I changed my pen name from Arelia Miles to Sparrows13...

A thank-you to xXxNtKxXx for beta'ing this super fast. She's pure awesomeness.

Chapter 2

Isabelle and I support the man, taking him by an arm each while he limps pathetically. His eyes are trained on my curls as his arm, which is wrapped around me shifts a little, and he twines a lock of my hair around his fingers.

'This is so…red,' he says, looking at it in wonder. 'Like…like…like a rose,' he finishes lamely.

I decide to humour him. 'A rose, huh?' I ask, and he nods.

'Because I like roses,' he says matter-of-factly and then turns his head towards Isabelle. 'Isabelle,' he acknowledges, like he's testing out the name. Then he sticks out his tongue like he's tasted something sour.

'It's such a mouthful. Isabelle, Isabelle, Isabelle,' he keeps saying, ignoring Isabelle's eye roll. 'I'm going to call you Izzy, okay? Because it's much shorter,' he says and hangs his head.

Isabelle huffs. 'You've always been calling me that, Jace,' she says, all nonchalant and I inwardly balk at that.

'Is Jace short for something?' I ask, mostly to disallow an awkward silence, and Isabelle sighs.

'It's short for—' she starts but Jace cuts her off.

'No. I'm not going to tell you,' he says, wagging a finger. 'You tell me yours first.'

I roll my eyes at his childishness. 'Are we really going to play this game?' I say as we turn at a corner and earn disapproving looks from passersby.

'How did you even get drunk this early?' I ask, changing the subject.

Isabelle scoffs, like the answer is fairly obvious, and holds up a dark blue flask which she apparently swiped from his pocket.

Jace frowns. 'Give that back,' he says, his words slightly garbled and reaches for the flask, but Isabelle tsks and holds it away, rolling her eyes.

'I think you've had enough,' she says and slips the flask into her coat pocket.

Jace grumbles something inaudible under his breath and shrugs off our support. He staggers for a bit before he turns the doorknob to a door to his left which I assume leads to his room. The silver plaque on the door declares it to be a private parlor suite.

I watch as Jace pathetically fumbles with the door, and cringe as his head bumps into the door frame before he finally stumbles in and shuts the door behind him.

Isabelle has her arms crossed and watches Jace, unimpressed and bored before she turns to me. 'Your room is the next one,' she says, pointing to the door next to Jace's.

I nod. 'Thank you,' I say and I turn to go before she stops me.

She hesitates before saying, 'Meet us for dinner tonight?' she asks, her eyes hopeful.

I don't have anything else to do, and I believe that their company will be better than none, so I say, 'Okay.'

My room is huge. It's really unnecessary for me to have such a large room all to myself, and it's also sort of depressing, being alone and all. But I don't complain once I see the huge bed pushed to the corner.

I see a door across the room, and it's made of glass. It leads to the private promenade deck. I roll my eyes. What is the point of all this? Are my parents trying to flaunt their money? Because if they are, shame on them, really. Who's seeing?

I wander around the room; none of its grandeur impresses me. The crystal chandelier, the marble statues, the priceless paintings, nor the architecture. All of it seems empty, devoid of any warmth. But that's probably just my pessimism. I'm sure it's meant to be beautiful, and it is. But without Sera by my side to gawk at the antiques, it's boring.

My bags are already unloaded by the maids as I had told them to. My hands glide over the soft fabrics, but none appeal to me. I sigh and sit on my bed, my hands folded in my lap for what seems like forever.

Just as I am about to go to the bathroom to run the bath, a knock on my door startles me.

Confused, I make my way over to the door, being careful not to stub my toe on the fancy chairs or something because that hurts like a bitch.

I throw the door open, ready to dismiss any maid who might've come up to ask me if I required any of their services. I open my mouth to say, 'No, thank you,' but my words die in my throat as I see Jace standing in the doorway, his gold hair falling into his eyes.

I sigh warily. 'If this is about—' I start to say but he cuts me off.

'I wanted to thank you,' he says, his voice clipped. 'Isabelle thought it'd be nice of me. Though I don't see why I should thank you for ruining my buzz.'

Well, ouch. It stings to hear that from someone I barely know. And I don't even know why. So I don't let it show. 'Well, I would've let you be drunk as much as you wanted, really, but I really didn't want to watch you choke on your own bile in public and possibly hurtle off the edge,' I bite back remorselessly.

His brows rise. 'And why do you care?' he asks, and I pause.

Why do I care? I don't know. Maybe because it's like reflex since I've cared for my drunk father—adoptive— so many times, that I've become so used to it.

'You thanked me, thanks accepted,' I say curtly and turn, with my hand on the knob but Jace stops me.

'Isabelle wanted to know if you'd be joining us tonight,' he informs me, his voice softer now, but somehow restrained.

'Sure,' I say after little deliberation. Why not?

'Well, she wanted to let you know that it's formal tonight. And wear green,' he said, shutting the door.

I don't really have much of a good taste in clothes because it's not always been the first or even second thing on my mind.

So after the maids have pulled the strings on my corset, effectively tightening the death trap on me, I dismiss them to their quarters and wander about, with five dresses laid out on my bed.

I run my fingers over the green silk of the evening gown and think, oh, what the hell?

I pull the sleeves over my shoulders, and smooth out the skirt. The light yellow embroidery along the waist and sleeves which come till my elbow catch the light and seem like they're spun out of the finest gold. I slip my feet into golden heels.

Once the maids are back, they yank and pull at my hair, apologizing in between—to which I reply that it's okay—as they try to tame my curls. Nothing can really be done about them, I've learnt over the years, but I'm proved wrong when I finally look up—expecting to see a rat's nest—and see a braided bun with loose curls falling free.

Before they leave, I thank them. I sit at my vanity, waiting for god-knows-what, and then I sigh. It's really against my wishes, what I'm going to do. I'm going to socialize with people who are not my family and who are not Simon. And I'm sure it's going to go over badly.

After half-an hour, I'm seated at the dining hall, where soft notes from the grand piano fill the silence, and so does the quiet chattering of first-class families.

Obviously, I feel completely out-of-place in such an ambiance, so I do what any sane person would do. I slink back into the chair, trying to disappear.

But before I can get the chance to vanish or just poof into thin air, I see someone in my peripheral vision. And that someone just has to be Jace.

But he's not alone, and he's not with Isabelle either.

A waiter pulls out a chair for the pretty Asian woman on Jace's arm, and she sits down, completely oblivious to me. I raise a brow.

Jace sees me slumping in my chair, so I straighten immediately, smoothing out my skirt. He clears his throat. 'This is Aline,' he tells me.

I tilt my head. What am I supposed to say to that? 'Okay,' I start to say.

'My fiancé,' Jace says, and then I think, Isabelle, where are you?

A/N: Hey, I'm back...sort of. Those who read my other story, Crossed, please understand that I won't update anytime soon because of exams.

Let me know what you think in a review?

-Sparrows