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While waiting for their dates to emerge from the dorms, some guys are looking around as if they’ve stepped into a different dimension — a dimension made of concrete and cinderblocks — while others don’t even bat an eyelash because they are more familiar with this school.
Like Arrow and Reed and Conrad.
All wearing black suits and light shirts, they’re standing in a group together, Reed being the tallest — half an inch taller than Conrad — as they wait for their girls to emerge. And I swear to God, as soon as they do, all their gazes somehow land on them with a laser focus. And then, as if in unison, all their eyes flare for a second at the vision that their girlfriends — in Reed’s case his wife — present.
Which makes me so happy.
Without a word to each other, they disperse and scatter, and walk over to their girls almost in a trance.
I notice that Arrow has a bouquet in his hand — of gardenias — that I’m assuming he’s brought for Salem. But I think at the sight of her in a yellow/orange sunburst of a gown — named The Sweetheart because Salem is so sweet and that’s Arrow’s endearment for her — he’s forgotten.
Because he simply stands there, looking down at her with parted lips.
“You’re…” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Today I’m like the sun, huh,” she says, smiling up at him. “Instead of you.”
Salem calls Arrow her sun and it totally makes sense if you look at his sun-struck hair and his golden skin.
“No,” he whispers, his eyes still looking hypnotized. “Not just today. You’re always the sun. My sun.”
Salem blushes and says, pointing to the flowers, “Are they for me?”
Arrow wakes up and nods.
And then I let them be.
This is such a private moment and I don’t want to intrude.
And there’s no shortage of private moments around me. While Conrad is gazing down at Wyn, his fingers stroking her cheek, Reed is smirking down at Callie, bending down to place a soft kiss on her mouth. After which she goes on her tiptoes and wipes the lipstick off the side of his mouth.
It starts up an ache in my chest.
Not because I don’t want what’s best for my friends but because I can’t help but feel lonely, and empty.
Without him.
I can’t help but feel hollow.
I can’t help but want him here. Even if not as my Alaric then as Principal Marshall.
I mean, he’s the one who made everything possible. He was the one who okayed this whole party idea, and then got all the staff working and cooperating with us. He should be here.
Once all the guys are over their initial shock and all the greetings have been made, we all walk over to the school building together. But when the time comes to climb the stairs, I tell my friends to go ahead without me because I’m going to need a minute. They are all concerned, but I wave it off with a smile and promise them that I’ll be right behind them.
When they’re all gone, I take a deep breath.
I take several deep breaths.
I’m not sure why I’m hesitating in climbing those stairs and going inside the building, but I can’t help but think that once I do, once I get in there, it’s over.
The wait is over.
And all the hope of him coming tonight will die.
It’s a silly thought but there you have it.
So mostly just to appease myself, I decide to turn around and look for him one last time before I go in.
And as soon as I do, all breath leaves my body in a rush.
Because there he is.
Standing only a few feet away, in a brown tweed jacket and a black tie.
My Alaric.
He is here.
He came.
And Jesus Christ, he looks like… a god.
So handsome with such beautiful and sharp features. So powerful with impossibly broad shoulders and a muscular body, and so like the man I love.
“Hi,” I whisper.
I don’t think he heard me though.
Because he looks like he’s in a trance.
He looks like he’s hypnotized.
And by me no less.
My dress.
His chocolate chip eyes take me in slowly and methodically, from top to bottom, from side to side, from every angle. Then, “You look…”
I can’t help but blush at his rough voice.
Rough and low and somehow reverent.
My own dress is purple and is a shimmery chiffon number with sequins studded all over the length. It’s sleeveless with a high neck and a plunging back that’s covered by my loose hair that I’ve done in tight curls. And I’ve got my suede heels on.
“You like it?”
He finally looks up, his eyes all molten and warm, shimmering as bright as my dress. Swallowing, he rasps, “I love it.”
My blush intensifies. “Thank you.”
Something flickers on his features at my thank you, something private and only meant for us to know. And instead of just my cheeks, my entire body blushes. I know I’m turning scarlet under my dress.
