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Caroline smooths down the front of her gown for the third time, then straightens her back and walks towards the entrance of the hotel ballroom. She shoots a small smile at the door attendant, inwardly relieved when he gives her an appreciative look and then gestures for her to enter without asking for her invitation.
Sure, she wasn’t an invited guest to this gala… but with the ticket already paid for and more than 1,000 guests attending, would anyone really notice?
Surely after suffering through months with the roommate who gifted everyone with a faux-chologist assessment -- honestly, within 15 minutes of meeting she had insisted that Caroline’s tendency to color code the spice rack was clearly a direct result of her parent’s divorce -- Caroline could be given a free pass for taking said roommate’s invite and enjoy a night of free canapés and champagne?
Speaking of canapés, Caroline assesses the room and immediately locks eyes on her target -- an empty spot by the end of the bar -- and is very quickly rewarded when a server holding a new tray of crab puff emerges from the double doors a few feet away.
Mmm, crab puffs. Really, if she wasn’t here, so many would have just gone to waste.
*
Klaus spots the blonde at the entrance as soon as she steps through the door. She is a goddess really, curls tumbling down her back, a deep blue silk gown that just glides along the smooth lines of her body, rippling with her every movement.
But then she spots him, and he can see the determination in her eyes as she makes a beeline across the room. Reporter or opportunist, then, or maybe both. Klaus is not really in the mood for either tonight, not a charity gala.
He’s got his disinterested expression and standard rebuff ready when the blonde goddess reaches for his should -- no, wait, past him -- to a tray of crab puffs he had not noticed, and then proceeds to savour each bite in a manner that is bordering on indecent. Klaus laughs at himself quietly, but then realises that perhaps he wasn’t that quiet when the blonde goddess cracks open one eye and shoots him a glare before he manages to school his expression.
“Excuse you?” She snaps. “Are you judging me for eating?”
“Sorry, love,” he smiles, making sure to showcase both dimples, catching the subtle once over that she gives him. “I thought you were coming over to talk to me. But I see this spot is popular for other reasons.”
The blonde relaxes slightly when she realises he isn’t making fun of her, and grabs a glass of champagne from a tray that comes past. “Yeah, sorry to break to it you, but this is prime real estate. First pick of all the delicious canapés. I’m surprised no one has elbowed you out that spot.”
He snorts. “Most people here are more interested in the alcohol.”
She shrugs. “Their loss.”
He shoots her another appreciative look when she turns to look out at the room, and the people milling about. “I’m Klaus Mikaelson.”
“Ca—uh, Camille.”
“Camille?”
The blonde nods, then clears her throat, “Yes, Camille O’Connor.”
*
Caroline wants to slap herself as soon as she says it, but it’s too late. Sorry, I mixed up my own name? Camille is a nickname? Camille is what I use for coffee orders, and it’s now become a habit? Yes my alter ego has a last name too...
It’s not like it’s a wedding she’s crashed, so she doesn’t need to pretend to know the bride or groom. Although she did kind of take her horrible roommate's mail (it was already opened, thank you very much, no federal crimes committed here).
Oh well, guess she’s all in, and Caroline Forbes is not a quitter. Even if she sometimes forgets her own name.
Klaus is cute, and exactly her type. If the night goes well, she can probably salvage their weird beginning. If it doesn't go well, then no loss. Based on her observations so far, there should be another tray of canapés arriving soon.
“So are you regular at these charity events?” Caroline asks.
When she glances over, Klaus has an unreadable expression on his face but then his face quickly clears. “My sister works in the industry, and sometimes I donate my paintings for the auctions.”
An artist? “Did you paint anything on offer for tonight?”
Klaus shakes his head. “Not tonight, love. I’m only here as a guest.”
“Shame. I bet your art is very tortured,” she teases. “You seem the type.”
“A lot of people would agree with you,” Klaus says wryly. “And how about you? Have you always supported the cause?”
Caroline narrows her eyes. Klaus’s tone is neutral. Too neutral, even.
“Well…” she says slowly, “I do believe that all children deserve education. Knowledge is the true equalizer, after all.”
“So you don’t believe that a person’s childhood determines all of their life choices?”
Caroline’s forehead wrinkles. It honestly feels like he’s testing her.
“No?”
“That’s funny,” Klaus drawls, and his tone has definitely taken on a taunting edge. Caroline tenses a little. She’s not sure what is going on here, but cute as Klaus is, it’s time to look for an exit strategy. Luckily he doesn’t know her real name.
“You seem like you would say someone who experiences a traumatic event as a child has no ability to form emotional connection… Camille.”
Ok, she is definitely caught. Abort! Abort!
“Right. Well, it was very nice talking to you, Klaus, but I see someone over there that I really need to say hello to.”
“Really? Anyone I know?” Klaus grab a crab puff from a server that flits past. Caroline is so distracted by this uncomfortable knowledge that Klaus knows that she’s not Camille O’Connor, the roommate who has obviously faux-analyzed Klaus as well as some point, that doesn’t manage to grab her own crab puff in time.
Caroline narrows her eyes at him again, no longer trying to hide her irritation.
“Probably not,” she says shortly, giving a final polite smile, another insincere “nice to meet you”, before making a quick escape.
Caroline wanders aimlessly across the room before someone to the left calls her name. It’s Marcel Gerard, one of the trainers at the gym she goes to but definitely not enough.
She’s about to respond when there is a prickle up her spine.
“Marcel,” she hears Klaus say, before his hand grazes her elbow lightly. “You remember Camille?”
Marcel raises an eyebrow, clearly confused. “Camille?”
Caroline’s mind races as she tries to figure out how to explain this, while ignoring the heat radiating from Klaus against her left arm.
“You remember Cami. My ex-girlfriend.”
Caroline grimaces, then turns to face Klaus who is smiling triumphantly. “Checkmate,” he whispers.
Well, she’s all in. And Caroline Forbes is not a quitter.
“Until you cheated on me with my best friend!”
*
It’s a bit hard to explain to people how they met.
They just say it was Tinder.