Page 67 of Iris
It’s the entrance on this side of Sabine and then there, and on the other side of the river is the orchestra, the main dancing and seats to drink and eat at.
The entrance side, where I am, is for arrivals, for quiet conversation, and I’m just waiting for Iris to pass onto the first barge via the bridge.
Her brother’s got her boxed in, so I move ahead, taking the cover of the next announced arrival and stepping on and crossing to the shadows to wait.
I don’t have to wait long.
Iris really is beautiful.
Emmie would whisper loudly how Icy is a princess and I think in a way she’d be right.
Sure, I think the term for the dress on her might be fugly. It’s meant to skim her figure, but be demure, so it’s just not her. It covers the interesting bits, like her long legs. And there are way too many sequins, bows, and frills.
She looks like a three-tier cake dipped in ink and glitter.
And she hates it. I can tell. She tugs at it and stomps in on dainty heels that make her wobble when she stamps her footdown too much. I dip my head to hide my smile—old habits—as I move through the people in the crowd.
I’m too tall to be invisible, yet I can be when my scars and tattoos peek and brush me as imperfect, something not to be ogled by polite society.
It’d be a problem normally, since it’s a strange type of invisibility, the seen and pretend not see type. Normally.
But here, in a sea of people wanting to secure matches, there are private lists each Alpha and Omega hold, whether contender or parent.
All, that is, except Iris. She challenges each Alpha with a fierce look until they glance away. I make sure she doesn’t see me, the many shadows my friend as I move.
Only two people stare at me.
Her littlest sister—she has a touch of Iris about her and is with the family unit. And the redheaded friend who stares at me in shock.
I raise my finger to my lips and she goes red as her hair in the lantern’s light she’s next to and finds something else to do.
“Stop it, Heath,” Iris grumbles, a little too loud from just up from where I stand, at one of the wooden pillars as the Gardeners head for the center barge. “No one’s going to want to date me if you’re hanging around like an unwanted chaperone.”
“I am an unwanted chaperone. That’s what a chaperone is. Unwanted. It’s to stop you getting into trouble.”
She glares up at her brother. “Do I look dressed for trouble?”
“I don’t know. Are you?” he asks.
“Oh, Heath,” her mother says, “leave Iris alone. She’s here and she looks lovely. Mari and Rue are here and the purpose of this is to meet and find a mate. When she goes on a date, you can be the discreet chaperone. Now…” she offers her arm to her son. “I’d like a drink.”
They leave and Iris’s shoulders sag as she looks around.
“I’m gonna see if I can find anything cool to Stitch about. And by cool, I mean scan-da-lous!” The little sister says.
Iris rolls her eyes. Where I am I can see her perfectly.
“Don’t say that, Rue,” she says, “people will think you’re the Queen Bee.”
The who now? I don’t do the modern trends online. That…Stitching. Killian’s more up to date with that shit. He and Freya have worked out a way to try and get more supporters to the cause through it.
“Maybe,” Rue says with a laugh, “I am.”
And the kid bounces off, long hair fluttering as she does.
“Who’s looking at me, Mari?” Iris asks. “And why isn’t Vi here?”
“No one that I can see,” her sister says with a dose of good humor, the type I know. The type that hides and cloaks. “They’re all preening and trying to catch a mate. And Violet’s pregnant. Stephan’s not letting her come to this because of the water or something. Drowning, maybe? Nausea?”
