What does not kill me
Category: Pink Sheep RPG
Coming up behind her old friend, Lisa reached out and poked him in the sides, unable to resist a little giggle. It made her feel like a third year again. "Hallo, old friend. Miss me?"
Grin curling his lips, Michael wrapped an arm around Lisa's shoulders to pull her into a hug. "Course, Sunshine. Bleak without you," he said, pressing a brief kiss to her hair before releasing her. She had the smell of Macmillan all over her; she didn't belong to them.
All the same, Michael was glad to see her.
Lisa grinned at him, reaching out to adjust his mask minutely. "You look dashing this evening. I assume you're escorting Astoria?"
"Something like that," he acknowledged with a nod, eyes scanning about for the little golden kitten his sister had become for the masque. "Officially. But she's working." His bright blue eyes tracked back to the sunny blond and he grinned. "And yours is about somewhere, yes?"
"He's talking to Justin, I think. I slipped away when I spotted you," she replied, taking his hand and squeezing softly. "How have you been?" Since the reception, she felt as though she'd barely seen any of her friends even though she'd quit one of her jobs. It didn't feel natural, not spending a fair amount of her time with the rest of her housemates.
Of course, she was the first one to be married, so maybe she did have an excuse.
"I've been," he nodded, tugging her towards the dance floor and swirling her into the dancers. "Writing music, pondering life," whatever it was his had become as bound to the moon as he was now, "considering a business venture here and there." His lips twitched. "Wondering if your husband will think I've crossed the line," he added before twirling her away and then back into his arms easily.
Lisa snorted. "He can't say anything, he's dancing with Hannah. It's practically the same thing." She stumbled slightly when he pulled her back into him, but quickly righted herself. "Speaking of business ventures, I had a conversation with Reilly recently."
"Oh?" He wasn't surprised. Reilly was driven and she'd make the label she'd initially created for him into something whether he participated actively or not. He was curious though.
The blonde nodded. "I talked to Ernie about it and...I think I'm going to record an album." Her breath caught as she waited for her old friend to react to the news.
Michael grinned, hugging his friend close. "That's great news, Sunshine." And it was. He knew she'd wanted to make a life of giving her music to others. Newly married, he knew it would be hard though. Being on the road was anything but easy on relationships.
He set her back to meet her gaze. "Are you happy then?"
"Happier than I can ever remember being," she said with a broad smile. And it was true; for the first time in her life, she felt like everything was going her way. Her music career had received a bit of life, and she was in love and married to the most wonderful man on earth. Unconsciously, her eyes traversed the ballroom, landing on her husband. How had she gotten so lucky?
"Good." He pulled her into a hug again, pulled her close and there was a smile curling his lips. His Sunshine deserved every bright thing that came her way. "Good."
*~*~*~*~*
Romy looked wistfully at the glasses of champagne being carried about by the trayful. Her party days were long since past, but she'd indulged in a drink or two on a pretty regular basis up until her pregnancy. Glancing down to where she knew her ankles were, even if she couldn't see them at the moment, and decided she didn't really need any more fluid added to her swollen feet.
"I know you're down there," she told the invisible appendages. "We'll meet again one day."
"Is schizophrenia a symptom of pregnancy?" Katie joked as she sidled up next to her ever expanding friend, wrapping an arm around the other woman's shoulders. "You know, you aren't supposed to answer the voices."
Grinning at her taller friend, Romy chuckled. "I can't help it. After an hour in heels, they scream at me."
"They scream, 'You mad, mad woman. You should be sitting down while your dashing husband rubs your little feet,'" Katie teased. "Speaking of said husband, where is he? I'm half surprised I haven't been cornered to discuss Puddlemere's strategies for the second half of the season."
A footrub sounded positively heavenly, and Romy tucked the idea away for later in the night. "I gave Oliver a pass for the evening. He's a good sport, but he's been busy working on the nursery the last few weeks and he's tired. A night at a gala held by a women's magazine isn't high on his list of fun activities, so I let him stay home."
Pointedly looking around, she asked, "And you, Miss Bell? Are you gracing a gentleman with your presence this evening?"
"I'm gracing the room with my presence this evening," Katie answered, her brow raising even though Romy couldn't see it. "I'm sure there are plenty of gentlemen in attendance who'd agree."
"Smart arse." Romy nudged her friend gently. "Why don't you ever bring a date? What happened with the Keeper? You know how I like Keepers."
"Which Keeper?" Katie mused absent-mindedly, knowing exactly which Keeper her friend was referring to. "There are at least twelve that come to mind at the moment."
With a raised brow, Romy crossed her arms, practicing her 'Mum' look. "Katelyn Elizabeth Bell, you know very well who I mean. Spill now or I will send Oliver to oversee your practices for the next month."
Katie gasped. "That was below the belt, Romilda, it really was."
"That sentence didn't have a thing to do with Mr. Ackerly. Do I need to owl my husband?"
"Alright, alright, alright, you evil, pregnant harpy. What was the last I told you?" She honestly couldn't remember what all she'd recounted to which friends about the saga of Stewart and Katie. Or was it a saga? Maybe it was an epic poem. Or a limerick.
"I believe we left off with 'we snogged and I'm too chicken to owl the bloke'," Romy teased lightly. Katie was a devil on the Quidditch pitch, but all that confidence seemed to evaporate when it came to relationships. It was baffling. Granted, Romy knew she'd had a difficult time in the States, but Katie was smart, talented, and beautiful. There were a thousand men that would give their right arm to take her out, but she wouldn't give them the time of day.
"Oh, then you're a bit behind," the brunette said, downing the last of her champagne and setting the empty flute down on a nearby table. "So no, I didn't take your advice and owl him. Shame on me, I know. I didn't hear from him until about three weeks later; well, I didn't really hear from him then, but I was having lunch with Jonathan at Sirenae at the same time he was meeting his mum. So we saw each other but didn't speak."
Taking a breath, she continued. "Well, about two weeks after that, we were at the Lights of Literacy luncheon together, and it was like a complete one-eighty. You'd have thought I murdered his pygmy puff in cold blood or something. So, after photos were done, I called him on it- in private and away from the cameras, of course- and he basically insinuated that I'd snogged him while I was seeing another man."
Eyebrows rising high on her forehead, Romy searched the room until her eyes fell upon the man in question. "I see. And did you set him straight on this assumption?"
"After I slapped him, yes."
She couldn't stop the grin that formed at Katie's statement. "Good. I'm glad that got cleared up. Where do things stand now?"
Katie gave a little half-shrug. "I don't know. He apologized, I accepted, we had coffee, so I don't know where that leaves things."
"You know what would fix that?" Romy asked, her tone only slightly sarcastic. "Talking to him. Believe it or not, actual communication can be really helpful in situations like this."
"We did talk," Katie defended, eying her friend through her mask. "Just not about...that."
Romy gave her a look.
"What?" the older woman asked, shrugging. "What was I supposed to say? 'Great snog. Now why'd you call me a whore?'"
"Good grief, Katie," Romy sighed in exasperation. "At this rate we're never going to get you shagged. Do you suppose he'd have been jealous if it were just a snog to him? Maybe you should try talking about that."
"He just assumed that I was the kind of woman who snogs multiple men at the same time, Romy. It hurt."
Slipping an arm around her friend's waist, Romy gave her a squeeze. "I know, Katie-did, but you expressed your displeasure and he apologized for being an idiotic man. The question is whether you're going to let your pride get in the way of something that seems to mean more to both of you than you'd like to let on."
Did he mean something to her? She honestly didn't know; all she knew was that it hurt when he'd accused her of something she hadn't done. She wanted someone to want her for her, not because she was rich or famous or looked good as just some accessory on his arm.
"I don't know," she answered softly, her eyes glancing across the crowded ballroom until they lit on Stewart. "I really don't know."
"Anything worth having is a risk, Katie. Don't make those walls around your heart too difficult to scale."
"I don't know how, Romy. But I'll try."
*~*~*~*~*
Taking two flutes of champagne from a tray that passed by, Mandy handed one to Jake. "Seen anything you like tonight?"
Jake gave her a smug grin as he accepted the flute of champagne, wishing it was a pint of lager. "You mean, besides you?"
She gave him a winning smile. "Good answer. Any pieces catch your eye, though?" Even if it was biased, she rather liked one of her brother's sculptures.
"But unless you were talking about some of the lovely Robert Adams' chairs or the Chippendale sideboard, then no, I didn't see anything."
"You'd have better luck at a flea market, hmm?"
"Picked you up at one, didn't I?" His eyebrow tilted upwards.
"Then I don't think you should be going back to those places. There might be some other bathtub seeking hussy around the place."
Jake snorted into his drink, glad nobody was paying them any mind. "Calling yourself a hussy now? How come when I try that I get slapped?"
"Slapping helps keep your cheekbones up nice and high," was her made-up-on-the-spot answer.
He pouted at her. "That hardly could be considered nice."
Mandy felt helpless to resist, and so reached up on her tip-toes to kiss his pout. "Maybe, but don't I make up for it?"
"Yeah. Pretty much."
"And is it nice if I promise to find some way to compensate your poor, hard-done-by soul later tonight?"
"Just name the time and place." He slung an arm over her shoulder. "I'll be there, ready and willing."
*~*~*~*~*
Having skipped out on the press conferences following Chelsea’s sound defeat of Leeds, Blake had screamed on his Ducati through the otherwise quiet streets of London. It was true he could have Apparated to Astoria’s little event at White Chapel Gallery, but for one it would have looked suspicious had he left his bike at the stadium, and secondly, he just liked arriving Muggle style to wizarding events - even if they were halfway across the Isle.
Remind them all who and what he was. The glares and looks of distaste he got from the older set of pureblood noble society especially tickled his fancy.
He was going to be in trouble for having skipped out of his football responsibilities, but such were the burdens of living a double life. It was a wonder the Muggle press hadn’t started to suspect something as it was. He rode his flashy bike and Lamborghini all over the city and seemingly ‘disappeared’ from their clutches despite their doggedness, but they’d mostly put it up to him being especially crafty. And he was that. Hiding in plain sight had been particularly effective thus far.
Also particularly effective had been the spells and charms he’d worked into his bike. Oh, yes, he’d found out about that flying motorbike. Dogged determination had his like the fabled rumor of one, better even. Cloaked with disillusionment charms and innumerable layers of spells, the Ducati screamed through the air towards Hogsmeade. He was late after his evening game, already. What was another twenty minutes?
Especially when it would make everyone in the purely wizarding town have a coronary? Priceless.
As he rumbled to a stop in front of Astoria’s gallery, Blake dismounted from his bike and it wasn’t more than a whisper of a breath to set the warding spells. Muggles would see, know and titter that he was about somewhere, but they’d all be compelled to stay away. The spell was particularly handy with slipping out of parking tickets. Not that it was of any concern in Hogsmeade with their cobbled streets, but he didn’t want anyone tampering with his bike all the same. If they did … well, those spells were questionable in their legality.
Pulling his helmet from his head, Blake shook out his damp hair - longer than normal as he’d not had time to cut it with the training and game schedule his football team was currently on - and looked up at the majestic building. It was a massive, beautiful structure and completely out of place in little, down-home Hogsmeade. A glance at the buildings around the large gallery showed that they were starting to cater to the clientele that obviously came in now and several trendy cafes and shops skirted the area.
Tucking his helmet under his arm, Blake’s lips curled into a smirk when he met many pairs of disapproving eyes as he bounded up the stairs of the gallery. In his leather jacket, black jeans and boots, he was anything but gala ready, anything but properly attired for a wizarding function.
Astoria would forgive him.
Before the attendant could turn him away, Blake produced a personalized invitation, dropped it on the little stand and strode past.
The reporters standing about flashed pictures, but weren’t sure what they should have asked or said. He wasn’t anyone important in the wizarding world - though the way he’d arrived and carried himself … they all had the feeling some scoop of a story was slipping under their noses. Still, no one knew what to ask in the face of such Muggleness. They all eyed the bike curiously. Some even took pictures.
*~*~*~*~*
She'd had enough for one evening.
Putting a respectable face to a business such as hers was imperative and Reilly attended society events regularly for just that reason. There came a time though when the small talk and smiles were just too much and she'd had her fill for this evening.
It didn't help that she was already on edge. Seeing Michael had helped. Her old friend's presence was a balm for her nerves, but he was not her escort tonight so monopolizing his time would have been quite rude. Not that Reilly cared too much about that in general, but she liked Astoria and she knew that Michael's sister was one witch she did not outrank for his affection and attention. She'd have to visit him soon, though. It was only when Reilly was free to be herself that she realized how big a strain her public mask put on her.
As she approached the coat check, her eyes caught on a figure just now entering the gala. His hair was damp, a fact that grated at Reilly's nerves even as her demeanor turned ice cold. It had been months since she'd seen him, months since he'd worn down her resistance and secured her favor. Months that she'd been left to wait as if she were some pathetic teenager, staring out the window for an owl that was not to come.
She hated him for that, but even more she hated that she'd allowed herself to become like so many women she'd held in disdain. No more. Tearing her eyes away from him, she continued on her quest to gather her cloak. This evening was done.
Blake's lips twitched up when he caught sight of a certain statuesque beauty that had been on his thoughts of late ... when he'd allowed himself to have thoughts outside of football, that is. It'd occurred to him, week after week, that he should have asked her out like he'd said he intended to do, but practices, games, publicity and events for Chelsea had always taken most of his attention.
As he let his gaze travel down her body though, he was more than aware of the rigidity of her back; she knew he was there. And she was angry, very angry if the bite to the air was anything to go by as he approached her.
His lips twitched up even more and his dark blue eyes twinkled. He didn't particularly like making her upset, per se, or any woman for that fact, but her reactions, no matter what kind they were, were too delicious to pass up. Even if she did cause harm to his person. Especially if she caused harm to his person.
"Leaving early then, love?" he asked as he leaned on the counter next to her, helmet tucked under the other arm.
Love? Love!? Who the hell does he think he's talking to? Her jaw clenched as the object of her ire spoke as if he hadn't been a monumental arse for the past several months. There were a million impulses pulling at her as she pondered her response. Her fingers itched for her wand while her palm longed to feel the satisfying sting from impact with his already abraded cheek.
The part of her that was still a female despite her tough exterior wanted not to respond at all, to take her cloak and walk out of the gallery without a word. She wouldn't let him see that part of herself, though. He'd done nothing to earn it and everything to prove her initial impression that the pull she had on him was solely that of a challenge to be conquered. A game to be won.
Son of a bitch.
"Your powers of deduction never cease to amaze, Mr. Dunstan," she deadpanned, gesturing for the coat check girl to pick up the pace.
"Nor does your capacity to be an ice cold bitch," he said pleasantly, blue eyes tracking over the pale curve of her shoulder a moment too long before he raised gaze to a vividly angry one. Oh, she was trying her damnedest to cover it up, but he had pushed all her wrong buttons, it seemed.
Not calling probably had something to do with that and he tipped his head, the longer hair he'd acquired sticking every which way from his shower not thirty minutes prior. "Though that likely has something to do with my deplorable manners," he volunteered easily. "I do apologize for not calling you, Ms. Chambers. You are a woman that deserves common courtesy at the very least." He'd have made a move to kiss her hand then, but despite his enjoyment of her reaction, even the bite of her anger for it meant he still had an affect on her, he felt it best not to push her just now.
Eyes flashing, she stepped into his personal space. Manners dictated that she must accept his apology, but Reilly had exhausted her store of useless societal decorum for the night.
"Yes, I am. In fact, I deserve quite a lot more than 'common' courtesy. And I get it, because I'm not some stupid tart all weak in the knees over the great footballer. There are many, many men desirous of my time, Mr. Dunstan. It is an honor when I choose to give it."
She knew she sounded like a horrid bitch, but as he'd just called her that very thing she felt no compunction in living up to the name.
"Should I have tried to woo you to my bed at the start then, Ms. Chambers?" he asked, dark blue eyes watching her intently. He was relaxed against the counter, but there was no twinkle to his gaze. "It's what a 'great footballer' would have done to the little tarts, no?"
He pushed up from his lounge then, no longer looking up at the striking woman, but down at her. "I do apologize for my schedule, that I rarely have time to call my own. Being a 'great footballer' is more a responsibility than what you seem to think it, and I take what I do very seriously, take the people who have helped me get where I am very seriously. I'd love to escort you as I proposed, to treat you as I feel a woman as yourself ought to be treated, but if you'd prefer I leave you alone, then I will."
It was the first time she'd seen the perpetual joke in his eyes disappear, certainly the first time she'd seen him approach anything like anger or indignation, and Reilly took a measure of pride in being able to push Blake's buttons for a change.
That didn't mean she was any less angry, nor that she was ready to back down.
"I'm well versed in responsibility and the lack of social life necessitated by a hectic schedule. The fact remains that you pursued me. You sought me out repeatedly. It was only when you'd succeeded in winning my company by my own choice rather than your persistence that you couldn't find the time to do as much as send an owl explaining the demands on your time which kept you from following up on the invitation you'd extended. Perhaps the intrigue evaporated once the game was won? There's been nothing upon which I could form an opinion beyond your absence."
"And it does seem you have formed quite a thorough opinion and explanation all on your own, Ms. Chambers," he said, one brow rising. "As an apology has been given and I have offered to relieve you permanently of my company and you haven't seen fit to properly respond to either, I will take the absence of both and read into them what I may as that seems the ..." Blake's eyes were intent, hard almost, "... 'game' of the day."
He offered a short bow of his head and when he lifted it, a smirk curled his lips though there was no sparkle to his eyes. "I'll leave you to your departure. Good night, Ms. Chambers."
With that, Blake slid his helmet to one of the checkers and then moved around her and into the gallery.
She was moving before the thought could even form. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she'd regret the action later, regret that her mask had so thoroughly fallen, but as one hand reached out to grab Blake's arm, the other swung, leaving it's mark on the side of his face.
The glare she aimed at him glistened with unshed tears, though she'd deny any suggestion of pain. She held his gaze for a moment, then turned away. There was nothing 'good' about this night.
The slap stung, but it was distant. Blake watched her stalk away for half a second, head tipped to the side. There'd been tears in her eyes. He'd not thought to see them on Reilly Chambers. He'd knew he'd treated her badly with his lack of manners, especially to such a woman as herself, but he hadn't really thought she was paying much attention.
Apparently he'd been wrong.
As he watched her walk away though, he'd a feeling it would be the last time he would see her if she'd time to think about everything and make a choice about it. He'd only half a moment to decide if he was alright with that before he was striding after her.
They were in the entry foyer and there were a few people milling about, but Blake still grabbed her arm and swung her around, his other hand sliding into her hair in one movement as he pressed his lips to hers.
She struggled against the kiss just long enough for pride to be overtaken by instinct, desire, and relief. The tightly wound coil inside her snapped, and her hands fisted in overlong blond hair as she nipped at Blake's lip. She'd wanted this from the start, had fought against it, and the ferocity of her response echoed that desire fulfilled.
Despite where they were, Blake didn't hesitate to twine his fingers in her hair and tip her head up, repaying the nip by tasting her, deeply, thoroughly. He released her arm and slid his hand around her waist, pulling her against his body.
Yes, yes this is why he'd pursued Reilly Chambers. He'd not acted upon it because she was worth more than a token's effort, but if he'd not shown her now what he'd thought about since first walking into her office months and months ago, he knew he'd never get the chance again.
His chest was firm against her own, held tight as she was by the arm around her waist. As his fingers pulled at her hair, maneuvering her into position, she moaned, the sound lost in their kiss.
She could feel the fire of want building, but this was not the place to indulge it. It was an effort to pull away, but she'd given the gossip mongers quite enough ammunition for one night. She and Blake needed to either adjourn to a more private location or part for the evening. Staying at the gala together was not an option. If she was to remain in his company tonight, it would be for a much more enjoyable purpose.
She pulled her mouth from his, but he didn't let her move much further. He could feel her fire, the passion and anger she usually set to glaring and bitching at him, sizzling beneath his skin. It's why he'd never let her be.
Tipping his head to the side, he brushed his lips to the edge of her jaw. "Do you accept my apology, Ms. Chambers?" he murmured against her skin.
Eyes sliding shut as Blake's mouth moved lightly over her skin, Reilly smirked though he couldn't see it. "This time, Mr. Dunstan. This time you are forgiven."
"That's all I need," he said, lips curling slightly as he pressed them just beneath her ear. "And may I call on you? In a more timely manner, of course," he added, hand at the base of her spine splaying just a bit lower.
Only mildly disappointed that she would have to wait to indulge in the rest of what her body ached for, Reilly pressed herself even closer to him, memorizing the feeling of his body against hers. "Soon," she replied, teeth dragging over his earlobe before she moved to catch his lips again.
His lips curled against hers, though not a moment later Blake deepened the kiss. She was soft against him, pliant, and he smoothed his hand up her back until he hit skin and his fingers lingered there a moment before he pressed his palm to her spine and traced back down.
Pulling away then, Blake smirked against her mouth, though his dark blue eyes were twinkling again. "Soon," he agreed even as he pulled his hand from her hair and took the cloak she'd never donned from the crook of her arm.
Stepping back, he swirled it around her shoulders and pulled the silver clasp together before raising the hood over her dark hair. Her face was shadowed then, but he could see her mouth and lifted his hand to rub his thumb against her lower lip a moment before dropping it again. "Good evening, Ms. Chambers."
Reilly dipped her head, eyes bright beneath her hood when she raised them back to Blake's face. "As it turned out, yes. A good evening." She turned to go then, her voice trailing behind. "Until next time, Mr. Dunstan."
*~*~*~*~*
After her little chat with Katie, Romy decided that perhaps the more effective option was to threaten her would-be beau. Well, threaten might be a bit harsh. Nudge was a friendly way to put it. Stewart Ackerly needed a nudge since Miss Bell seemed determined to dismiss any chance the pair might have.
Spying the handsome Keeper - not as handsome as her Keeper, of course, but good looking all the same - near the bar, Romy waddled in that direction. She was puffing slightly by the time she crossed the room and dark eyes turned up to the blue staring down at her. "Mr. Ackerly, the polite thing to do at this juncture would be to get the pregnant woman a drink."
Stewart's eyebrows darted upwards under his mask; he certainly hadn't expected to be accosted by the pregnant wife of one of his heroes. "Er...orange juice okay, Mrs. Wood?" He really wasn't making a very good impression; surprise could do that to a man.
She wanted to giggle at the slightly petrified look on what she could see of Stewart's face. It would be interesting to see if that fear remained once she broached the topic of Katie Bell. She wasn't above practicing her Mum-look on him, too. "That would be perfect."
Waiting patiently while he signaled the bartender, Romy accepted the offered beverage with a smile of gratitude. She took a long sip before refocusing on the object of her friend's affection. "Thank you. I needed that. I'd swear it's a full grown person that's taken residence in my body as weighed down as I feel. The horrors of pregnancy aren't what brought me over, though. I understand you snogged a friend of mine. Katie Bell?"
Stewart blinked, his eyebrows rising. "I did." Not that he thought it was any business of hers.
"My friend," Romy began, her gaze steadily meeting that of the attractive young Quidditch player, "is a beautiful, talented, caring woman. She deserves to be with someone who won't play with her affection. You're not the sort of bloke who toys with women, are you, Mr. Ackerly?"
Oh, Merlin. He wasn't having this. "Not trying to be rude, Mrs. Wood, but even if I were, I'm not sure that it's anyone else's business. It's really not something I'm interested in discussing here," he waved his arm vaguely at the very full room, which included reporters covering the event.
It was Romy's turn to raise her brows. She hadn't actually come over to put the man through the wringer, and while she could understand that her initial question might have led Stewart to believe otherwise, his response, however understandable, was not sitting well with the hormonal witch.
"My purpose for speaking to you was actually not of a malicious nature. It goes without saying that I want my friend treated well, but I had actually presumed you were a decent sort of man who wouldn't cause me much concern in that regard."
Romy's voice was low and quiet, mindful of the many eyes and ears milling about, but it was also intent. "It's clear to me that my friend is quite fond of you, though just this second I'm not sure why. I was coming over to tell you that if you share that fondness you should be very clear in laying it out. Katie's a fiercely strong woman in many aspects of her life, but this is not one of them. I wanted to do this so that you might both save yourselves a lot of time and hurt feelings playing games and wondering each what the other is thinking. Forgive me.
Thank you for the juice, Mr. Ackerly. I'll get back in my place now. My apologies for imposing on your private life. It won't happen again."
Fucking hormones. Stewart thought himself quite restrained for not rolling his eyes or informing Mrs. Wood that he already had a mother, thank you very much. "I'm sure she's grateful for such a loyal friend. Enjoy your night, Mrs. Wood."
*~*~*~*~*
The pint-sized brunette had finally tracked down her Indian friend, slipping an arm around her waist from behind. "I like what you've done with the place."
Padma started before she realized just who'd surprised her. "I had practically nothing to do with it," she said, smiling down at the petite brunette. "Astoria handled almost everything, and Parvati did the catering."
"Shut up and take a compliment, woman," Mandy jokingly berated. "It's happened, and it's brilliant, and let's enjoy it, okay?"
"I'm trying," Padma replied, patting Mandy on the head. "And you? Where's your Jake?"
"Possibly in the loo. Or finding awful things out from my brother, you never know. As for me, I'm wearing a sparkly dress and lots of my friends are here. It's a good night." And my boyfriend fills out a suit ridiculously well.
"That it is," Lisa replied from behind them, grinning when her two friends jumped in surprise. "Antsy, are we?"
"You always make my heart flutter, Lise," Mandy quipped.
"Don't let my husband hear you talk like that. He's insanely jealous, you know," the blonde remarked conversationally, smiling down at the other two. "Enjoying yourselves?"
The brunette nodded. "The pieces are lovely, the food's great, and the company's passable."
"Only passable?" Padma asked with a raised brow. "Get thee away from me then, wench. I'm sure there are some more vultures masquerading as reporters who want a bit of my very valuable time."
Mandy patted her arm. "I'll leave you to the ravenous press, then. Somewhere around here, there's a sexy man in a suit who belongs to me."
"I have one too," Lisa reminded her, looking around the ballroom for her husband. "Have fun, you two."
"Don't remind me," Padma muttered, staring forlornly into her champagne. Everyone had someone except her. "Go find your men."
Mandy didn't want to leave her friend on a mopey note. On her tiptoes, she kissed Padma's cheek. "Good things come to those who wait, Pads. Your's will be extra good."
"When I'm in the geriatric ward, maybe," Padma joked feebly.
"Oh shut it," Lisa replied, squeezing Padma's arm. "He's out there. He just got lost and didn't want to ask for directions."
"Which means he's definitely a man, so you're in luck." Throwing the pair a wink, Mandy slipped into the crowd.
Padma blinked, then rolled her eyes before she turned her attention back to Lisa. "You've met her Jake, yes?"
The blonde nodded. "Twice. He seems nice. Why?"
Shrugging, Padma shook her head. "I don't know, don't you think she's jumping into this whole thing? They were only together what, four months before they confessed their undying love to one another?"
"When you know, you know," the blonde said simply.
"Yes, but what if she's latching onto the first man who's been good to her since that whole fiasco with Eddie?" Padma asked imploringly. "She was a wreck after that. This just seems so soon."
Lisa shrugged and simply said, "I don't know. But she's happy now, which is more than she ever was with Eddie. We should be happy for her."
Her friend sighed. "I am happy for her. I'm just worried."
"Don't be. If he does turn out to be a complete zero, we can always kill him."
"True."
*~*~*~*~*
Placeholder for Blake/Astoria
*~*~*~*~*
Lavender smoothed a hand down her dress as she took in the sheer amount of guests in attendance. It was without a doubt the largest showing she'd ever had a painting in, and it made her a little bit giddy.
The night was going well, extremely well, so far, and Padma couldn't help the little smile that was on her face as she moved about the room. Everyone looked fabulous, and the artwork on display was selling like wildfire. Which reminded her, she needed to find a certain bohemian blonde artist friend of her sister's.
"Hello, Lavender," she said, dark brown eyes warm behind her gold mask, "congratulations."
"Hullo, Padma." Her own green eyes were dancing as she took everything in. "And thank you."
"Are you enjoying yourself?"
"Immensely," the blonde replied, grinning hugely.
"Good. Your work is beautiful, by the way. Astoria's very pleased with it."
Her eyes tracked across the room to where her painting was hanging and she wanted to dance. Seeing her work hanging, and seeing people enjoying it was the best high in world. "I'm glad."
"So," Padma remarked conversationally, "have you danced with anyone yet?" She'd seen Dean skulking around his friend, and wondered if the man needed a bit of prodding.
"Not yet. I've been too nervous to, really." Once the pleasant buzz brought on by all the attention had faded, she couldn't help but agonize every time someone approached one of her paintings. It was nerve wracking.
"I know how you feel. But you should dance, have fun. This is a party, after all."
"I know." But she pressed a hand to her stomach to calm the butterflies that had taken to flying again.
Padma smiled and snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, handing it to her sister's best friend. "Here. Drink this and find someone to dance with. Very Important Person's orders."
"Alright, Very Important Person, I will find someone to dance with on the condition that you do the same."
The smile slowly dimmed, but she nodded. "Alright, I will," she said hurriedly, shooing Lavender along. "Now go dance."
Lavender pressed her glass into Padma's hand and with another smile, moved into the crowd to find a dance partner.
Coming up behind her old friend, Lisa reached out and poked him in the sides, unable to resist a little giggle. It made her feel like a third year again. "Hallo, old friend. Miss me?"
Grin curling his lips, Michael wrapped an arm around Lisa's shoulders to pull her into a hug. "Course, Sunshine. Bleak without you," he said, pressing a brief kiss to her hair before releasing her. She had the smell of Macmillan all over her; she didn't belong to them.
All the same, Michael was glad to see her.
Lisa grinned at him, reaching out to adjust his mask minutely. "You look dashing this evening. I assume you're escorting Astoria?"
"Something like that," he acknowledged with a nod, eyes scanning about for the little golden kitten his sister had become for the masque. "Officially. But she's working." His bright blue eyes tracked back to the sunny blond and he grinned. "And yours is about somewhere, yes?"
"He's talking to Justin, I think. I slipped away when I spotted you," she replied, taking his hand and squeezing softly. "How have you been?" Since the reception, she felt as though she'd barely seen any of her friends even though she'd quit one of her jobs. It didn't feel natural, not spending a fair amount of her time with the rest of her housemates.
Of course, she was the first one to be married, so maybe she did have an excuse.
"I've been," he nodded, tugging her towards the dance floor and swirling her into the dancers. "Writing music, pondering life," whatever it was his had become as bound to the moon as he was now, "considering a business venture here and there." His lips twitched. "Wondering if your husband will think I've crossed the line," he added before twirling her away and then back into his arms easily.
Lisa snorted. "He can't say anything, he's dancing with Hannah. It's practically the same thing." She stumbled slightly when he pulled her back into him, but quickly righted herself. "Speaking of business ventures, I had a conversation with Reilly recently."
"Oh?" He wasn't surprised. Reilly was driven and she'd make the label she'd initially created for him into something whether he participated actively or not. He was curious though.
The blonde nodded. "I talked to Ernie about it and...I think I'm going to record an album." Her breath caught as she waited for her old friend to react to the news.
Michael grinned, hugging his friend close. "That's great news, Sunshine." And it was. He knew she'd wanted to make a life of giving her music to others. Newly married, he knew it would be hard though. Being on the road was anything but easy on relationships.
He set her back to meet her gaze. "Are you happy then?"
"Happier than I can ever remember being," she said with a broad smile. And it was true; for the first time in her life, she felt like everything was going her way. Her music career had received a bit of life, and she was in love and married to the most wonderful man on earth. Unconsciously, her eyes traversed the ballroom, landing on her husband. How had she gotten so lucky?
"Good." He pulled her into a hug again, pulled her close and there was a smile curling his lips. His Sunshine deserved every bright thing that came her way. "Good."
*~*~*~*~*
Romy looked wistfully at the glasses of champagne being carried about by the trayful. Her party days were long since past, but she'd indulged in a drink or two on a pretty regular basis up until her pregnancy. Glancing down to where she knew her ankles were, even if she couldn't see them at the moment, and decided she didn't really need any more fluid added to her swollen feet.
"I know you're down there," she told the invisible appendages. "We'll meet again one day."
"Is schizophrenia a symptom of pregnancy?" Katie joked as she sidled up next to her ever expanding friend, wrapping an arm around the other woman's shoulders. "You know, you aren't supposed to answer the voices."
Grinning at her taller friend, Romy chuckled. "I can't help it. After an hour in heels, they scream at me."
"They scream, 'You mad, mad woman. You should be sitting down while your dashing husband rubs your little feet,'" Katie teased. "Speaking of said husband, where is he? I'm half surprised I haven't been cornered to discuss Puddlemere's strategies for the second half of the season."
A footrub sounded positively heavenly, and Romy tucked the idea away for later in the night. "I gave Oliver a pass for the evening. He's a good sport, but he's been busy working on the nursery the last few weeks and he's tired. A night at a gala held by a women's magazine isn't high on his list of fun activities, so I let him stay home."
Pointedly looking around, she asked, "And you, Miss Bell? Are you gracing a gentleman with your presence this evening?"
"I'm gracing the room with my presence this evening," Katie answered, her brow raising even though Romy couldn't see it. "I'm sure there are plenty of gentlemen in attendance who'd agree."
"Smart arse." Romy nudged her friend gently. "Why don't you ever bring a date? What happened with the Keeper? You know how I like Keepers."
"Which Keeper?" Katie mused absent-mindedly, knowing exactly which Keeper her friend was referring to. "There are at least twelve that come to mind at the moment."
With a raised brow, Romy crossed her arms, practicing her 'Mum' look. "Katelyn Elizabeth Bell, you know very well who I mean. Spill now or I will send Oliver to oversee your practices for the next month."
Katie gasped. "That was below the belt, Romilda, it really was."
"That sentence didn't have a thing to do with Mr. Ackerly. Do I need to owl my husband?"
"Alright, alright, alright, you evil, pregnant harpy. What was the last I told you?" She honestly couldn't remember what all she'd recounted to which friends about the saga of Stewart and Katie. Or was it a saga? Maybe it was an epic poem. Or a limerick.
"I believe we left off with 'we snogged and I'm too chicken to owl the bloke'," Romy teased lightly. Katie was a devil on the Quidditch pitch, but all that confidence seemed to evaporate when it came to relationships. It was baffling. Granted, Romy knew she'd had a difficult time in the States, but Katie was smart, talented, and beautiful. There were a thousand men that would give their right arm to take her out, but she wouldn't give them the time of day.
"Oh, then you're a bit behind," the brunette said, downing the last of her champagne and setting the empty flute down on a nearby table. "So no, I didn't take your advice and owl him. Shame on me, I know. I didn't hear from him until about three weeks later; well, I didn't really hear from him then, but I was having lunch with Jonathan at Sirenae at the same time he was meeting his mum. So we saw each other but didn't speak."
Taking a breath, she continued. "Well, about two weeks after that, we were at the Lights of Literacy luncheon together, and it was like a complete one-eighty. You'd have thought I murdered his pygmy puff in cold blood or something. So, after photos were done, I called him on it- in private and away from the cameras, of course- and he basically insinuated that I'd snogged him while I was seeing another man."
Eyebrows rising high on her forehead, Romy searched the room until her eyes fell upon the man in question. "I see. And did you set him straight on this assumption?"
"After I slapped him, yes."
She couldn't stop the grin that formed at Katie's statement. "Good. I'm glad that got cleared up. Where do things stand now?"
Katie gave a little half-shrug. "I don't know. He apologized, I accepted, we had coffee, so I don't know where that leaves things."
"You know what would fix that?" Romy asked, her tone only slightly sarcastic. "Talking to him. Believe it or not, actual communication can be really helpful in situations like this."
"We did talk," Katie defended, eying her friend through her mask. "Just not about...that."
Romy gave her a look.
"What?" the older woman asked, shrugging. "What was I supposed to say? 'Great snog. Now why'd you call me a whore?'"
"Good grief, Katie," Romy sighed in exasperation. "At this rate we're never going to get you shagged. Do you suppose he'd have been jealous if it were just a snog to him? Maybe you should try talking about that."
"He just assumed that I was the kind of woman who snogs multiple men at the same time, Romy. It hurt."
Slipping an arm around her friend's waist, Romy gave her a squeeze. "I know, Katie-did, but you expressed your displeasure and he apologized for being an idiotic man. The question is whether you're going to let your pride get in the way of something that seems to mean more to both of you than you'd like to let on."
Did he mean something to her? She honestly didn't know; all she knew was that it hurt when he'd accused her of something she hadn't done. She wanted someone to want her for her, not because she was rich or famous or looked good as just some accessory on his arm.
"I don't know," she answered softly, her eyes glancing across the crowded ballroom until they lit on Stewart. "I really don't know."
"Anything worth having is a risk, Katie. Don't make those walls around your heart too difficult to scale."
"I don't know how, Romy. But I'll try."
*~*~*~*~*
Taking two flutes of champagne from a tray that passed by, Mandy handed one to Jake. "Seen anything you like tonight?"
Jake gave her a smug grin as he accepted the flute of champagne, wishing it was a pint of lager. "You mean, besides you?"
She gave him a winning smile. "Good answer. Any pieces catch your eye, though?" Even if it was biased, she rather liked one of her brother's sculptures.
"But unless you were talking about some of the lovely Robert Adams' chairs or the Chippendale sideboard, then no, I didn't see anything."
"You'd have better luck at a flea market, hmm?"
"Picked you up at one, didn't I?" His eyebrow tilted upwards.
"Then I don't think you should be going back to those places. There might be some other bathtub seeking hussy around the place."
Jake snorted into his drink, glad nobody was paying them any mind. "Calling yourself a hussy now? How come when I try that I get slapped?"
"Slapping helps keep your cheekbones up nice and high," was her made-up-on-the-spot answer.
He pouted at her. "That hardly could be considered nice."
Mandy felt helpless to resist, and so reached up on her tip-toes to kiss his pout. "Maybe, but don't I make up for it?"
"Yeah. Pretty much."
"And is it nice if I promise to find some way to compensate your poor, hard-done-by soul later tonight?"
"Just name the time and place." He slung an arm over her shoulder. "I'll be there, ready and willing."
*~*~*~*~*
Having skipped out on the press conferences following Chelsea’s sound defeat of Leeds, Blake had screamed on his Ducati through the otherwise quiet streets of London. It was true he could have Apparated to Astoria’s little event at White Chapel Gallery, but for one it would have looked suspicious had he left his bike at the stadium, and secondly, he just liked arriving Muggle style to wizarding events - even if they were halfway across the Isle.
Remind them all who and what he was. The glares and looks of distaste he got from the older set of pureblood noble society especially tickled his fancy.
He was going to be in trouble for having skipped out of his football responsibilities, but such were the burdens of living a double life. It was a wonder the Muggle press hadn’t started to suspect something as it was. He rode his flashy bike and Lamborghini all over the city and seemingly ‘disappeared’ from their clutches despite their doggedness, but they’d mostly put it up to him being especially crafty. And he was that. Hiding in plain sight had been particularly effective thus far.
Also particularly effective had been the spells and charms he’d worked into his bike. Oh, yes, he’d found out about that flying motorbike. Dogged determination had his like the fabled rumor of one, better even. Cloaked with disillusionment charms and innumerable layers of spells, the Ducati screamed through the air towards Hogsmeade. He was late after his evening game, already. What was another twenty minutes?
Especially when it would make everyone in the purely wizarding town have a coronary? Priceless.
As he rumbled to a stop in front of Astoria’s gallery, Blake dismounted from his bike and it wasn’t more than a whisper of a breath to set the warding spells. Muggles would see, know and titter that he was about somewhere, but they’d all be compelled to stay away. The spell was particularly handy with slipping out of parking tickets. Not that it was of any concern in Hogsmeade with their cobbled streets, but he didn’t want anyone tampering with his bike all the same. If they did … well, those spells were questionable in their legality.
Pulling his helmet from his head, Blake shook out his damp hair - longer than normal as he’d not had time to cut it with the training and game schedule his football team was currently on - and looked up at the majestic building. It was a massive, beautiful structure and completely out of place in little, down-home Hogsmeade. A glance at the buildings around the large gallery showed that they were starting to cater to the clientele that obviously came in now and several trendy cafes and shops skirted the area.
Tucking his helmet under his arm, Blake’s lips curled into a smirk when he met many pairs of disapproving eyes as he bounded up the stairs of the gallery. In his leather jacket, black jeans and boots, he was anything but gala ready, anything but properly attired for a wizarding function.
Astoria would forgive him.
Before the attendant could turn him away, Blake produced a personalized invitation, dropped it on the little stand and strode past.
The reporters standing about flashed pictures, but weren’t sure what they should have asked or said. He wasn’t anyone important in the wizarding world - though the way he’d arrived and carried himself … they all had the feeling some scoop of a story was slipping under their noses. Still, no one knew what to ask in the face of such Muggleness. They all eyed the bike curiously. Some even took pictures.
*~*~*~*~*
She'd had enough for one evening.
Putting a respectable face to a business such as hers was imperative and Reilly attended society events regularly for just that reason. There came a time though when the small talk and smiles were just too much and she'd had her fill for this evening.
It didn't help that she was already on edge. Seeing Michael had helped. Her old friend's presence was a balm for her nerves, but he was not her escort tonight so monopolizing his time would have been quite rude. Not that Reilly cared too much about that in general, but she liked Astoria and she knew that Michael's sister was one witch she did not outrank for his affection and attention. She'd have to visit him soon, though. It was only when Reilly was free to be herself that she realized how big a strain her public mask put on her.
As she approached the coat check, her eyes caught on a figure just now entering the gala. His hair was damp, a fact that grated at Reilly's nerves even as her demeanor turned ice cold. It had been months since she'd seen him, months since he'd worn down her resistance and secured her favor. Months that she'd been left to wait as if she were some pathetic teenager, staring out the window for an owl that was not to come.
She hated him for that, but even more she hated that she'd allowed herself to become like so many women she'd held in disdain. No more. Tearing her eyes away from him, she continued on her quest to gather her cloak. This evening was done.
Blake's lips twitched up when he caught sight of a certain statuesque beauty that had been on his thoughts of late ... when he'd allowed himself to have thoughts outside of football, that is. It'd occurred to him, week after week, that he should have asked her out like he'd said he intended to do, but practices, games, publicity and events for Chelsea had always taken most of his attention.
As he let his gaze travel down her body though, he was more than aware of the rigidity of her back; she knew he was there. And she was angry, very angry if the bite to the air was anything to go by as he approached her.
His lips twitched up even more and his dark blue eyes twinkled. He didn't particularly like making her upset, per se, or any woman for that fact, but her reactions, no matter what kind they were, were too delicious to pass up. Even if she did cause harm to his person. Especially if she caused harm to his person.
"Leaving early then, love?" he asked as he leaned on the counter next to her, helmet tucked under the other arm.
Love? Love!? Who the hell does he think he's talking to? Her jaw clenched as the object of her ire spoke as if he hadn't been a monumental arse for the past several months. There were a million impulses pulling at her as she pondered her response. Her fingers itched for her wand while her palm longed to feel the satisfying sting from impact with his already abraded cheek.
The part of her that was still a female despite her tough exterior wanted not to respond at all, to take her cloak and walk out of the gallery without a word. She wouldn't let him see that part of herself, though. He'd done nothing to earn it and everything to prove her initial impression that the pull she had on him was solely that of a challenge to be conquered. A game to be won.
Son of a bitch.
"Your powers of deduction never cease to amaze, Mr. Dunstan," she deadpanned, gesturing for the coat check girl to pick up the pace.
"Nor does your capacity to be an ice cold bitch," he said pleasantly, blue eyes tracking over the pale curve of her shoulder a moment too long before he raised gaze to a vividly angry one. Oh, she was trying her damnedest to cover it up, but he had pushed all her wrong buttons, it seemed.
Not calling probably had something to do with that and he tipped his head, the longer hair he'd acquired sticking every which way from his shower not thirty minutes prior. "Though that likely has something to do with my deplorable manners," he volunteered easily. "I do apologize for not calling you, Ms. Chambers. You are a woman that deserves common courtesy at the very least." He'd have made a move to kiss her hand then, but despite his enjoyment of her reaction, even the bite of her anger for it meant he still had an affect on her, he felt it best not to push her just now.
Eyes flashing, she stepped into his personal space. Manners dictated that she must accept his apology, but Reilly had exhausted her store of useless societal decorum for the night.
"Yes, I am. In fact, I deserve quite a lot more than 'common' courtesy. And I get it, because I'm not some stupid tart all weak in the knees over the great footballer. There are many, many men desirous of my time, Mr. Dunstan. It is an honor when I choose to give it."
She knew she sounded like a horrid bitch, but as he'd just called her that very thing she felt no compunction in living up to the name.
"Should I have tried to woo you to my bed at the start then, Ms. Chambers?" he asked, dark blue eyes watching her intently. He was relaxed against the counter, but there was no twinkle to his gaze. "It's what a 'great footballer' would have done to the little tarts, no?"
He pushed up from his lounge then, no longer looking up at the striking woman, but down at her. "I do apologize for my schedule, that I rarely have time to call my own. Being a 'great footballer' is more a responsibility than what you seem to think it, and I take what I do very seriously, take the people who have helped me get where I am very seriously. I'd love to escort you as I proposed, to treat you as I feel a woman as yourself ought to be treated, but if you'd prefer I leave you alone, then I will."
It was the first time she'd seen the perpetual joke in his eyes disappear, certainly the first time she'd seen him approach anything like anger or indignation, and Reilly took a measure of pride in being able to push Blake's buttons for a change.
That didn't mean she was any less angry, nor that she was ready to back down.
"I'm well versed in responsibility and the lack of social life necessitated by a hectic schedule. The fact remains that you pursued me. You sought me out repeatedly. It was only when you'd succeeded in winning my company by my own choice rather than your persistence that you couldn't find the time to do as much as send an owl explaining the demands on your time which kept you from following up on the invitation you'd extended. Perhaps the intrigue evaporated once the game was won? There's been nothing upon which I could form an opinion beyond your absence."
"And it does seem you have formed quite a thorough opinion and explanation all on your own, Ms. Chambers," he said, one brow rising. "As an apology has been given and I have offered to relieve you permanently of my company and you haven't seen fit to properly respond to either, I will take the absence of both and read into them what I may as that seems the ..." Blake's eyes were intent, hard almost, "... 'game' of the day."
He offered a short bow of his head and when he lifted it, a smirk curled his lips though there was no sparkle to his eyes. "I'll leave you to your departure. Good night, Ms. Chambers."
With that, Blake slid his helmet to one of the checkers and then moved around her and into the gallery.
She was moving before the thought could even form. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she'd regret the action later, regret that her mask had so thoroughly fallen, but as one hand reached out to grab Blake's arm, the other swung, leaving it's mark on the side of his face.
The glare she aimed at him glistened with unshed tears, though she'd deny any suggestion of pain. She held his gaze for a moment, then turned away. There was nothing 'good' about this night.
The slap stung, but it was distant. Blake watched her stalk away for half a second, head tipped to the side. There'd been tears in her eyes. He'd not thought to see them on Reilly Chambers. He'd knew he'd treated her badly with his lack of manners, especially to such a woman as herself, but he hadn't really thought she was paying much attention.
Apparently he'd been wrong.
As he watched her walk away though, he'd a feeling it would be the last time he would see her if she'd time to think about everything and make a choice about it. He'd only half a moment to decide if he was alright with that before he was striding after her.
They were in the entry foyer and there were a few people milling about, but Blake still grabbed her arm and swung her around, his other hand sliding into her hair in one movement as he pressed his lips to hers.
She struggled against the kiss just long enough for pride to be overtaken by instinct, desire, and relief. The tightly wound coil inside her snapped, and her hands fisted in overlong blond hair as she nipped at Blake's lip. She'd wanted this from the start, had fought against it, and the ferocity of her response echoed that desire fulfilled.
Despite where they were, Blake didn't hesitate to twine his fingers in her hair and tip her head up, repaying the nip by tasting her, deeply, thoroughly. He released her arm and slid his hand around her waist, pulling her against his body.
Yes, yes this is why he'd pursued Reilly Chambers. He'd not acted upon it because she was worth more than a token's effort, but if he'd not shown her now what he'd thought about since first walking into her office months and months ago, he knew he'd never get the chance again.
His chest was firm against her own, held tight as she was by the arm around her waist. As his fingers pulled at her hair, maneuvering her into position, she moaned, the sound lost in their kiss.
She could feel the fire of want building, but this was not the place to indulge it. It was an effort to pull away, but she'd given the gossip mongers quite enough ammunition for one night. She and Blake needed to either adjourn to a more private location or part for the evening. Staying at the gala together was not an option. If she was to remain in his company tonight, it would be for a much more enjoyable purpose.
She pulled her mouth from his, but he didn't let her move much further. He could feel her fire, the passion and anger she usually set to glaring and bitching at him, sizzling beneath his skin. It's why he'd never let her be.
Tipping his head to the side, he brushed his lips to the edge of her jaw. "Do you accept my apology, Ms. Chambers?" he murmured against her skin.
Eyes sliding shut as Blake's mouth moved lightly over her skin, Reilly smirked though he couldn't see it. "This time, Mr. Dunstan. This time you are forgiven."
"That's all I need," he said, lips curling slightly as he pressed them just beneath her ear. "And may I call on you? In a more timely manner, of course," he added, hand at the base of her spine splaying just a bit lower.
Only mildly disappointed that she would have to wait to indulge in the rest of what her body ached for, Reilly pressed herself even closer to him, memorizing the feeling of his body against hers. "Soon," she replied, teeth dragging over his earlobe before she moved to catch his lips again.
His lips curled against hers, though not a moment later Blake deepened the kiss. She was soft against him, pliant, and he smoothed his hand up her back until he hit skin and his fingers lingered there a moment before he pressed his palm to her spine and traced back down.
Pulling away then, Blake smirked against her mouth, though his dark blue eyes were twinkling again. "Soon," he agreed even as he pulled his hand from her hair and took the cloak she'd never donned from the crook of her arm.
Stepping back, he swirled it around her shoulders and pulled the silver clasp together before raising the hood over her dark hair. Her face was shadowed then, but he could see her mouth and lifted his hand to rub his thumb against her lower lip a moment before dropping it again. "Good evening, Ms. Chambers."
Reilly dipped her head, eyes bright beneath her hood when she raised them back to Blake's face. "As it turned out, yes. A good evening." She turned to go then, her voice trailing behind. "Until next time, Mr. Dunstan."
*~*~*~*~*
After her little chat with Katie, Romy decided that perhaps the more effective option was to threaten her would-be beau. Well, threaten might be a bit harsh. Nudge was a friendly way to put it. Stewart Ackerly needed a nudge since Miss Bell seemed determined to dismiss any chance the pair might have.
Spying the handsome Keeper - not as handsome as her Keeper, of course, but good looking all the same - near the bar, Romy waddled in that direction. She was puffing slightly by the time she crossed the room and dark eyes turned up to the blue staring down at her. "Mr. Ackerly, the polite thing to do at this juncture would be to get the pregnant woman a drink."
Stewart's eyebrows darted upwards under his mask; he certainly hadn't expected to be accosted by the pregnant wife of one of his heroes. "Er...orange juice okay, Mrs. Wood?" He really wasn't making a very good impression; surprise could do that to a man.
She wanted to giggle at the slightly petrified look on what she could see of Stewart's face. It would be interesting to see if that fear remained once she broached the topic of Katie Bell. She wasn't above practicing her Mum-look on him, too. "That would be perfect."
Waiting patiently while he signaled the bartender, Romy accepted the offered beverage with a smile of gratitude. She took a long sip before refocusing on the object of her friend's affection. "Thank you. I needed that. I'd swear it's a full grown person that's taken residence in my body as weighed down as I feel. The horrors of pregnancy aren't what brought me over, though. I understand you snogged a friend of mine. Katie Bell?"
Stewart blinked, his eyebrows rising. "I did." Not that he thought it was any business of hers.
"My friend," Romy began, her gaze steadily meeting that of the attractive young Quidditch player, "is a beautiful, talented, caring woman. She deserves to be with someone who won't play with her affection. You're not the sort of bloke who toys with women, are you, Mr. Ackerly?"
Oh, Merlin. He wasn't having this. "Not trying to be rude, Mrs. Wood, but even if I were, I'm not sure that it's anyone else's business. It's really not something I'm interested in discussing here," he waved his arm vaguely at the very full room, which included reporters covering the event.
It was Romy's turn to raise her brows. She hadn't actually come over to put the man through the wringer, and while she could understand that her initial question might have led Stewart to believe otherwise, his response, however understandable, was not sitting well with the hormonal witch.
"My purpose for speaking to you was actually not of a malicious nature. It goes without saying that I want my friend treated well, but I had actually presumed you were a decent sort of man who wouldn't cause me much concern in that regard."
Romy's voice was low and quiet, mindful of the many eyes and ears milling about, but it was also intent. "It's clear to me that my friend is quite fond of you, though just this second I'm not sure why. I was coming over to tell you that if you share that fondness you should be very clear in laying it out. Katie's a fiercely strong woman in many aspects of her life, but this is not one of them. I wanted to do this so that you might both save yourselves a lot of time and hurt feelings playing games and wondering each what the other is thinking. Forgive me.
Thank you for the juice, Mr. Ackerly. I'll get back in my place now. My apologies for imposing on your private life. It won't happen again."
Fucking hormones. Stewart thought himself quite restrained for not rolling his eyes or informing Mrs. Wood that he already had a mother, thank you very much. "I'm sure she's grateful for such a loyal friend. Enjoy your night, Mrs. Wood."
*~*~*~*~*
The pint-sized brunette had finally tracked down her Indian friend, slipping an arm around her waist from behind. "I like what you've done with the place."
Padma started before she realized just who'd surprised her. "I had practically nothing to do with it," she said, smiling down at the petite brunette. "Astoria handled almost everything, and Parvati did the catering."
"Shut up and take a compliment, woman," Mandy jokingly berated. "It's happened, and it's brilliant, and let's enjoy it, okay?"
"I'm trying," Padma replied, patting Mandy on the head. "And you? Where's your Jake?"
"Possibly in the loo. Or finding awful things out from my brother, you never know. As for me, I'm wearing a sparkly dress and lots of my friends are here. It's a good night." And my boyfriend fills out a suit ridiculously well.
"That it is," Lisa replied from behind them, grinning when her two friends jumped in surprise. "Antsy, are we?"
"You always make my heart flutter, Lise," Mandy quipped.
"Don't let my husband hear you talk like that. He's insanely jealous, you know," the blonde remarked conversationally, smiling down at the other two. "Enjoying yourselves?"
The brunette nodded. "The pieces are lovely, the food's great, and the company's passable."
"Only passable?" Padma asked with a raised brow. "Get thee away from me then, wench. I'm sure there are some more vultures masquerading as reporters who want a bit of my very valuable time."
Mandy patted her arm. "I'll leave you to the ravenous press, then. Somewhere around here, there's a sexy man in a suit who belongs to me."
"I have one too," Lisa reminded her, looking around the ballroom for her husband. "Have fun, you two."
"Don't remind me," Padma muttered, staring forlornly into her champagne. Everyone had someone except her. "Go find your men."
Mandy didn't want to leave her friend on a mopey note. On her tiptoes, she kissed Padma's cheek. "Good things come to those who wait, Pads. Your's will be extra good."
"When I'm in the geriatric ward, maybe," Padma joked feebly.
"Oh shut it," Lisa replied, squeezing Padma's arm. "He's out there. He just got lost and didn't want to ask for directions."
"Which means he's definitely a man, so you're in luck." Throwing the pair a wink, Mandy slipped into the crowd.
Padma blinked, then rolled her eyes before she turned her attention back to Lisa. "You've met her Jake, yes?"
The blonde nodded. "Twice. He seems nice. Why?"
Shrugging, Padma shook her head. "I don't know, don't you think she's jumping into this whole thing? They were only together what, four months before they confessed their undying love to one another?"
"When you know, you know," the blonde said simply.
"Yes, but what if she's latching onto the first man who's been good to her since that whole fiasco with Eddie?" Padma asked imploringly. "She was a wreck after that. This just seems so soon."
Lisa shrugged and simply said, "I don't know. But she's happy now, which is more than she ever was with Eddie. We should be happy for her."
Her friend sighed. "I am happy for her. I'm just worried."
"Don't be. If he does turn out to be a complete zero, we can always kill him."
"True."
*~*~*~*~*
Placeholder for Blake/Astoria
*~*~*~*~*
Lavender smoothed a hand down her dress as she took in the sheer amount of guests in attendance. It was without a doubt the largest showing she'd ever had a painting in, and it made her a little bit giddy.
The night was going well, extremely well, so far, and Padma couldn't help the little smile that was on her face as she moved about the room. Everyone looked fabulous, and the artwork on display was selling like wildfire. Which reminded her, she needed to find a certain bohemian blonde artist friend of her sister's.
"Hello, Lavender," she said, dark brown eyes warm behind her gold mask, "congratulations."
"Hullo, Padma." Her own green eyes were dancing as she took everything in. "And thank you."
"Are you enjoying yourself?"
"Immensely," the blonde replied, grinning hugely.
"Good. Your work is beautiful, by the way. Astoria's very pleased with it."
Her eyes tracked across the room to where her painting was hanging and she wanted to dance. Seeing her work hanging, and seeing people enjoying it was the best high in world. "I'm glad."
"So," Padma remarked conversationally, "have you danced with anyone yet?" She'd seen Dean skulking around his friend, and wondered if the man needed a bit of prodding.
"Not yet. I've been too nervous to, really." Once the pleasant buzz brought on by all the attention had faded, she couldn't help but agonize every time someone approached one of her paintings. It was nerve wracking.
"I know how you feel. But you should dance, have fun. This is a party, after all."
"I know." But she pressed a hand to her stomach to calm the butterflies that had taken to flying again.
Padma smiled and snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, handing it to her sister's best friend. "Here. Drink this and find someone to dance with. Very Important Person's orders."
"Alright, Very Important Person, I will find someone to dance with on the condition that you do the same."
The smile slowly dimmed, but she nodded. "Alright, I will," she said hurriedly, shooing Lavender along. "Now go dance."
Lavender pressed her glass into Padma's hand and with another smile, moved into the crowd to find a dance partner.