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Archer and Frenella Callahan threw the best parties in our society. It was a given. They upped the ante with every single one. Not that they needed to because no one was stupid enough to try to best them, and no one ever would. Not until they all expected me to take the reigns.
Something that Archer liked to remind me of as often as possible. “This will all be you soon enough.”
I forced my smile wider. “I’m certain I could never do better than you.” It couldn’t be that hard, but it was the right thing to say.
“It’s all my amazing wife, my dear. I just sign the cheques.”
I gave him the agreeable laugh he expected. “The pen is mightier than the sword.”
Archer’s name was called from elsewhere. He gave me a wide grin as he started heading that way. “So it is, Harlow. So, it is.” He looked pointedly at his son. “If you see Valk, tell him his father’s looking for him.”
My stomach fluttered and my breath skipped, but I hid it behind a breath supposed to make the men think I had no idea why Valen’s father would want him or what on earth they might get up to when he did find him. I followed it up with a sweetly innocent smile, which was returned.
“Drink?” Apollo asked when his father was gone, visibly relaxing. “Shall we get drinks?”
I inwardly groaned but nodded my head. “Yes.”
Apollo steered me through the milling people into the ballroom, where there were even more people, towards the bar at the end. Much like the rest of Callahan Hall, it was a huge, ornate thing designed purely to show off how much money they had. The bar stretched across the whole back of the ballroom, except for a door that led through to the cellar stairs and kitchen. It was wood inlaid with gold, and brightly lit. Behind it, at every soiree the Callahan’s threw, were at least six bar staff.
“Same as usual, Mr Callahan?” the waiter who saw us called.
He gave her a single nod in reply.
In moments, a tumbler of deep amber liquid and clinking ice was placed in front of Apollo, and a glass of frosted white wine was placed in front of me. Pinot Gris. The drink I was expected to down at all these things until my palette was ‘sophisticated’ enough to appreciate a fine red. In Pinot Gris’ defence, I didn’t dislike it. I just didn’t like having my drinks – like so much in my life – chosen for me.
Apollo picked up my glass and passed it to me.
“Thanks,” I said, to both him and the waiter.
He put his hand at the small of my back again and picked up his own.
Such a small thing, but it screamed volumes. Whenever we stood next to each other, Apollo was touching me. A hand on my back, like now. His hand in mine. Caressing my cheek as he smiled at something I said. His arm around my shoulder. The action had long since stopped being conscious, of that I was sure. Now and then, he’d go to do something and realise he couldn’t because my hand was in his.
Whenever we were in the same room, he constantly found me. He’d make sure I felt remembered and wanted and like I belonged there. His winks or cheeky smiles always made me feel like we alone shared the joke – whatever it may have been. I didn’t just belong in this world, I belonged with him.
He looked out over the crowd as he sipped. There was so much of his father in him these days. As Apollo had got older, I’d seen him pick up more and more of Archer’s mannerisms, his quirks, the way he held himself. At school, he surrounded himself with people who just reinforced this as the correct behaviour. Gone was the little boy who hid in the storeroom under the stairs as his father yelled at him and, in his place, was a man who emulated him in every way.
Apollo may have only just turned eighteen, but he’d left boyhood behind long ago, no matter how much I teased him otherwise. The way he moved through life. Confident. Powerful. Authoritative. Bowing to no one. To call him anything but a man would be disingenuous, and a lie.
I heard Apollo sigh, then he threw back the remainder of the tumbler, put it down with a shake of his head to the waiter ready to refill it, and looked at me.
“I guess we should get schmoozing?” he asked, clearly as thrilled by the prospect as me.
The only difference was, the world would probably come to an end if I tried to down my wine as quickly as he’d downed his Scotch. He could have all the liquid courage – or anaesthetic – he wanted, while I was supposed to maintain a demure and sensible composure.
Much like the sweet little boy was gone, so was the naïve girl who thought the world was full of hope and opportunity. I was kept ignorant, but I liked to think I wasn’t naïve anymore.
I gave him a supportive smile. “Together.”
He kissed my cheek with a smile. “Together,” he said as he took my hand and we started off.
We did what we were expected to do. We mingled. We danced. We made sure every single person saw us being cute and adorable and loved up. It wasn’t hard, not with Apollo by my side. I did love him. Having a good time with him was simple and easy. I just hated the parade. I hated the expectation. I hated knowing that all eyes were on us, looking for a flash of diamond on my finger at every opportunity. We had been contracted to marry for four years now, what were we waiting for already?
The younger portion of the crowd had retired to the Billiards Room some hours later. All people we went to school with and who were at the party with their parents or in their stead.
Those in the room constituted the elites of Saint Benedicts. They ruled the school under the watchful eye of Apollo, their God. They weren’t all here, but the most noticeably missing were the four Angels. Apollo’s Lieutenants. His muscle. His brawn. They weren’t appropriate for this sort of thing. Better kept for school where the pretence maintained was completely different.
I stood in a corner with Triss, Alanis, Coral, Exie, Lula and Yola. We made small talk, but it would have been ridiculously naïve to pretend that we weren’t all keeping one eye on the boys playing pool. Their brothers. The first sons, set to inherit everything. Keep your enemies close.
