To Best the Boys(18)
“Miss Tellur, your cheeks are positively glowing,” he says in a warm voice. His blond hair swags across his forehead in a boyish style that complements his roguish chin and finely chiseled features, all of which mimic his father’s, and all of which he’s had since we were children. He once cut a lock of that blond hair so we could perform genetic experiments on it to better hone our skills. And those chiseled features now have the ladies sneaking glances at him—especially in light of his recently declared intention to forgo science in pursuit of Upper government.
He drops his voice as he leans in. “I know your aunt suggested I claim this dance, but I freely admit my parents and I were hoping you’d be here.”
I nod and try to smile back courteously and don’t mention that, while his parents’ attentiveness is very kind, my flush has nothing to do with them. Rather, it’s me trying to assess which version of Vincent I’m getting tonight—the one who’ll soon ignore me or the one who wants something from me. While also shielding the disgust still burning through my bones for Germaine’s and Rubin’s insults. My body’s trembling from it, and I’ve a good mind to go over to where they’re standing at the far wall, tracking the other competitors, the room, and me with their eyes—and give both boys another tongue-lashing.
They’re like hunters tracking prey, my gut whispers.
But I don’t. I stay and behave and sway to the trilling music as Vincent spins me against him. When he twirls me out, he follows my eyes, then tips his chin in Germaine’s direction. “You were a little hard on him back there, don’t you think?”
I blink. And frown—as he bestows on me the other kind of smile. The one Da gives when I’ve skewed an experiment.
“Germaine was just stating his opinion, and it’s not his fault if there’s some accuracy to it. You needn’t have embarrassed him,” he continues quietly. Then pulls me around to place my hand tighter inside his and winks. “At least not quite so badly.”
“Mr. Wells insulted my neighbors and was inappropriate toward me.”
The persona cracks and Vincent shrugs in the way he used to. Simple. Boyish. “I completely agree. But I’ve known him for most of my life, and I don’t think he intended to imply anything. If he overstepped, you’ll have to forgive his somewhat intense social skills. After all, his father’s a politician, so what can you do?”
So is yours, I almost point out. So are you. Or at least you will be.
Instead, I study his confident blue eyes and feel mine waver as my mind reels back through the conversation with his friends. Was I too hard?
I don’t know. My head feels muddled. I thought the remarks about the Lowers were unfair, and Germaine’s comments regarding me improper. And I’d think someone who used to be my friend would feel the same. Even though these days Vincent’s acquaintance seems to be more about his myriad moods, or what I can do, than any echo of what we’ve been. Which just makes it all the more jumbled. I furrow my brow in confusion and awkwardly note the skin on my arms is reddening. Perhaps I am being a bit too sensitive.
Vincent laughs. “No need for mortification, my dear. Just thought the woman I intend to court should know for future reference.” He tilts his head kindly and lets the light catch his eye, before playfully adding, “Although you look positively lovely when you blush.”
I feel my flush deepen at the perplexing mix of what feels like calculated flattery and correction, and unwanted declared intentions. I don’t know if any of those is even accurate—but then Seleni is twirling past us in time to the music and whispers, “Are you all right?”
Yes. No. I don’t know.
I feel like a trapped animal that maybe should run.
I peek at Vincent, then up at the gold spire clock hanging like a globe from the ceiling. Sam and Will and the other boys are probably still down at the pub, tucking into their fourth ciders. My chest gives an odd flutter—is Lute there too?
“Of course.” I lie to her, amid the dancers’ shoes click click clicking to the tune of Variety in C.
But then, maybe it’s not a lie. I firm my spine and focus on the fact that Mum would be thrilled to see me doing this. I picture her happy expression in place of Germaine’s, which is currently boring into the back of Beryll’s neck as he reclaims Seleni, who grins and giggles and fits perfectly in his arms. I ease my breath and try to smile at Vincent like a decent person. “How is your father’s job these days?”
“Excellent. He’s influencing the House of Lords to make real changes for Caldon.”
“And your own aspirations?” I say it quietly, without malice or any insinuation of the mutual camaraderie we used to have versus the lonely distance that’s settled in its place.
But it doesn’t matter. His expression cools, and that stiffness that presented fourteen months ago when he changed career focus clicks cleanly over his face.
“My father has begun taking me to parliament as an assistant, which, as you can imagine, has opened a glut of connections. Once my education is finished, my position will be assured.”
He sounds like a machine the way he says it. I shiver and want to ask more. To ask what happened to him and to remind him of the fact that he used to not want his father’s life. He wanted to study anatomy and cellular abilities and create cures just like me and Da and his friend Lawrence.