The next chapter is going to be a bit trickier, but this one was a breeze.

Chapter 4

A gentleman who has received an invitation through a friend is usually accompanied by the friend who presents him. Otherwise, when the butler announces him to the hostess, he bows, and says "Mrs. Norman asked you if I might come." And the hostess shakes hands and says "How do you do, I am very glad to see you."

Emily Post Etiquette 1922

Olivier stared at herself in the mirror.

I can't wear this!

She was embarrassed enough to have to ask for help with the strange, form-fitting undergarments. She was assured they were the latest thing, made specifically for these new fashions. When she looked into the mirror, she barely recognized herself from the neck down. She turned to look at her back, which she felt was dangerously exposed. The fabric, which Madame Clothilde explained was cut on the bias—whatever the hell that meant—clung to her curves, accentuating her hips and backside. She was desperately glad that no one from Briggs was here to see this. The last thing she needed was for the men under her command to be staring at her ass. It wasn't their business to know that she even had one.

Well, at least there was some advantage to being forced to stand in one place for hours on end. She could keep a large potted palm at her back so no one could get behind her. She turned back around to scowl at her front aspect. A hint of cleavage peaked out over the drapey folds of the soft silvery fabric. Great. She would be stuck in one spot, trying to not expose her rear, and everyone would be staring at her chest. She let out a sigh. Somehow or other, she would make her parents pay for this.

I can't wear this!

Vesya gazed with dismay at the low-cut bodice of her gown. "I'm just glad no one from home can see me like this!"

Miles buttoned the coat of his dress uniform and glanced over at his wife. She had said that several times already. He thought she looked incredible.

"I think you look incredible," he told her accurately. "Everybody at home would think you look incredible. You're going to make quite an impact on the Amestrians' perception of Ishvalans."

"That's very sweet of you, Miles." Vesya pressed her hand over her cleavage. "But I'm not sure that's good." She turned to Miles. "And I'm supposed to dance with a bunch of men I don't know! And you can be sure they won't be looking me in the eye."

"Well," Miles replied, going over to a dresser that stood against the wall of their room. "Why don't we give them something else to look at?" He opened a drawer and took out a small rectangular box covered in blue velvet. He took it over to the dressing table that Vesya was standing at and handed the box to her.

She looked up at him in surprise. "What's this?"

"Alex and I went into town yesterday while you were busy with your dress," Miles replied. He smiled with anticipation. "Open it up!"

Vesya lifted the lid off the box and let out a gasp. Coiled inside the box was a string of milky white pearls. "Oh, Miles!" she breathed. "Oh, Miles! These must have cost a fortune!"

Miles lifted the pearls from the box and put them around Vesya's throat, fastening the clasp in the back. "Not really," he replied. "I had money set aside for your dress, but thanks to the kindness of the Armstrongs, I was able to put it to another use."

Vesya's eyes began to sting as she gazed at the shimmering pearls and quickly blinked back her tears. "Miles, this is so…so…nice!" She turned and kissed him. "Thank you so much!"

Not that the expanse of smooth, tawny skin that showed from her chin down to the top of her dress needed any improvement, but the pearls were certainly a nice touch. "Just tell yourself that all those men are staring at your pearls," Miles said with a grin. "Then you can tell them that they were a gift from your adoring husband."

Vesya grinned back. "Who is a fierce Ishvalan warrior!"

Miles laughed. "I like the sound of that." He presented his arm to her. "Shall we sally forth to the battlefield?"

They stepped out into the hallway just as Olivier had finally decided to venture out. Miles froze on the spot and stared at her.

"Shit!" he remarked involuntarily.

Olivier scowled back at him. "My sentiments exactly," she growled and stormed past them down the hall, wobbling slightly in her heels. Without looking back, she called out. "And quit staring at my ass, Miles!"

Miles gave a small, somewhat guilty start. "I wasn't!" he declared. He looked at Vesya. "I wasn't, honest!"

Vesya just smiled at him. "It's all right, Miles. It's not bad looking, after all."

The ballroom was at the center of the mansion on the second floor. The twin curving staircases led to it, and an usher was posted at the top of each stair. The entrance to the ballroom was wide, with a grand carved arch overhead. The room itself was enormous, like most things having to do with the Armstrong family. The servants had spent the past two days burnishing the hardwood floor to a satiny sheen, polishing it with paraffin to turn it into the perfect dance surface. Across from the entrance, along the opposite wall, was a short platform where the orchestra, its members dressed in white jackets, was tuning up. There was a festive anticipation in the air.

Phillip was in white tie and tails. He had contemplated wearing his dress uniform, but he discovered that his girth had expanded somewhat since the last time he tried it on. Well, well, no matter. Even so, he proudly sported some of his more illustrious medals, including the Order of the White Dragon, which hung from a green ribbon around his collar.

Sophia was resplendent in a deep royal blue gown. Despite have given birth to five robust children, she had managed to keep a decent figure, and thanks to Madame Clothilde's finesse, her gown showed her off most advantageously.

Amue and Strongine giggled with anticipation over their dance cards. Where other modistes had despaired and tried to put them in neutrals in order to make them blend into the walls, Madame Clothilde gloried in dressing the two young women. For this occasion, she put them in rich jewel tones, a shimmering teal for Amue, and sparkling burgundy for Strongine.

Catherine, dressed in her poofy pink gown, skipped up to Olivier as she entered the hall.

"Oh, Ollie! You look divine!" she gushed, giving her sister a hug.

"I don't feel divine," Olivier muttered. "I feel like hell, if you want to know the truth. I'd like to get my hands around the neck of whatever sick bastard thought this sort of thing up in the first place!"

Catherine just giggled. "Oh, you're so silly!" She turned to Miles and Vesya as they entered. "Oh, my!" she cried. "You really are going to be the handsomest couple here! Oh, Mother, didn't I say so?"

"You did indeed," Sophia replied. She turned a smile to the Ishvalans. "But of course you'll be formally announced later, when the guests begin to arrive, so you should head downstairs."

"When are all these hundreds of people supposed to show up, anyway?" Olivier asked. "It's nearly eight o'clock, isn't it?"

"Yes, dear," her mother replied. "But most of them won't arrive until after eight-thirty."

"Why the hell not?" Olivier demanded. "The invitation said eight!"

"Of course it did, Olivier," Sophia said patiently. "But anyone who is anyone in Central City won't arrive until it is considered 'fashionably late.' After all, what's the point of being announced if there's no one to hear the announcement?"

"So, what, is everybody going to wait around for everyone else to go in first?"

"No, Olivier, of course not. All the new money people—the ones who have made sudden fortunes in pickles or chinchillas or whatever—they'll arrive only slightly late. After that the more established people will start showing up."

Olivier figured there had to be some sort of perverted logic to that, but it went against all her military discipline. When you were told to report at a certain time, that's when you showed up. Being fashionably late in battle only got you killed.

"Fine. So where do you want me to stand?" Olivier asked, looking around.

"Just there, dear," Sophia said, pointing to a large potted palm, much to Olivier's relief. "I'll let you know when. And Catherine, you must stand beside her for the first hour and a half or so, at least until the buffet supper begins. Then you'll have the whole rest of the night free for dancing."

"Yes, Mother," the girl answered dutifully.

Olivier shared a sympathetic look with her sister. At least she wouldn't be the only one standing there like an idiot.

The usher at the door stood up straight and filled his lungs with air. In a tone modulated to carry across the room but not so loud as to pierce anyone's eardrums, he called out, "Colonel and Mrs. Miles!"

Miles, with Vesya on his arm, entered the ballroom, which by now was beginning to fill up. Dozens of heads turned to view the newcomers, and dozens of eyebrows raised at the sight of two Ishvalans. A ripple of surprised whispers spread through the huge room.

"Get used to it, people," Miles murmured under his breath.

With a smile he escorted Vesya over to where Olivier and Catherine stood. Miles saluted, but Olivier shook her head.

"Don't worry about it tonight, Miles. I don't even feel like me."

"Well, ma'am, if you will permit the liberty," Miles said, extending his hand, "I think you look quite lovely."

Olivier shook his hand and managed a smile. "Thank you, Colonel." She turned to Vesya and shook her hand. "My feet are killing me."

"I'm so sorry!"

Olivier took a deep breath and gestured toward Catherine. "I would like to present my sister, Catherine," she intoned wearily.

Miles obligingly shook Catherine's hand and gave her a little bow. "How do you do, Catherine?"

Catherine gave a little giggle. "Quite well, thank you!"

"How long do you have to do this?" Vesya asked, shaking hands with Catherine and feeling a little silly doing it.

"Until I kill somebody," Olivier muttered.

"Ollie!" Catherine whispered as an elderly couple approached them. "Shh!"

The orchestra had just finished playing a foxtrot, and there was a light pattering of applause from the dancers out in the middle of the floor. Vesya consulted her dance card, which was actually a little book that hung from her wrist by a loop of ribbon. There was a little pencil tucked into a pocket of the binding. Miles had already written his name down for a few of the dances listed on the program, and he told her that there were often more dances played that weren't listed.

A waiter carrying a tray of tall, slender glasses stopped next to them, and Miles took two of the glasses, handing one to Vesya. "You've never had champagne before, have you?"

Vesya shook her head and took a sip from her glass. "Oh!" She took another sip. "Oh, that's good!"

Miles chuckled. "Take it easy, sweetheart. You haven't eaten anything for a while, and those bubbles could go straight to your head."

Alex stepped up to them and gave Vesya a courtly bow. "May I add my name to your dance card, Mrs. Miles?"

"Oh…yes, of course." Vesya handed her glass to Miles and slipped the ribbon from her wrist. She handed the little book to Alex, who took the pencil from its pocket. It would not have seemed possible for him to maneuver anything so tiny, but he dexterously jotted his name down for a waltz. He handed the book back to her with another bow.

"I look forward to our dance, Mrs. Miles!"

"Yes, I…me, too," Vesya replied, hoping she was doing all of this right.

Before she was able to slip her dance card back on her wrist, Iggy Armstrong-Zimmerman came bouncing up.

"Oh, I say! It would be absolutely ripping of you to let me jot myself down for a spin, Mrs. Mails!"

"It's Miles," Miles reminded him politely.

Iggy looked blank for a moment, his red hair quivering over his forehead. "Oh, is it? I say! Awfully sorry!" He chuckled self-deprecatingly and rolled his eyes. "Got a brain like a sieve, I'm afraid! Oh, I say!" His pale blue eyes widened. "If I think of you both as Miles and Miles, I'll remember! You know, as in miles and miles to go, that sort of thing!"

"That's…very clever, Ignatz," Miles replied, his patience strained ever so slightly.

"Anyway," Iggy went on, turning to Vesya. "Do be a chum and squeeze me in for the next foxtrot!"

Vesya was not quite as comfortable with the idea of dancing with Iggy as she was with Alex, but she didn't want to offend anyone. She wrote Iggy's name down. "There," she said, smiling at him.

Iggy grinned cheerfully. "Oh, thanks awfully! See you at the next trot!" he declared, and he strolled away, his hair bouncing.

Miles started snickering and Vesya gave his arm a nudge. "Don't, Miles. You'll get me started, then I won't be able to stop."

"Here." Miles handed her back her glass of champagne. "This should make dancing with Iggy a little less painful."

The usher at the door straightened up and announced, "Brigadier General and Mrs. Mustang!"

As they headed toward the reception line, Roy leaned a little toward Riza. "Please tell me you're seeing what I'm seeing."

Riza nodded in amazement. "Uh-huh!"

Olivier let out a quiet groan as they approached. "Oh, God! Look what the cat dragged in!"

Roy gave her a bow. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure, Miss…" he said, lifting an eyebrow at her cheekily.

"Oh, stuff it, Mustang!" Olivier hissed.

"Ollie!" Catherine whispered, mortified. "Please!"

Olivier glowered at Roy as he grinned, then she turned to Riza. "You aren't beating him enough."

Riza just smiled. "You look wonderful, General Armstrong," she said sedately.

"Thanks," Olivier mumbled. "I present my sister Catherine, blah, blah, blah, go away and mingle or something."

"Lovely party!" Roy said as he took Riza's arm and headed away.

Olivier glared after him and Catherine had to nudge her to attend to the next guests.

Once they had each been served a glass of champagne, Roy and Riza made a circuit of the room, greeting people they knew, which weren't many. After a few minutes, Riza tapped Roy's arm.

"There's Miles!" she said, steering her husband toward the Ishvalan officer.

Seeing them approach, Miles saluted. "Brigadier!"

Roy returned his salute. "Colonel! It's good to see you again!" he said, putting every ounce of sincerity into his voice. They had had a few tense moments in the past months, and he was anxious to put that all behind them. "I'm hearing some very good things out of Ishval!"

"Thank you, sir," Miles replied graciously. "As well you should. There's been a major surge of building during these past few months. We may not quite beat the rainy season, but we should have a roof over our heads before long."

"That's good to hear! And how is his honor, the provincial governor?" Roy asked.

"He's very well," Miles replied. "He's taking on a little too much and he fusses over it all like a mother hen. By the way, he and Rada are expecting twins in the fall."

"Twins? Seriously?"

"He seems to be a wonderful father," Riza said. "How is his little girl, Danika?"

"Thriving," Miles told her. "She asked about you both. You made quite an impression on her."

"And how about your troops?" Roy asked. "How are the new ones adjusting to the heat?"

Miles gave a little shrug. "Just when they think it can't get any hotter, it does. We'll be getting our first cases of fever soon, but the men are almost looking forward to it."

Roy raised an eyebrow. "You're kidding."

Miles shook his head. "They figure they'll really belong once they've gotten over it. They're being particularly courteous to the Ishvalans in hopes that they'll be taken pity on and will get some pretty girl to nurse them through it." Miles grinned as Vesya rejoined him. "Like I did."

Roy smiled warmly at the young Ishvalan woman. "Hello, Mrs. Miles. If I may…" He leaned closer to her and kissed her on the cheek. "You look amazing!"

Vesya blushed and dimpled at him. "Thank you, Brigadier!"

Miles arched an eyebrow. Two could play at that game. "Mrs. Mustang, has anyone asked you for the mazurka?"

Riza shook her head. "We only just got here, Colonel, but I'd love to put you down for it."

Roy smirked. "I can't believe you even know how to dance that."

Riza took her dance card from her wrist and wrote Miles' name down. "I went to a fancy girls' school. I learned stuff like that."

"And how about you, Colonel?" Roy asked. "Did you learn to dance at a fancy girls' school?"

"Uh…no, actually. One of the first times I came here, Mrs. Armstrong taught me," Miles replied. "She thought I should know these things."

"I see." Roy gestured toward Vesya's dance card. "May I?"

"Of course!" Vesya handed the little book to Roy, who made a show of perusing the dance program.

"Hmm…How about a polka?" he said, writing his name down and handing it back to Vesya. He gave Miles a slightly mischievous look as if to say, two to one, my favor.

With a hint of a smile, Miles took up the challenge with a look of his own, intimating that the night wasn't over yet.

The orchestra started up with the strains of a waltz. "That's us, Ves," Miles said, taking his wife's hand and leading her out onto the floor.

Riza watched them with a little smile as they walked away. "They certainly are pretty together."

Roy took her hand and led her toward the dance floor. "So are we."

From where Olivier stood, she watched the dancers twirl to the waltz. There were her parents, her father masterfully leading his wife around the floor. There was Mustang and Hawkeye (she really couldn't think of her by any other name), rather more evenly matched in height. There was Alex doing his usual duty as Amue's dance partner. Then there was Miles and Vesya, moving in graceful circles. Even the other couples on the floor took notice of them. Being Ishvalan, there was something exotic about them. They were both attractive. But there was something more. Olivier gave a quiet sigh. They just seemed to fit together.

"The Honorable Member of Parliament for Ishval, Mr. Shua!"

Olivier gave a jolting start and spun toward the door. "What?" she cried out loud.

"Oh, how lovely!" Catherine gushed, giving a little clap. "I'm so glad he could come!"

Olivier glared at a tall, lanky Ishvalan with a mane of slightly unkempt silver hair standing in the doorway. He was dressed in an outfit similar to the native formal wear the she had seen when she was in Ishval for Miles' and Scar's weddings. He wore a black coat that reached down to his knees. Underneath the coat he wore a white tunic with black and red embroidery at the neck opening, as well as loose black trousers tucked into black leather boots. Around his waist was a wide belt of tooled leather. Olivier glowered as she wondered if he was hiding his twin daggers at the back of that belt.

He seemed so utterly out of place and yet he looked completely at ease. Olivier felt a knot of dread in her stomach as he caught sight of her. His eyebrows rose dramatically and he sauntered over to her with a grin on his face.

"Well, well, well," he nearly purred. "I've been around the block a few times, but I've never seen such a sight as this!" He bowed in front of Olivier, and when he straightened up, he unashamedly ran his eyes up and down her body. "You look good enough to eat!"

Olivier stiffened with all the arctic chill of Briggs. "Who the hell invited you?" she hissed.

Shua looked genuinely surprised. "You did! That's what it said on the invitation." His wolfish grin returned. "I figured you couldn't wait to see me again."

"I didn't even know you were coming!"

"That's because you didn't want to see the guest list," Catherine reminded her primly. She turned to the Ishvalan MP with a beaming smile. "It's lovely to see you again, Mr. Shua!"

"Oh, drop the mister, laleh!" Shua replied, leaning down to kiss the girl on the cheek. "You look like a cupcake I saw in a bakery window the other day."

Catherine giggled. "I can start dancing a little later. Will you dance with me?"

Shua gave her a look of mock surprise. "Aren't you the cheeky miss? I'd love to!" He gave Olivier one more once over and a wink. "Catch you later, General."

Olivier seethed helplessly as she watched him stride away.

"I don't believe this!" she moaned quietly.

"Why not?" Catherine asked. "We met him while we were in Xing, and he's become quite a friend of the family."

"Oh, that's just great!" Olivier muttered through her teeth.