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Bathed in the glow of orange lights, Gabriel Agreste was lost. On all sides of him, people crowded around, providing their own glow of warmth against the crisp autumn air as they mingled and laughed and danced gleefully through fake spiderwebs and falling glitter.
He couldn’t wait to usher them out and lock the door behind.
He still wasn’t entirely sure how he’d been coerced into hosting such a thing, not being one to enjoy parties throughout his entire life, unless they were capped at ten guests and involved a nice cup of tea. The rowdiness of the crowd with their pulsing, gyrating moves could not be further from his style. But as it was with most reluctant agreements he engaged in, Nathalie and Adrien had somehow conspired to sway him, tag teaming their foolproof methods of encouragement and guilting respectively to make him feel as if it was his own idea in the first place.
Utterly foolish, as Adrien and his friends hadn’t even stuck around, departing to a nearby neighborhood that was embracing the American tradition of “trick-or-treating,” which left Gabriel to pretend to enjoy the company of many wasted adults, all too important in the industry to simply blow off and disappear on.
He was startled out of his wallowing by a body crashing into him, nearly knocking him off balance and spilling his glass of wine. He turned to find a beautiful woman lunging to save her own drink — a stunning figure in a sleek black dress.
She looked up. He gasped. “Nathalie?”
Truth be told, he hadn’t seen her all night, as he had been preoccupied with Adrien and his friends earlier in the night, while she was positioned at the door to greet guests. He hadn’t even seen her costume, which he now noticed was cinched in by a narrow corset and matched with voluminous long black hair, her signature red streak replaced by a long ribbon of white. Two silver bolts stuck out from her neck, where a line of stitching was drawn on with a steady hand.
“Now I understand,” he said, gesturing to his own silver bolts and crude stitches, “why Adrien insisted I be Frankenstein.”
“The monster,” Nathalie told him, voice raised slightly to fight against the music.
“Pardon?”
“Frankenstein is the scientist; that’s who Adrien is dressed as. You’re Frankenstein’s monster.”
Gabriel’s nose wrinkled. “But you’re—”
“They call her ‘Bride of Frankenstein,’ I know. Things get complicated with all the adaptations and remakes and…” She shook her head, long waves bouncing entrancingly. “Apologies, sir, you don’t want to hear this.”
He caught her hand before she could go. “Please, continue.” A genuine smile crinkled his eyes. “I never knew you were a fan of horror.”
“It isn’t exactly a workplace topic.” Her eyes flickered around at the guests all around them, and then down to the floor. “Speaking of which, I should stop distracting you.”
He held fast onto her hand. “Maybe I want you to distract me.”
“Oh?” she intoned, raising an eyebrow.
“I’d like to be enlightened on the topic.” A bold thought sprung to his head so quickly that he could not prevent it from escaping his mouth. “I’d like to be enlightened on many topics,” he blurted, his thumb daringly stroking across the ridges of her knuckles.
“Oh,” she said, softer, the other brow raising in surprise. A fault blush painted her cheeks, barely discernible under the orange glow.
A waltz began to play — romantic, but appropriately spooky for the theme. The music guided his hand forward. “Dance?” Nathalie hesitated and he dropped his hand an inch lower. “You can say no.”
But Nathalie blinked gently, looking intently into his eyes. She raised her arms and stepped forward, filling the spaces between them and completing the picture.
Gabriel wrapped his hand around her waist and pulled her closer, narrowing the intimate space between them. Nathalie followed eagerly. “That kind of dance?” she murmured, dangerously near.
“If I may,” he responded.
Red lips curled into a smile. “You may.”