Chapter Text
Feyre: i want to come home
Mor: stop whining you just got there
Feyre: and i want to leave
Mor: come on feyre, be a big girl
I rolled my eyes internally at Mor’s sarcastic text. That woman practically fueled herself on social interaction, whereas for me, these types of functions were a special kind of torture.
Unfortunately, with my kind of work, avoiding these types of events was near impossible. The annual Artist Quarter fundraiser was the biggest donor pull for the gallery, and I couldn’t miss it.
Mor: btw, cass says he can give u a ride back here. what time does this end?
Feyre: not sure, I can uber home
Mor: sure?
I was in the midst of typing out my reply to my roommate, nails clacking against my iPhone screen, when I heard Tarquin’s deep tenor echo through the entry foyer.
“Feyre!” he called out, either blissfully ignorant or outrageously confident as he strode past the dozens of haughty businessmen who looked appalled at his impropriety.
I quickly sent off a response to Mor as I turned, my cheeks stretching wide into a grin as I took Tarquin in. He looked as elegant as ever in a deep blue tuxedo that complimented his deep brown skin. In classic Tarquin fashion, he had a matching bow-tie knotted through his collar, and this one had a subtle pattern of tiny fish freckling across it. Although the dress code on the invite specified ‘formal’ attire, leave it to Tarquin to bend the rules a bit.
“Hello you,” I said, smiling up at him as he came to my side. I couldn’t help but feel lighter with Tarquin at my side. I had been dreading this gala event ever since Alis handed us the invitations, not looking forward to having to schmooze my way through the conceited hordes of Velaris high society, but with Tarquin at my side, it would be infinitely more bearable.
“Hello yourself,” he grinned back with a wide smile, as he took a step in front of me, gaze flicking up and down my body.
“Damn, Archeron,” he whistled, looking down at me. I twirled a bit, swishing my skirt out, fabric whispering against my skin.
I snorted at his antics, much to the chagrin of some old woman who stood primly next to us. Because gods forbid someone actually have fun at one of these events. I smirked up at him, as I teasingly asked, “Is this where you tell me I look ‘ravishingly beautiful?’”
“I—,” he cut himself off suddenly, inhaling sharply as he glanced up to the ceiling, biting his lip nervously. He met my gaze again, and asked steadily, “So what if it is?”
His sudden honestly caught me by surprise for a moment, and I met his gaze only to find unending sincerity in those pools of blue as the implications of his words crashed through my mind.
As if I didn’t need more clarification as to what his intentions were, he asked tentatively, “Would you like to go out with me, Feyre?”
Tarquin and I had always toed the line of flirting and professional courtesy since we met a few months ago, but lately, we had been dipping into the former more and more. We got along excellently: shared the same taste in books, music, movies. And obviously, art.
We had been hired at the gallery at the same time, starting off as interns together. We worked well together, bouncing ideas and proposals off one another. Eventually, he was promoted to marketing manager as I took up the position of chief curator. Although we worked in separate departments, Alis, our director, took note of our unofficial partnership, and encouraged it, often assigning us to the same project. Now, we worked together all the time, buying and selling art for the modernist gallery.
It was always easy, effortless with Tarquin. His openness was refreshing, his flirting was flattering. It would be exquisitely easy to be with him, I thought to myself. To fall in love with him, even.
So I smiled back up at him, wide and unrestrained, meeting his nervous gaze.
“I’d love to.”
I could practically feel the whoosh of air that Tarquin released in relief. I quirk an eyebrow up at him. “Were you really that nervous?”
He winces sheepishly. “A little?”
I couldn’t help but laugh at his plight as I looped my elbow around his arm. He looked mildly surprised before a pleased smile settled upon his face. I felt giddily excited. It had been much too long since I went on a date, and the prospect of a new relationship, of new love, had my mind dancing in circles.
“Well, if I’m ‘ravishingly beautiful,’” I said, over-enunciating the words in a ridiculously formal accent, “then I’d tell you that you look ‘dashingly handsome’ as well.”
“Well then, Feyre Archeron. Allow me to be your escort for this lovely evening.”
I inclined my head at him graciously before bursting out into laughter. To his credit, Tarquin managed to keep a straight face for all of ten seconds before joining in.
We received no small amount of dirty glances from those around us, likely disgusted at the absolutely improper display of two young people enjoying themselves before an event. Though I couldn’t see her, I heard a woman sigh dramatically, her whiny voice carrying throughout the echoing hall.
“I just wish that these events were more exclusive, you know?” she simpered. “They’ll let almost any rabble in through these doors.”
Next to me, Tarquin snorted, no doubt hearing the same scathing words as I did. He leaned down to whisper something into my ear, something that was no doubt highly inappropriate regarding the woman who was whispering about us.
“It’s almost as if—“
“Feyre. Tarquin,” Alis called as she walked up to us, heels clacking on the polished marble floor. Like me, she was clad in a formal gown, the deep burgundy of her form-fitting dress contrasting wonderfully against her skin.
We snapped up, disentangling our arms as we attempted to look less guilty as our boss approached us. She narrowed her eyes at us, before sighing.
“I swear, you two are the most un-professional professionals that I know,” she said, shaking her head. She glanced at us, no doubt noting how close we stood, how our fingers barely grazed at our sides. A triumphant smile crossed her face. “Tarquin, did you finally ask Feyre out?”
Tarquin looked wide-eyed, glancing down at me in a panic. “Um…uh—Alis, I…”
Alis cackled at his indecision. “It’s about damn time.”
“Wait, you knew he was going to?” I asked incredulously.
Alis snorted. “Please, it was so obvious.”
“And it’s okay with you?” Tarquin asked tentatively. The gallery had no official HR department seeing as we only had a few curators and managers, but if Alis had an issue with it… Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to accept Tarquin’s offer.
“No sex in the office. That’s it,” she said bluntly, before barreling on, ignoring the choked sounds that came out of Tarquin. “I came by to give you your name cards,” Alis said as she handed us two delicate pieces of cardstock with our names printed starkly against the cream paper.
Feyre Archeron. Curator. I couldn’t help the rush of pride that flowed through me upon seeing those printed words. I had worked my ass off for this position, for the opportunity to do what I loved, to go home to my apartment feeling fulfilled and utterly happy.
Alis continued, “The entrance line has just started to form and I need you to come in towards the end so the most potential buyers will hear your names.” She met our gazes steadily, first looking towards Tarquin, then to me. “I know you two hate these events, and trust me, I do too. But you need to charm the hell out of these people tonight. We need purchases, we need donations. So have fun tonight, but do your job.”
Tarquin and I nodded in understanding.
“We got this,” I said to her. Alis gave me a chance when nobody else did, now it was time to pull my weight.
“You two make a lovely couple, by the way,” Alis added as an afterthought, before sauntering off.
I bit my lip to restrain the huge smile threatening to break out across my face. Glancing up at Tarquin, I could see that he was doing the same thing. Whatever this thing with Tarquin would become, whether it be a few casual dates or an actual relationship, it had both of us acting like giddy teenagers.
I glanced around the hall, noting how empty it had become in the past few minutes. Only a few patrons stood scattered in the corners, quietly conversing. I assumed most of the patrons had joined the entry line, letting the ushers announce their name to the gala and the other guests before being escorted into the hall. Although the practice was admittedly old-fashioned and almost gave me Bridgerton vibes, it was unbelievably effective at helping us to network within these events. The announcement lines gave Tarquin, Alis, and I the chance to familiarize ourselves with the big names at any given events, and also eliminated the need for us to peddle through an unnecessary amount of awkward introductions when talking to other patrons.
“I guess it’s time for us to make our introductions,” Tarquin said as he extended his arm to me again.
Together, we crossed the hall, following the signs to the small waiting room at the entrance of the main ballroom. We took our place at the back of the line, as per Alis’s instructions. By being last, we maximized the amount of people that heard our names, thus increasing our chances of getting donations or making sales tonight.
I forced myself to stand up straight, despite the fact that my heels were killing me. Even though the event had technically not begun yet, there were still potential patrons in this very room. First impressions mattered. A lot.
Looking around, I could see Helion Dayes, the CEO of Velaris Inc., the biggest technology company in the city. He was next in line to enter the ballroom, clad in cream colored suit, unbuttoned at the top. It would look absolutely obnoxious on anyone else, but somehow, he pulled it off. Delicate gold chains hung around his neck, draping onto his exposed chest.
I had met him once before, a few months ago, but I doubted he remembered me. I remembered him though: witty, flirtatious, cunning. If he liked you, you were in good hands. If you annoyed him, he would cut you down with a few choice words before sending you on your way. He was partial towards modernist landscapes, but if you got him drinking enough, he would practically throw money at whoever he was speaking to. If I could somehow start talking to him tonight though, I could potentially squeeze a few thousands in donations from him tonight. Maybe even sell a gallery piece or two.
Slowly, but surely, the entry line began to move forwards. As we walked forward a few steps, Tarquin leaned down to brush his lips against my ear. “You’re doing your thing again,” he whispered.
I startled, and looked up to meet his gaze. “What thing?” I hissed.
Amusement settled across his face. “You know, the thing where you stand up straight and put on this totally-badass expression and you pick your targets for the night,” he glanced to where Helion was preparing to walk out into the hall before looking back at me with a quirked eyebrow. “Helion Dayes?”
I glared at him indignantly. “I can pull him.”
“I know,” he said simply. His unwavering belief in me sent a warm current tingling through my body as I looked up him thankfully. He gazed down at me heavily, before clearing his throat and straightening as the usher approached us. I looked down, trying to fight the blush that threatened to stain my cheeks.
“Cards?” he asked, holding out an open palm.
Tarquin and I handed over our introduction cards as the usher gestured for us to take our places at the front of the door. The pair of guests ahead of us strutted out into the hall as the usher called their names, and we shifted up until we were standing right in front of the grand entrance that led onto a series of polished marble steps into the ballroom.
I breathed deep. Regardless of how many times I had done this, nerves always got the best of me.
“Ready?” Tarquin asked, reaching down to wind my arm around his.
“Always,” I smirked. I stood up straight, pushing my shoulders back and lifting my chin. Even if I hated these events, I knew I had to be confident to get anything done tonight.
“Feyre Archeron, curator at Starfall Gallery. Escorted by Tarquin Summers, manager at Starfall Gallery.” The usher’s voice boomed out through the ballroom as Tarquin and I gracefully stepped out onto the stairs.
I physically restrained myself from letting my jaw drop to the floor in amazement. The ballroom was elegant, resplendent with a dark navy and silver theme. Dim lighting, with hundreds of candles perched on every surface: hanging from delicate candelabras along the wall, set into dainty candlestick holders upon the tables. A fire hazard for sure, but I was taken aback by the stunning beauty of it all.
Tarquin and I strode down the stairs, and I found myself grateful for the steadiness of his arm around mine. Stairs in four-inch heels were definitely not my cup of tea, but I managed to make it to the bottom without any major mishaps.
Tarquin glanced over to me. “You good, Archeron?”
I nodded to him as we made our way to our table. “Perfectly fine.”
I immediately regretted my answer however, as I took a few more steps forwards, letting my eyes glance around the ballroom to seek out other potential ‘targets’ as Tarquin called them.
Helion was seated at table four along with Kallias Winthers and his wife, Viviane. I made a mental note to immediately visit their table as soon as it was appropriate to do so. As I scanned the other guests at their table, I froze.
It couldn’t be.
But it was.
There, sitting to the right of Helion, looking directly at me with those piercing blue-violet eyes, was Rhysand Verita.
Shit.