Worst Impressions

Chapter Thirty Eight

The dark club wasn't helping me to focus. No matter how many times I blinked, everything was still blurry, which made it difficult to glare at William with sufficient anger.

I didn't know why my mother had sent William to retrieve me. They ought to have sent Wyatt. At least he was annoyed enough at my having turned him down that he wouldn't try to talk to me more than was necessary. William made it his mission to remind me I was beneath him whenever we were in the same company. Then again, it was likely that Wyatt would have been turned away at the door. If Freddie's father owned the place and he was William's uncle, it followed that they wouldn't refuse him entry if he cut the line and demanded to be let through.

The atmosphere was a tense one, and neither boy seemed inclined to break eye contact and stand down first. Rather than bear witness to this stunning display of testosterone and entitlement, I announced, 'I'm gonna go get some air. You girls sort this out while I'm gone.'

Maintaining any measure of dignity was next to impossible as I stumbled and staggered toward the coat check. Walking in a straight line was more effort than I could muster. I eventually found my way to the exit with a lot of tripping over the stairs and mumbled, giggling apologies to the carpet as I dragged myself up and out into the brisk winter air. Paris was just as bitingly cold as England, and I turned up my coat collar to protect my neck from the chill. I stepped away from the queue and began a little way down the pavement, finding the isolation and cold to be both sobering and welcome.

In fact, I had half a mind to flag down a cab of my own and leave the pair to their argument while I made my way back to the house.

A raucous group of older men passed me, all reeking of booze and cigarette smoke. A couple spared me appreciative glances and made comments which sounded lewd but might have been anything. One of their group stumbled into me, knocking me sideways and sending me towards the ground. Before I made contact with the concrete, a pair of arms wrapped around me from behind and halted my descent. I was brought up slowly and then released. My freedom was only a temporary state. This same person turned me around to face them and wore a face of the utmost disgust and frustration.

'You're drunk,' William observed.

'I resent that accusation.'

'Why?'

'Because it's true.'

He sighed. 'I'm taking you back. Come on, I'll get us a cab.'

I pulled my arm out of his grip. 'No! I'm here with Freddie, so you can – you know – scoot.'

'Scoot?'

'Yeah. Get lost. Go on, rich boy. Why don't you ask Chantelle on a date? She could get a helicopter to drop her off here, right?'

'You're babbling.'

'I am not! You're just not listening right.'

William propped his hands on his hips. He looked up at the sky and mouthed some swears that I was in no fit state to make out. Without asking my permission, because he knew he wouldn't get it, he lifted me off my feet like a princess. It would have made my heart race if he wasn't such a prat. I wriggled pathetically while he carried me away and feebly called for help from people who didn't care or couldn't speak English.

I would have put more money on the former than the latter.

William only trusted me to stand on my own two feet when he was ushering me into the back seat of a cab. He gave the directions to the driver in fluent French and then helped me to buckle up. I stared resolutely out of the window for the duration of the journey, focusing all my anger on the innocent stars dotting the clear, cold sky. We were dropped off at the gates and were left to walk down the drive ourselves. It didn't sound so bad, but when one considered that Madame Courtenay had a sizable estate, it felt like miles.