to him.
"Yes," Madison grins. "Polly is my family's bird, although she is most fond of my wife, Dolley."
That name sounds familiar. "She sure is pretty," I say. They let a bird into this party?
"Wasn't Polly with Dolley, Jemmy?" Jefferson asks Madison, using an affectionate nickname for the shorter man.
"She was," Madison nods. "I suppose Dolley sent her over for a message."
Polly, as if understanding everything, speaks again. "Kiss! Kiss!"
Polly pokes her beak on Madison's cheek, making kissing noises.
"Aww," I beam.
Jefferson scoffs. "Dolley is quite the lady."
Madison, blushing a little (or maybe he's always red in the face), pets Polly affectionately. Polly leans into his touch, happily squawking.
"Jemmy! Jemmy! Kiss! Polly is a good bird!"
"Yes, you're a good bird," Madison confirms.
The bird stretches out her wide wings. She sure is pretty.
I chat with Madison and Jefferson for quite some time. We talk a lot about politics. Again, I'm really glad Alexander drilled politics and government in my mind. I'd feel like an idiot if we didn't.
Feeling rather fond of Madison and Jefferson, I even let them in on Adams's plan to bring the 22nd Amendment back. They thought it was hilarious, and we all agreed that there's no way the Amendment would pass in either chamber of Congress.
We bonded over our hatred of Communism, praising the West for rejecting it so far. I'm glad neither has mentioned or questioned my accent. I'm glad they didn't ask me if I'm a Russian pawn.
We made our goodbyes, and we departed.
The party has been going on for a long time now, and I think that it's time to find my main target. I wonder if Alexander has already gotten to Elizabeth...
That doesn't matter. I need to find Maximilian Lakes.
And there he is. The man I need to talk to, surrounded by journalists, seeming to be answering questions. Should I... interrupt?
He looks like he does on TV. He's young, but fairly tall and strong. His hair is jet-black, neat, and stylish. His suit is black and red — did the Republicans really coordinate red clothing? His eyes are a vibrant green color. Maximilian Lakes is quite handsome. The most powerful politician... I can put myself on his level if I'm careful and smart. That's the goal, right?
When I begin to approach him, his eyes, as well as the eyes of all the reporters asking him questions, dart to me. I didn't notice the utter dullness of Maximilian's eyes. Well, not the color. But he lacks emotion in them. Like he's dead.
The reporters make way for me, taking a step back, eager to watch the interaction between Maximilian and me.
When I reach Maximilian, I flash him a smile.
"Maximilian Lakes!" I coo. "It's wonderful to meet you."
I stick out my hand for a handshake, so imagine my surprise when Maximilian takes my hand and brings it up to his lips, plating a chaste kiss upon it. As he does this, I look around to make sure Alexander isn't creeping around. He might start a brawl here and now.
Luckily (or maybe unluckily) for us, it's only the journalists... They're fascinated and writing madly in their journals.
"It's wonderful to meet you as well, Miss Hamilton," Maximilian says softly, letting my hand drift apart from his.
I hope I'm not blushing. I force a small laugh and rub my arm. "I was just talking to Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Madison."
"Is that so?" The dullness in his eyes remains.
"Yup," I point a playful finger gun at Maximilian, but drop it when I realize he must also have bodyguards lurking around. I drop my voice low enough so the reporters can't hear. "We were discussing how my brother and I might join you and the rest of the Republicans in Congress! Run for public office in Alaska!"
Maximilian gives me a half-smile. "It doesn't surprise me that Jefferson wants you in Congress. It gives him a beautiful distraction — anything to get out of working."
I giggle, taking this as a joke. It is, right?
"I think all five of us could be a great team!" I wink. "Two senators, three Representatives. Alex can be the House Majority Leader, and me the Majority Whip. And with you as the Speaker of the House-"
I gasp when Maximilian takes me by the arm and begins walking with me, our arms linked.
"Max-"
"Can you keep a secret?" he whispers.
I'm confused as hell. Where is he leading me? Surely he didn't think we could get away from the reporters. They're following behind us. But I act natural, telling Calvin and Reagan with my eyes that this is fine. I keep up with Maximilian's pace, walking next to him naturally.
"Yes," I whisper back.
He smiles at a Representative who waves to him, then he looks at me with those green eyes. "Politics bore me."
Well... Fuck. Maximilian Lakes, the goddamn symbol of politics, doesn't like politics. That's like Washington not being invested in the military! Or Chase Felder not being into music!
"What do you mean?" I ask.
Maximilian blinks slowly. "The longer I spend in the political sphere, the more I hate politics. And there's nothing more boring to me than talking politics."
I ponder the thought. I'm not particularly interested in politics either, but I tried to talk politics with him because I assumed he'd be interested. "Go on."
"All these journalists and reporters... That's all they want to ask me about." I can hear the annoyance in his voice as he mocks the reporters. "It's questions like 'Will you support the Gun and Duty Act?' and 'What is your opinion on Californians wanting to turn Alaska into a Blue State?' and 'Are you planning to disband any congressional committees?' It's so boring. I hate it."
Wow... I feel bad for the guy. It must really suck. Politics... Once you start a career in the realm, it's hard to get out. And he's so young with so much potential. He could have done so much more than enter the government. He must feel trapped.
"I understand," I say.
"I have better things to talk about than politics, and I'm sure a woman as interesting as you does too."
And we do. We find a sound place to sit down with two glasses of wine. We pretend not to notice the dozens of journalists sitting a few meters away. We discuss several topics, all unrelated to politics.
Everything from school:
"Don't be mistaken. Harvard Law is an absolute hellhole."
"I wouldn't have guessed," I say. "It looks pretty great in all the movies I've seen."
"Which movies?"
"Oh, I don't know," I blushed. "Legally Blonde?"
Maximilian burst into genuine laughter. "It's nothing like Legally Blonde. It's terrible, really. The students there are obnoxious and pompous. They make a competition out of everything."
"Ugh. That really must have been horrible."
"And no one was happy in that school. You could tell. Every one of my classmates was completely miserable. Just like me, they were being pressured to go into law."
"Did you get picked on for being much younger than your classmates?"
Maximilian laughed harder. "There wasn't a day that passed where I wasn't ridiculed. This one time, a few other students locked me in a janitor's broom closet before a major exam."
I gasp. "No way! That's childish!"
"Childish, yes. Effective, yes. I spend three hours in there since no one was responding to my calls. I missed my exam and I couldn't ask to reschedule it."
"Why would they ever do that?"
Maximilian shrugs and takes a sip of wine. "No clue. I was an easy target."
"I sure bet they regret it now, considering your current status."
To family:
"You're Alexander's little sister, right?" Maximilian asks.
I nod. "By one year."
"I also have a little sister," he hums. "Her name is Rose. She's turning twelve next month."
"She must look up to you," I sigh sweetly.
"I'd hope so," he smiles. "Although, I think she's taken more of a liking to you as of late."
I feel my cheeks flush. "Me?"
"Well, you've been on the news so often as of late. She's seen and heard of all the courageous things you've done. She said she wants to be brave like you."
"I'm not brave," I wave off. "I'm just lucky."
"I think you're brave, (Y/N)."
To theater:
"So, you're a really big theater fan, right? I mean, I've heard people say you were in your high school's drama club."
Maximilian gives a humble smile. "That I was. I never had more fun than when I was on stage, acting and dancing... as ridiculous as it sounds."
"I imagine you've seen many plays and musicals."
"Countless. American Angels, Simple Scandal, The Monumentous Plot, Half A Dozen Women. Those are some of my favorite plays and musicals. I'm especially fond of Shakespeare's works. Are you familiar with them?"
Honestly, no. Although I've seen Alexander read plenty of plays by Shakespeare, so...
"Yes, I'm familiar with most of them."
"My favorite of his works is Hamlet and Macbeth," Maximilian fanboys. "My high school did Macbeth during my sophomore year, and I got the part of Macbeth himself."
I pretend to know who Macbeth is. "That must have been amazing!"
"It definitely was a highlight in my high school years. I almost forgot that I was being pushed around for being younger than all my other classmates."
No one's pushing him around anymore, right?
The night goes on. I'm surprised by how long he and I hold a conversation! Talking to him feels so natural. The more we speak, the less dull his eyes are. They begin to fill with life.
Maximilian is quite a good talker. I mean, you have to be to get into public office. But he's very good at talking. His use of words. His hand gestures. His wide smile when appropriate. Everything in a good politician.
He's an even better listener. At one point, I go off on a tangent about how much I hate the media right now. It was drifting on the political side, but Maximilian didn't seem to care. In hushed voices, we shared our disdain for reporters and journalists. How they misconstrue everything we say. How they aim to further party polarization. How they are single-handily tearing the goddamn nation apart with their desire to make scandals.
I've seen Maximilian get shit on and slandered and libeled on TV and in articles. I know he understands my grievances. I'm thankful for that.
I think I can get along with Maximilian Lakes very well.
We eventually had to depart; there were about seven Representatives and Senators waiting around to talk to Maximilian.
"Back to the politics," I whispered to him.
"Sadly, yes," he sighs. "But I enjoyed this, Miss Hamilton."
"Me too, Mister Lakes" I grin.
"Perhaps we should somehow arrange for your election in Congress," Maximilian says. "You surely are an excellent distraction."
And with that, we depart — Maximilian to join the several Congressmen, me to find Alexander. I need to let him know that I've spoken to my targets, and I've made quite the impression on Maximilian Lakes.
The fact that the reporters haven't asked me any questions means only one thing: they don't want to ask questions because then they'd get answers. They'd rather report lies.
I gasp when someone pops up in front of me. It's Peggy.
"(Y/N)!"
"Peggy!"
Dressed in her suit uniform, she skips around me. "You were talking to Maximilian Lakes! As in, the Maximilian Lakes!"
I bite my lip, remembering he's her major crush. "Sorry. I'm not interested in him if you are-"
"Oh, like that's what I'm worried about," she laughs, nudging me softly. "You two seemed to enjoy yourself!"
"Umm, I guess we did," I flush.
"Did you get his number?"
"What? No!"
"Aw, come on! You should've asked him."
"Pfft," I scoff. "If Maximilian is interested in keeping contact with me, he can contact my manager."
"If you do get his number, slide it over," she winks.
I laugh and push her playfully. "Sure thing... Hey, have you seen Alexander?"
"Oh!" Peggy pipes. "Yup! I saw him like two minutes ago! He was talking to my sister!"
"Which one?"
"Eliza!"
Ahh, so he must still be going on with his targets... Unless.
"They've been talking for a really long time. Longer than you and Maximilian!" Peggy coos.
I figured. Alexander might be looking for something dangerous and stupid in Eliza. A distraction...
Shit, didn't Maximilian say I'm a nice distraction?
"Oh, alright," I say, hoping she can't notice the concern in my tone. "Well, if you come across him again, tell him I'm ready."
"Ready for what?" Peggy inquiries innocently.
"Oh, nothing important," I say. "Just to talk to our manager regarding the ball."
"Got it!" she winks and salutes. "By the way, do you know where Aaron is?"
"Aaron Burr?" I raise a brow suggestively.
She plays wiht a strand of her hair. "Mhm."
I smirk. "Why do you wanna know, Peggy?"
"I want to... talk to him," Peggy slowly responds.
"Miss him?"
"Yes... I mean, no!"
"Whatever you say," I chuckle. "I bet he's dying to talk to you too, Peggy."
"I hope he is," Peggy whispers.
I point her in the general direction I last saw Burr, and she skips off to find him. And now I'm alone again...
But not for long. It seems like I can't get a moment of peace.
I'm facing no direction in particular, mildly aware that the journalists behind me are whispering to one another.
That's when I feel a large, dark, dangerous presence standing directly behind me. I freeze up at the proximity, my entire being shivering at the sound of a voice whispering in my ear.
"You're looking beautiful tonight, (Y/N). I can't help but want to get to know you better. Much better."
I see Calvin and Reagan twitch, so I discreetly place up my hand, telling them to hold themselves back. I even have to hold myself back. I don't dare move. Whoever is whispering in my ear must've noticed my unease, but they continue to whisper nonetheless.
"Do you see everyone in here? Every single politician, celebrity, and military official — the ones who know you personally and those who don't. I know every single thing they've said about you behind your back."
I inhale sharply, the thought terrifying. Whoever is whispering to me has a point. Everyone here already has an opinion about me. More likely than not, they won't tell me it. They've spoken about me behind my back. I can only begin to imagine what had been said about me... But this man claims to know.
He seems to notice my discomfort, and he continues to whisper to me.
"Don't worry. They talk about me too. We're in the same boat here, (Y/N). Let me be there to comfort you. Let's discuss this, yes? Let's spend some time..."
I feel a hand slide over my waist. It makes me uncomfortable, but the last word to slip from his lips is what drives me off the edge:
"Together."
I whip around, lifting my hand to slap whoever the hell is trying to touch me. Imagine when my wrist is grasped mid-air, seized by the man.
And my God, is this man familiar.
He's the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. But he looks like a goddamn devil. He looms over me, a sadistic smirk on his face, his eyes such a pale shade of blue they almost appear white. Dressed in an all-black suit, he looks like he could play the villain billionaire in a movie. Considering this man is an actor, I wouldn't be surprised if he did.
James Monroe.
His large hand, continuing to grasp my small wrist, is rough against my skin. He looks at me with those pale eyes, gazing upon me up and down.
"Sorry, did I startle you?" he gently asks, his voice still jagged and gravely despite no longer whispering.
"Yes," I growl, pulling my hand away from his tight grasp. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't touch me."
His smirk grows wider, and he holds out his hand for a shake. "I'm James Monroe."
I ignore his hand. "(Y/N) Hamilton."
"I know you, (Y/N)."
I give him a dull expression. "And I know you too."
He beams proudly. "Oh, really?"
"Yes. People have been telling me a lot about you." It validates what he whispered before. People talk about him a lot. Specifically, Joy Nova had spoken to me about him. She was vague but urgent. She was against him even being invited to the ball, but Alexander insisted he come.
"I'm flattered, but not surprised. What have you been told about me?"
I place my hand on my hip. I could turn away from this man, but I don't. If I do, I'll be giving in. Showing submission. I refuse to do that.
"People tell me to beware of you," I say bluntly. "They say you're dangerous. They call you-"
"The Boogeyman?" he finishes my sentence.
I swallow hard. "Yes."
"I know." James leans in closer. Startlingly close. I stand my ground, not daring to even twitch a finger. "I am the Boogeyman, (Y/N)."
I had to do my own research to discover that the hell a Boogeyman is. Apparently, it's a children's monster that hides under beds. They prey on and eat children. Because of this absurd story, I can't figure out why James earned this title.
"Why do people call you that?"
James chuckles maniacally for a moment, circling me slowly. "You're smart girl, (Y/N). What do you think?"
I show no intimidation. "Well, do you hate kids?"
He laughs again, continuing to do small laps around me. "Ironically, no. I don't hate kids."
I glare at him, looking for color in his pale eyes. "Enlighten me. What's the real reason?"
James stops in front of me. "The reason I am called the Boogeyman is that I am under everyone's bed. Metaphorically, of course."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I know almost everything about everyone. I hear them talking to themselves in their bedrooms where they feel most safe — where privacy is thought to be guaranteed."
I blink. "Interesting."
He drops his raspy voice lower. "And that means I know everyone's secrets. I love collecting secrets, (Y/N)." As if to prove his point, he begins pointing at people in the crowd and exposing some very dark shit about them. "Lindsay East: she drugged, raped, and robbed a total of nineteen men in the past two years. Alfred Dare: he sold his daughter to human traffickers in Australia. Brandy Ryan: she hid the Lemon Town Church bomber inside her mansion for three weeks while police looked for him, and later took him on her private jet to China."
"Why should I believe any of this?" I mutter, internally disturbed by the disgusting allegations.
"Because," James drones, "I am the Boogeyman."
Hoping to drive him away, I flash him a confident smirk. "Are you hoping to find my secrets?"
I expect him to play it cool, so I'm quite surprised when he's blunt and truthful.
"Yes, I am. I want to know all your secrets."
I roll my eyes. "Unfortunately for you, I have no secrets."
James looks at me up and down, seeming to evaluate me as a person. He seems to be searching for a soul. I wonder if he found one.
"No secrets?" he coos.
"None," I chirp.
He shows his white teeth with a grin. It's terrifyingly-sinister. "Somehow, (Y/N), I doubt that. I have a feeling that you have the biggest secret of all."
Little bastard.
"Believe what you want. Search if you want," I encourage innocently. "Don't be disappointed when you find nothing."
He gazes upon me deeply. "You intrigue me too much, (Y/N). That's dangerous for someone like you. I'll have to keep you around for a while longer. Long enough to uncover all your secrets."
I challenge him with a smirk. "I look forward to it, Mr. Monroe."
I gain the courage to turn on my heel and leave. I'm relieved that he doesn't chase me. I speak to a few more people, none as appealing or memorable as the ones I've spoken to previously. The air becomes thick. A little too thick. Where the hell is Alexander?
I hear some commotion going on somewhere across the large ballroom. Whatever happened, a lot of people are starting to shift that way. Even the journalists that were once watching me rush away to see what the big deal is. I take this as my chance to flee.
I had my eyes on an exit for quite some time. Not the exit from the building, no. An exit to a balcony. I quickly approach it, motioning for Calvin and Reagan to keep up.
"Stay out here," I whisper to them. "Tell me if someone tries to follow."
They nod, standing guard at each side of the door. I gingerly brush away purple drapes that partially covered the glass doors. I open the door, slip onto the balcony, then close it behind me.
Mmm. Fresh air never felt so wonderful. It's a cool night tonight, the moon out and nearly full. The ballroom is on the third floor of this glorious, castle-like structure. The balcony demonstrates the height. It overlooks a wonderful garden with all sorts of newly-budding floral life and greenery, a forest of trees nearby. The structure is far away from civilization, so everything is so calm out here. So peaceful. So quiet.
After a dizzying-amount of talking, this silence is just what I need...
But it's not what I want.
I stray to the edge of the large, half-circle-shaped balcony, holding onto the stone railing. I look down to the ground as if expecting a man to be there waiting for me, holding flowers and reciting a poem — declaring his love for me.
I feel like such a princess tonight. All the attention. Speaking to such high-profile individuals. The magnificent dress. Is it too much to ask for a prince to come save me? To make me swoon? To take me away on his white horse? To love me forever?
"Umm, Miss Hamilton?"
The sound of Reagan's voice snaps me into attention. I look over my shoulder, gazing at the bodyguard as he sticks his head out of the door.
"Yes?"
"Someone wishes to speak to you."
"Who is it?"
"I don't know."
"Ask them."
Reagan disappears for a moment, only to pop his head back out a second later. "He says his name is John Laurens."
My prince has come...
"Let him in."
Reagan disappears again, and I look back out into the garden. I hear the glass door close again. I sense the presence of another.
"It's a beautiful night."
The sound of John's voice is a cold but welcomed slice in the silence. I don't respond immediately. I hear him drawing nearer.
"Not unlike a woman I know."
My eyes flutter over to him as he stands to my left, casually leaning over the balcony, his gaze already set upon me. His eyes travel up and down my figure, appearing utterly tempted. Does he still see me or, as I did, does he see a different girl?
"You look stunnin' tonight, (Y/N)."
I give him a small smile, looking away shyly. "Thank you."
He inhales sharply, then exhales deeply. "What are you doin' out here alone?"
I giggle. "I'm not alone anymore, am I?" I lock my eyes with his once more, giving him a suggestive smile. "Now we're alone."
He appears a little nervous, but damn curious anyway. "Guess we are."
It's been quite some time since we've been physically face to face. I'm enticed by his proximity, and I can't help but push the limits. I've been yearning for John in dangerous ways, and although I know it's foolish to act upon these animalistic impulses, I am thirsting for intimacy.
"I'm glad you came."
John shrugs. "I was invited. Everyone in the Army AC was."
"But I'm especially grateful for your attendance," I say softly. I gingerly reach my hand over to find his, skimming my fingertips over his skin only once before pulling away. It seems to drive him crazy. I can tell he's breaking.
"I've been- shit, how do I say this?" John murmurs the last part to himself, taking several steps back.
I turn around and watch as he paces around a little, his cheeks flushed.
"Want to tell me something?" I ask.
"I need to tell you somethin'," he huffs, seeming annoyed and amused by his own lack of words. "I just don't know how to say it without fuckin' up seriously."
"Just spit it, cutie."
"See, when you call me that, it makes it a lot harder," John mutters. He runs his hand through his dark-blonde hair. "Because there are a million ways this can go wrong and only one righ' way."
I raise a brow, beginning to get concerned. "What's wrong, John?"
He pauses for a moment. "I... God, I thought I'd be ready for tonight. I've been plannin' this for a long time! All night I've been lookin' at you from afar, trying to build 'nough courage to approach you and talk to you. Every time I tried to, I pussied out!"
"I'm here now. You can tell me anything."
"I wish that were true," he shakes his head. "I have a lot to lose here if I make a mistake."
"Like what?"
"Like you."
Oh... That's- Wait, what?
I stay silent, watching as he comes back to the balcony, now standing to my right. He clutches onto the balcony, sighing heavily.
"No one has ever made me as nervous as you do, (Y/N). No one has ever reduced me to... to this. Strugglin' to find words and so goddamn scared that I'm goin' to fuck somethin' up. I always seem to find a way to do that. To lose whatever matters most."
How do I matter most? It sounds illogical to me. I don't even matter the most to myself. To think someone would see me as what matters most... it's startling.
"John, you can tell me what you need to tell me. Even if you mess up, I'll understand."
He stares out for a moment, then down. "It's... There ain't no use. I lost all courage. I'm slowly comin' to realize that there ain't no point in this."
"In what?"
"In fallin'."
"You're falling?"
"Yes... Hard."
I don't know what he means by "falling". John looks terribly troubled, although I don't know why. I know he wants to tell me something, just as he did that day he asked me several questions.
I gaze at John for a long time, attracted by him. He's so handsome... I can't help myself from continuing to push the limits.
I slide closer to him, batting my lashes. "A lot of things have changed in my life and all very fast."
He looks into my eyes. "I know."
"But at the same time, a lot of things have stayed the same."
"Like what?"
Do I dare do what I am about to do? Yes. I dare.
I take John's arm, drawing him closer to the center of the balcony. I situate himself in front of me, standing close to him.
"There have been a lot of things I felt when I first met you. New feelings. And I still have those feelings now."
He swallows hard. "What type of feelin's?"
I grin seductively. "Amazing feelings, John. I had no idea I could feel these things until you came around." I draw in closer if that's even possible. I lower my voice to a soft whisper, my tone dripping with temptation. "I've been trying to hide it for quite some time, figuring that I could damage what we have if I'm too bold."
"You tried to hide it," he repeats. Perhaps it's instinct, but John places one of his hands on my waist, holding me tightly as though I'd slip away.
I hum and giggle, taking his other hand and placing it on the other side of my waist. "But I can't deny that you're racing through my mind."
His pupils are dilated now. "You're racin' through mine too."
I run my finger along his collar, leaning higher to reach him; even in my heels, he's taller than me. "I'm trying to figure out if these feelings are okay."
John whispers as well. "I hope they are."
"I hope so too," I giggle. I take a chance when I bring my lips to his ear. "Because they're only getting stronger and stronger."
I hope he can hear the sound of lust trickling in my voice.
With my hand over his chest, I can feel his heart racing. I slowly pull away from his ear, but I let my lips drag along his jawline, enjoying the throaty sound he makes.
"I don't know what you're doin'," he mumbles a second later.
"Neither do I. But I want to keep doing it. It feels right, doesn't it?"
"It feels amazin'."
I'm so close to his lips now. A gust of wind can push me into them. Does he want this as much as I do? Could it be possible that he wants it more? I don't know what draws me into him anymore considering the past he and I share (unbeknownst to him). But I don't want to hold back anymore.
Maybe a intimate display of affection will give him the courage to tell me what he hasn't told me yet.
But leave it to life to drag us apart.
"Miss Hamilton?" the voice of Reagan calls my name. "Your brother is asking for-"
I rapidly pull away from John, taking a large leap back, Just in time. Alexander emerges from behind the glass door, striding past Reagan confidently.
"I didn't ask for anything," Alexander spits. "I don't need your permission, (Y/N), to-"
Alexander stops immediately when he notices I'm here... with John. And although I am now far apart from him, he's smart enough to know what the hell was going on. Alexander's violet eyes shift from me to John, then back at me. Then John.
If he's annoyed, he doesn't show it. He plays the whole situation off really well.
"Hey, John," Alexander smiles.
John, still caught in a daze after those brief moments we shared, manages to cough out a weak "hello" and small wave.
Alexander looks at me again, and I can see the aggravation glinting behind his calm exterior. "Glad I found you, (Y/N)."
"How'd you find me?" I squint my eyes, cursing Alexander in my mind. How does he always manage to fuck things up for me?
"I saw Reagan and Calvin standing outside the balcony," Alexander explains, striding over to me. "I figured you weren't far behind. Lo and behold, you were. You're very predictable."
"Excellent," I drone.
Alexander takes me by the arm. "Come on, (Y/N)."
I try to pull away, but his grasp is tight. "Where are we going?" I ask calmly.
He begins to pull me along. "Don't worry, (Y/N)."
I don't have time to bid goodbye to John before I'm pulled off the balcony and dragged back into the ballroom. Reagan and Calvin, along with Alexander's bodyguards, follow behind us discreetly.
I finally pry my arm away, but I don't bother going back. Instead, I allow Alexander to lead me blindly through the crowded and rowdy ballroom. Clearly, the guests have had a little too much to drink. Alexander and I made a strict agreement not to drink. I've mostly stuck to that agreement — I'm almost completely sober regardless.
Now that we're alone, Alexander has no problem drilling into me as quietly as possible while still getting the point through.
"What the hell were you doing with Laurens?"
"Nothing!"
"I know you're lying. What were you doing?"
"None of your business, Alexander!" I growl.
"Don't act like I'm the bad guy. I'm looking out for you. You know what that bastard is capable of."
"Cyka blyat. Forget him. Where have you been?" I hiss.
Alexander lets a silence linger only for a second before answering. "With Elizabeth Schuyler."
"You hypocritical little bi-"
"She seemed to enjoy my company," Alexander interrupts. "I couldn't shake her off."
"Or you didn't want to shake her off."
"Please," he scoffs. "Unlike you, I keep the goal in mind."
"Sure." I'm fuming now.
"(Y/N)." Alexander sternly says my name, telling me to calm down.
"Alexander." I mimic his tone.
We have an intense stare-off, then-
"Come on."
He continues to pull me along.
"Where are we going, asshole?"
He doesn't take the insult to heart. "Somewhere special, darling."
"Fuck you. Tell me where we're going."
Alexander gazes at me, a morbidly-murderous look in his eyes. Just looking into the violet color, I know where we're going. But when Alexander says it, I filled with that morbidly-murderous motivation as well.
"It's time to talk to George Washington."
So we went to look for him. We needed to talk to him; he was the main goal all along; both for this ball, and for our mission. We searched and searched for exactly twenty-one minutes. Eventually, we asked around if anyone has seen George Washington. The answer disheartened me.
George Washington already left.