Chapter 2 — The Weather in London
Tris POV
Four doesn't talk as we dance. He barely looks at me and he keeps his face unreadable and smooth. The dance is slow, which only adds to the discomfort—there is no switching partners for this dance and I'm forced to talk to this unfriendly stranger.
"Is there a reason you don't use your given name?" I ask. It's the wrong thing to say, he stiffens and looks even more uncomfortable.
"Perhaps, but I don't feel inclined to share." His voice is cold. I can see Christina watching us out of the corner of my eye—she looks as worried as I feel.
"The weather in London is quite fine this spring." I blurt—and cringe in embarrassment when he stares at me in irritation. Of all the silly things I could've chosen to speak of I chose the weather. Never mind that I've spent over half of my life training how to be a pseudo socialite, schooled in the art of conversation and dancing (though I'm a terrible dancer).
"Yes," he replies dryly. "I think it's really fascinating how winter is cold and then spring is warm and lovely."
I grit my teeth, "I think spring is a necessity for all debutantes. How else will all of London's finest and freshest display their pretty dresses and expensive jewels for eligible bachelors without being hindered by cloaks?"
"You don't wear any jewels."
"I'm surprised you noticed. You seem quite happy to look straight over my head and pretend that I don't exist." The corner of his mouth twitches, but then he quickly rearranges his features into indifference.
"That's hard to do. Seeing as I'm dancing with you."
"I never said that you weren't good at ignoring me and being able to dance without stepping on my feet." I snap.
This time he does smile. "No, but you're doing an excellent job of stepping on mine." My jaw clamps shut and I regret all the hours that I've wasted sparring with Will when I could've been learning how to dance so I wouldn't have to embarrass myself. "Perhaps . . . perhaps I have better things to do then to practice how to move my feet in time to music."
"Like walking into my path so that I have no choice but to dance with you?"
"You walked into me!"
"I was trying to avoid being forced into dancing with young girls who are after my fortune."
"I see you don't hold debutante balls—or debutantes—in high regard." I say.
"Obviously."
The dance ends and Four releases my hands quickly. As he bows, his lips brush my ear. "Dark blue isn't the colour that most debutantes would wear, Lady Beatrice."
Then, he walks away. "Did you like her?" I hear Uriah ask.
"She's quite vexing." Four says.
Christina links her arm with mine. "I think he liked you." She whispers.
"He called me vexing. And he complained about the colour of my dress."
"What a—" she says angrily which causes a few people to stare at her. She lowers her voice. "How dare he!"
"Let's just leave. I want to get out of this dress." I scratch at my arm, trying to rid myself of the itchiness. I glance around at the ballroom one more time and my eyes meet Four's. We stare at each other for a minute until Christina tugs on my arm. He looks away.
"Tris, wake up." Will shakes my shoulder and I moan in response, burying my head into my pillow.
"Will? What are you doing in our room?" I can hear Christina fumbling around the room, searching for her robe.
"Max wants to see you two." Suddenly I'm awake, reaching for my black trousers and shirt. Christina does the same. "I'll wait for you outside." Will says.
In less than five minutes we're in Max's office, wiping the sleep from our eyes and straightening our rumpled clothes. When he sees us, he smiles.
"I see you enjoyed your night out. Tell me Tris, how did you like Four?"
"He's quite vexing," I say, repeating Four's words. "And he's cold and guarded. I didn't know what to say when I was with him."
"Yes." Max agrees thoughtfully. "He doesn't trust easily. But that's your job Tris and yours too Christina."
"But how?" I ask.
"Trail him. You say that you don't know what to discuss when you're with him. Well, eavesdrop and find out what he likes, how he acts and how he reacts. Even though our dear Four is guarded, he can't hide everything about himself."
"Yes, Max."
"Good. Because I think you know the consequences if you don't succeed Tris." Members of Dauntless who fail to complete their tasks are left to fend for themselves on the street. Christina and I have never had to worry about that . . . until now.
Four POV
"You liked her." Uriah insists.
"No I didn't."
Zeke snorts, "she made you smile."
"I found her bad manners amusing." I reply as we climb out of our carriage and walk down a quiet side street. "She was unlike other girls. Lady Beatrice wore the wrong colours for a debutante ball, she didn't wear jewelry and she was a terrible dancer."
"She broke the rules and you liked that." Zeke says. I stay quiet because I did admire her—but only slightly—because everything from her oddly coloured dress to the way the she didn't seem perturbed by my coldness was different.
"She wasn't as pretty as the other girls." Uriah notes before looking back over his shoulder. "This is getting ridiculous." He mutters, "we can't walk anywhere without being followed by urchins begging for money." I turn to see a slim beggar in ragged black clothing trailing us.
"Make it go away." Zeke mumbles. He's hated urchins ever since one killed his fiancé.
I push him in front of me. "Keep walking." I wait until the boy is close to me. He's a clever thing, making it seem like he's scavenging for food in the garbage bins instead of following us.
I feel a wave of pity for him—his life is hard and I remember how easily my life could've been like this lad's. It's hard to life a life without love, but it's more difficult to live one without dignity.
I glance over my shoulder—Uriah and Zeke are waiting at the corner of the street. "Don't follow us again." I say, pressing a few coins into his chapped palm. He looks up at me from under his black cap in surprise. His blue eyes are much like the lady from last night and I'm reminded of the way she looked at me before she left. They were so full of anger, resentment and embarrassment.
"Thank you, sir. No I won't, sir." He says, huskily, but his voice is strangely feminine.
I walk away, ignoring my friends' stares, feeling a slight twinge of regret for something.
I just don't want to think about what.
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I was seriously blown away by the response to the first chapter and now I'm totally excited to post the second chapter!
Have a nice day/evening!
Over and out,
Wren
