Page 45 of His Stolen Queen
"Still. All this black and red…" He gestured around him. "It's a bit morbid, don't you think?" His boot scuffed against the dark-gray floorboards, and I winced before placing my hand on his arm to gentle his movements. The whole flooring cost more than our house.
I lifted my chin, feeling a tad protective over the hard work we'd completed. "I like it."
It was a crying shame that Acheron Angelou's tastes ran parallel to mine. Every color he chose, every intricate ornament and elaborate furnishing matched my personal preferences almost down to a tee.
And, okay, yes, some of it may be considered a little too spooky, a little too out there and creepy; but to me, it was beautiful. It had personality. It was bold and unafraid. It didn't conform to the pretty, white, straight lines that every client preferred.
I was going to miss coming into this apartment and walking into such striking perfection. Yes, that was definitely the only thing I would miss from this project.
"Yeah, I figured you would." David bumped my shoulder with his. "Remember that lamp you tried to put in our room? The skull?" He shivered. "Talk about a nightmare."
"Sshh," I admonished, smiling as a beautiful woman brushed by us.
David's eyes bugged out as he unashamedly followed her retreating form, mouth agape. It didn't bother me that he was staring after a beautiful woman with a stupefied look on his face; I'd been that way for the first few weeks working here.
"I have to say, babe, I haven't seen this many attractive people in one room since…well,ever. And that includes the men."
I smiled politely at a wandering waiter before taking a glass of champagne from his tray.
"Miss Harper."
Speaking of attractive men…
I turned at the sound of that monotone voice. "Von." I plastered on a friendly smile in greeting. "Pleasecall me Alice," I again stressed, although there was no point in asking him now. After tonight, I'd never see these people again. Never have to be near Acheron Angelou again.
"This is my husband, David. David, this is Mr. Angelou's assistant, Von."
David stretched out his hand in greeting, smiling widely. Von's cool eyes flicked down and considered his handshake with barely concealed indifference. The silence stretched between them, and David's gaze wavered in confusion. Finally, Von reached out to shake it, dropping it just as quickly.
"Please excuse me." He bowed his head at me before disappearing into the small crowd.
"Rude," David huffed out.
I shrugged. I was used to Von's odd behavior, although I'd never known him to be overtly rude to anyone.
"Must be a rich-people thing," David murmured. "I feel like everyone's staring at us. Is it obvious we're the odd ones out?"
I had noticed it too. I could sense something was weird before we even set foot off the elevator. Even now, I could hear whispers curling around us, their hushed tones intruding my mind. Yet, I couldn't see anyone blatantly staring at us. Everyone seemed to be in small groups or weaving in and out with goblets in their hands; their attention focused on each other. And, yet…
"Look at them all," I murmured out of the side of my mouth. "Don't you think they look…strange?"
I'd figured it was a style choice, like David had commented, a rich-people thing. Some of the men dressed in clothes I'd never seen before, almost as if they were from another era. They were also tall and distractingly handsome, but in a way that looked…otherworldly. There was no other way to describe it. It was as if I'd stepped into another world—another time.
The women wore gorgeous dresses in shades of black, emerald, and ruby. I wasn't aware there was a dress code, but I still felt out of place in my simple black dress. Some of the gowns were downright risqué, and others were long, flowing garments of rich velvet. And the women were beautiful. Every single one of them.
As we moved through the familiar rooms, I gazed around in pride, while David grimaced every time we came across something unique to the aesthetic. I quickly found myself annoyed by his attitude. Just because it wasn't to his taste didn't mean he had to recoil at each minute detail.
As we reached the kitchen, I clutched his arm. "Wait till you see the lights," I gushed. "It's a fifteenth-century Flemish chandelier."
I gazed up at it in stunned wonder, my keen eye appreciating the sheer magnificent beauty, especially now that it was all lit up.
David studied it with a puckered brow, clearly unimpressed. "It's…nice. Not my style or taste though."
"It was sixteen thousand," I quietly gossiped out the side of my mouth.
His eyes bugged out again. "What the fuck? For that twisted metal?"
Exasperated, I turned to chastise his annoying commentary, but before I could, my nostrils flared, and I breathed deep, my back snapping ramrod straight.
