Fantasyland 01 Wildest Dreams(97)

“As clever as it was of your mother and as fetching as that dress is on you, I still don’t like you wearing Drakkar red,” he muttered, his eyes having moved down to my middle.

“Frey, honey,” I called and his gaze moved back to mine, “I’m sorry it bothers you so I suggest you don’t think of me wearing this color and instead,” I leaned into him, smiled and whispered, “think of taking it off later.”

Frey’s arms wrapped around my back and he bent his neck deep to reply low through his own smile, “This is an excellent idea.”

I pressed into him; he got my hint and touched his mouth to mine. Though, clearly he didn’t read the hint correctly because it was only a touch and not more.

When he lifted his head, he sighed and murmured, “Let us face the Gales.”

“Okay,” I murmured back, he smiled again, let me go, grabbed my hand and led me back to the staircase.

We moved up the stairs and as we did I caught eyes and gave smiles and when Frey caught eyes, he gave chin lifts.

People had been arriving for the Gales for days and, normally, Sjofn would be amongst them as a number of them were guests at the Palace. For the past three days, Mother and Father had both been attending large breakfasts, luncheons and dinners with Father taking meetings in between.

But to protect me, Frey had made the decision I would not be involved in these and, further, stringently kept separate from the guests primarily because most of the people I was supposed to know and I didn’t. He didn’t want to be away from my side when these things happened and he had no intention of attending engagement after engagement. And since Father and Mother’s attention would be turned to hosting their guests, it was without a doubt I’d flub up, repeatedly. Therefore, guests were informed (not untruthfully) that Frey and I were otherwise engaged (the inference not lost on anyone, I was sure) and thus not participating in these events but that we would attend the Gales.

It wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, having smiling and knowing glances coming my way from every direction as my husband and I made our way to the hall on the third floor. Especially since we were two hours late, something which spoke volumes but… whatever. It would have been worse having to pretend I knew people and fumbling through conversations with old friends and acquaintances that were nothing of the sort.

As we alighted the stairs, I saw I was not wrong about the tables in the hall. Huge, round vases stuffed full of spiked white gladiolas festooned the center of each table all of which were laid with silver trays covered in food. They did not have vol-au-vents, mini-quiches and meatballs on a stick. They had (amongst many other things) what looked like puff pastry stuffed with melted cheese, massive tiger prawns baked with slivers of prosciutto rolled around them, corners of thin toast covered thick in pâté and gherkins sliced lengthwise, crackers covered in what looked like cream cheese and caviar and hunks of meat and fish with small crystal glasses filled with tiny silver, two-pronged forks set beside them. And this didn’t even get into the trays of bite-size pastries and cakes on offer.

So, Atticus was right, the same foods but theirs were more posh.

Everything looked so delicious, seeing it, I was suddenly ravenous.

Frey, however, must have had a snack for he didn’t even pause at a table nor did he glance at one. He made a bee-line straight to Mother and Father.

Upon approach, I saw Father was wearing much what he wore to my wedding but without the sweater and instead a shirt in deep red with a cravat like Frey’s. Mother was wearing a long, deep red dress but the red of the material melted into gold at her hem. Her wrists, neck, fingers and ears were dripping with gold and rubies not to mention the ruby-crusted gold clips in the shapes of dragonflies holding up her elegant hairstyle.

Taking them in, tall, lean and regal, I noted not for the first time they both still had it and I knew without a doubt if my parents had lived to their age, they would too.

This felt nice.

When Frey and I arrived at them, cheek touches were exchanged and before I knew what she was about, Mother installed me firmly at her side, that was to say firmly and closely to her side. Frey took his place by Father.

At first, this surprised me that I was not standing with Frey. However, for the next hour, I would get it. This was because we were almost immediately descended upon by a wave of people. And as these people approached, chatted then moved on, Mother monopolized any conversation that involved me. If a question was directed to me, she answered it. If a comment was required of me, she prompted it. She interspersed names liberally while she spoke as well as deftly adding personal pieces of information or things such as, “Oh, Sjofn, you remember when…” And any time we had a lull in the action, she’d whisper in my ear, giving me tidbits about people coming or going so if I did speak, I wouldn’t open my mouth and insert my foot.