The third room, where we crowded for the certification party, served as a group gathering area. Study groups or book clubs used it for discussions, and the younger classes sometimes used it for practice reflections before they were given access to the Archive database.
Tonight, the chairs and round tables had been removed. A long, rectangular table with a bowl of lemonade at one end and sherbet punch at the other sat off to the right side. Plates of vegetables and fruits, along with desserts that looked good but tasted like cardboard, rounded out the display.
I’d been running late, mostly due to my nervous dawdling, so Sarah and Analeigh had gone ahead. Sarah had to meet Oz and his father for the requisite couple photographs, since they were both in actual clothes instead of uniforms, and Analeigh left when I’d insisted she stop hovering.
My hands shook as I smoothed the thick, dark purple material of my dress. It was sleeveless, the scoop neckline landing right below my collarbone, the hem brushing the skin about two inches above my knees. Sarah had tied a dark gray, silky scarf around the high waist that made the skirt flare, showing off my legs the way she’d promised, and the silver heels already killed my feet.
Sarah looked adorable in her early nineteenth-century-inspired empire-waist gown. The silky, cream-colored material flowed off all of her curves, the gorgeous blue ribbon under her boobs matched her eyes, and the floor-length skirt hid her calves, which she hated.
I had to admit Oz looked handsome in his standard black tuxedo, for a potentially dangerous nutball. His gray eyes, always his best feature, trained on his True as she laughed with Levi. He must have styled his hair with some kind of product that pushed his unruly thick chunks into a loose semblance of order, and the cut of the suit accentuated his broad chest and shoulders. The memory of his strong hands squeezing my arms, shoving me into the air lock, returned the churning guilt and anxiety to my stomach. I glanced down at the fading red mark on my wrist, frowning.
“Hey.” Analeigh sidled up and handed me a cup of sherbet punch.
I took it and smiled, tipping the cold drink against my lips. It helped cool the heat creeping up my neck from the paranoia that wouldn’t quite dissipate. “Thanks.”
My best friend went all out, donning the same pretty peach ruffles and layers of petticoats she’d worn on our excursion to the Sun King’s court. With her hair a mass of fat curls pinned off her neck, breasts shoved up toward her chin, and the dress’s color setting off the natural china-doll pink of her skin, Analeigh was easily the prettiest girl in the room.
“I’m sorry about the whole Evan thing. It just came out,” she whispered in my mind.
“It’s okay.”
We watched the room, comfortable in our roles as observers. Tonight belonged to the oldest apprentice class, who would join the ranks of full Historians in a few weeks. They took turns getting fitted for their new cloaks, all smiles and laughter. Evan Pritchard looked as gorgeous as ever, but his blond-haired perfection couldn’t hold a candle to the passion in Caesarion’s dusky blue eyes under the Egyptian moonlight.
The younger kids laughed at the edges of the dance floor as a disk comp flipped through decades of music, never playing songs from the same year twice. A few third-and fourth-year apprentices moved awkwardly on the floor—dancing wasn’t exactly common outside of weddings and the occasional party—but a few couples in the older classes gave it a good shot.
Sarah and Oz wandered over a few minutes later. She grinned, but he looked as though he had leeches attached to his ass, which may or may not have had anything to do with our confrontation yesterday. Hard to say.
“Hey, guys! Are you having fun?” A thin sheen of perspiration wet her forehead, and her pale, freckled skin glowed. They’d been bopping around the floor a few minutes ago.
“Yep. There’s sherbet punch and eye candy. What more do I need in life?” I joked, nodding in Evan’s direction. It sounded flat to my ears but Sarah didn’t seem to notice.
I chanced a glance at Oz and found him staring back, intensity smoldering in his smoky eyes. Analeigh stepped on my toe before Sarah caught me staring and got the wrong idea; Oz apparently hadn’t considered that because his gaze didn’t leave my face.
A ballad from the decade prior to the abandonment of Earth Before spewed from the speakers embedded in the walls and floor, and Sarah nudged her boyfriend. “Sherbet can’t be the highlight of your night. Go dance with Oz. My feet are sore from being stepped on.”
“Oh. No, really, that’s okay.”
Oz cut off my protest, his smile tight. “Evan loves dancing and he’s quite skilled. Maybe you should practice first.”
Heat flooded my face and I choked on my punch. Sarah had the good sense to look apologetic in response to my glare. Clearly she had blabbed to Oz about my supposed crush. Embarrassing, but the knowing set of his jaw told me he didn’t buy it. He’d heard me talk about Caesarion. Watched me cry over the unfairness of it all.
Now that was mortifying.
I didn’t have any desire to be alone with Oz, or to let him touch me again, but there wasn’t a way to say no without drawing attention. Protesting could make things look more suspicious. The Elders were here, too, and maybe the dance would reassure Truman and Zeke they were right about my focused searches being related to feelings for Oz.
I slid my fingers into his, trying not to frown too hard. His hand was warmer and gentler than it had been yesterday as he led me to the dancing area. At least he couldn’t threaten or manhandle me again in the middle of all these people.
In the center of five or six other couples, Oz stopped and turned, then settled a hand lightly on my waist, as though he expected me to swat it away. When I didn’t, he took my right hand loosely in his left, I set a palm against his solid chest, and we moved.