Oh My, I Messed Up the Story

Dancing with Duke Orla couldn't end fast enough. It looked like he wanted to keep talking to me but a familiar shadow towered over me and came to my rescue.

"Charles, I believe my fiancée needs to rest. I can take care of her from here," Al said firmly as he wrapped an arm around my waist and whisked me off the dance floor to a secluded corner with a glass of lemonade.

Normally I would have teased him about saving me but I felt odd after my conversation with the duke. Al wasn't stupid. He just wasn't putting his capabilities to the test because he didn't care to.

People didn't give him nearly enough credit. If Al had been born in my world, I could see him as one of those grad students who keep going back to school forever to avoid getting a real job. I knew a few of those in college. They were highly intelligent but had no sense of direction.

"Are you alright? I know you don't get along well with him."

I glanced up at my savior. Concern lit his smoldering gray eyes and the look on his face was oddly familiar. I had seen it somewhere before—somewhere back in my world. Where had I seen it?

An unexpected wave of tenderness washed over me. Al was just Al, looking out for me as usual. He was a really good friend.

"I would have been a lot less alright if you hadn't showed up," I admitted. "I was about to deck him."

"Deck him?" he asked, confused.

"Ah, I mean I was this close to punching him in the face." I held my hands close together for dramatic effect.

Al laughed so hard that he actually slumped into the chair next to me because he was unable to stand up straight.

"What I wouldn't give to see that! What on earth did he say to upset you so much?"

It wasn't nice to tell people when others were making fun of them. Al got put down all the time; it was unnecessary to pass on this particular insult.

"He insulted someone I care about."

"Edmund? I thought they were friends…but after meeting him I can see how he might set off someone like Charles," Al mused while straightening his jacket. It had become a bit crumpled due to his laughing fit.

"Yeah, I don't know how they even became friends at all," I agreed.

Circumventing the question was the best solution at this point. I knew Al cared about me—I was his only friend. But if he knew I cared about him it would be harder for me to leave. I didn't want him to take it the wrong way.

"They are about as different as night and day."

I yawned and blinked sleepily. All the dancing was starting to get to me. Moving around in such restrictive clothing was a real workout!

It was no wonder all those dance competition shows had such skimpy costumes. I bet they were a lot easier to move in.

"Katie, you look like you're about to fall asleep right here," Al clucked. "Do you need to call it a night?"

"Madame Chalaise would kill me," I mumbled, evoking another laugh from him.

"Probably true." He stood and offered his hand to help me up. "At the very least we can go to one of the side parlors for a little while. If she puts up a fuss, I'll say it was my idea."

Al lead me to a private side room with plush velvet couches. We sat down on one and he said I was welcome to rest my head on his shoulder, reasoning that my hair was less likely to get in the way than if I tried lying flat.

The offer surprised me. "You sure? I don't want to be a bother. I have so many pins in my hair that I might accidentally stab you."

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time. Sword practice didn't always go well, you know," he joked.

His shoulder was softer than I thought it would be. The fabric of his formal coat looked stiff but it wasn't so bad.

I belatedly realized my heavy makeup might smudge on his jacket. I jerked away, trying to explain, but he said he didn't care. He didn't like the coat anyway.

Al finished his point by saying "I only wore it because we're supposed to wear couple clothes today. Blue looks better on you than it does on me."

"Are you calling me pretty?" I asked in disbelief.

Al had never said anything of the sort before. It was one of the things I liked about him—he didn't seem enamored of Catherine du Pont's looks like just about every other man I had met here.

"In a roundabout way. I suppose I should have mentioned that earlier. You are particularly stunning tonight." His tone was likely meant to be offhand but I could hear the embarrassment in it.

My stomach felt weirdly tight at the compliment. "…thanks."

"You're welcome. I know you're uncomfortable with compliments but it needed to be said."

This wasn't my body. Of course I would be uncomfortable with compliments.

Katie Pullman was a slightly overweight, round-faced girl with acne scars, thick glasses, and hair that was the most boring shade of brown ever. Catherine du Pont was a porcelain doll.

I had spent most of my adolescence self-conscious about my looks, wondering what it would feel like to have someone think I was pretty. It meant next to nothing now that I wasn't me anymore. This body was beautiful but it was all people saw.

"Are you sure we won't get in trouble for this?" I asked with another yawn. "I don't want to get yelled at."

"I won't let anybody yell at you. Relax for a while. I've got you," he said softly.

His voice was deep and soothing and I found myself drifting off on his shoulder, not caring about the hundreds of people in the ballroom that had undoubtedly noticed our absence. I felt safe.