Hi, everyone. Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. Finally, the party! Here there are some notes regarding this chapter:
1) Tate's new visual was inspired on Marion Cotillard's new one: www.imdb.com(slash)media(slash)rm1652138496(slash)nm0182839 and www.imdb.com(slash)media(slash)rm1650565632(slash)nm0182839
2) In my mind I coudn't find anyone else to be Oswald Cobblepot other than a little older version of Philip Seymour Hoffman: www.imdb.com(slash)media(slash)rm3531443712(slash)nm0000450 . However, I'm open to suggestions.
3) Casting Roman Sionis was not easy – and still is not. Names as Michael Fassbender and Tom Hiddleston came to my mind but I still can't decide between those two. If anyone has a better idea, please tell me. I just imagine him being bonny, sexy and bloodthirsty in equal measure.
4) After much deliberation, I've decided the music that are playing when Miranda and Bruce dance together is "Fall Again" by Glenn Lewis (www.youtube.com[slash]watch?v=Mg7Nk0uw1vI)
5) I also reloaded the chapter ten of "Full Circle", just replacing the music I'd chosen for the Masquerade Ball.
6) Please don't foget to read and review.
X - A Night Of Ice And Fire - Part I
Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits
Damian stood in front of the mirror and checked out himself for the hundredth time. Tonight would be his litmus test. Tonight he would prove he was able of carry on the Wayne's legacy. From delinquent kid without two pennies to rub together to heir of one of the largest fortunes in the country.
During the last days, any mention of the party made his blood run cold. Although Bruce had reassured him everything would be fine, he was dreading it more than a trip to the dentist.
The guest list ran to several pages of closely typed paper. When he looked down the names he did not recognise most of them apart from ones he had seen in newspapers and the few who already knew him in person. Probably, he must have performed many breakings and enterings among those guests properties in the past.
His father had brushed aside his worries again with his usual ease. "I've asked Veronica to include some guests of your age in her list, so you'll have something in common with them at least and won't be feeling like a fish out of water. People will satisfy their curiosity. The press will get their pictures and won't need to crash our lives again after the event."
His thoughts were halted by Bruce's voice, "Hey, are you ready yet?"
"Uhm... almost. This necktie is knocking me out," he confessed as he was fighting the small piece of fabric.
"Okay. Let me do it," Bruce said and straightened the tie properly. "I always get messed up with this too. Here. Look at yourself."
"A very handsome young gentleman, sir," Alfred conceded as he showed up at the doorway. "Now, you two must hurry up. It's not polite manners to be late at the event you're hosting."
"Alfred is right. Come on, buddy, shake it off. Let's go," Bruce stated, noticing the kid's hesitation. "I'll be right by your side to help you, and so as your mother," he promised.
"Okay," the teenager nodded and they left the Manor onboard the Bentley.
Iceberg Lounge, Diamond District, Gotham City
Show-time, Miranda mused as the chauffeur brought the powerful top-of-the-range luxury sedan to a halt outside the nightclub main entrance.
As he opened the door and helped her to get out of the car, multiple explosions of paparazzi flash guns emerged from everywhere and her Ice Princess facade took place.
Although she was only in her mid thirties she emanated the brutal assurance of a powerful female at home with the raw politics of the business world. Her enormous wealth and brilliant financial acumen were laced with formidable implacability. She had to struggle a lot over the years to be taken seriously and respected by her male co workers. Behind the shades she always wore her enticing, confident and compelling profile was as unreadable as a granite wall.
Reaching the spacious foyer adjacent to the grand ballroom, she identified herself to the receptionist and finally got a good look at her surroundings.
It was the most extravagant nightclub she had ever seen and Miranda could not quite hide her instinctive shudder of distaste. Though it was the hottest new place in town according to Gotham's jaded in-crowd, she probably would have chosen a more sober lounge to place a party. But the Iceberg seemed to match Veronica Vreeland's taste for eccentricity.
Heedless of the curious glances her incredible good looks were attracting, she lifted the hem of her dress and managed to get down the stairs graciously as her gaze darted around the room.
There was a large pool for pet seals and penguins in the center dining area, an iceberg-like sculpture in the pool, a ship themed dance floor, and polar decor. A tuxedoed band on the sculpture was playing tunes. Ice sculptures of various animals adorned each corner of the large open room. It was a unique and garish experience.
The Iceberg Lounge was going to take that reputation and enhance it. Its customers wanted fun. The owner – Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot – hired only the best chefs, the hottest bands and the greatest lounge acts. His employees were young and attractive.
The place held a large number of celebrities, rich and aristocratic people. Designer gowns together with the most exquisite, beautiful and expensive jewelry graced the female contingent, while the men appeared almost clones of each other in black dinner suits, white pin-pleated dress-shirts and black bow ties. She recognized wealthy scions of the corporate and professional world.
Old and new money were mingling as they sipped champagne and stood for everything she despised – a world of appearances. Image was the only thing anyone was interest in.
As Vreeland acted as hostess and was making the proper introductions, Cobblepot kept visiting all the partygoers at their tables. But none of them would be able to suspect his several criminal activities linked to the city's underworld.
"Darling! How are you? Your new hair is fantastic!" The breathy feminine voice was familiar, and Miranda turned with a smile, exchanged the customary air-kiss, then gave a soft laugh.
"Ronnie. I'm fine, thanks. Has my boy already arrived?"
"Yeah. He and Bruce are circulating among the guests. He's a quite great looking guy and is causing sighs to escape from the girls' lips. If he has inherited his father's genes, he'll be a heartbreaker."
"Hopefully not," Miranda said with a smirk.
But before the stunning redhead could apologize for her goof up, Cobblepot joined them.
"I don't believe I've had the pleasure of a formal introduction yet. Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot," he said as he offered his right hand.
"Miranda Tate," she replied as she went to shake Cobblepot's hand but he carried her fingers to his lips. Miranda fought a gasp as Oswald offered Veronica a conspiratorial smile.
"Enchanté."
"So the prodigal son finally made it to town."
"I can see opportunities where others see problems and I feel that I can tackle any challenges and succeed. You – as a successful businesswoman – probably think the same way."
"Most of the time," she admitted and surveyed the mass of people, wondering where Damian was.
Suddenly, his voice came from behind, "Mom!"
"Sweetheart," she said as she turned and touched light fingers to his cheek.
"Wow, you're lookin' hot," he teased her.
"And you, young man, are looking amazing," she drawled as Bruce came into view. Her heart leapt to a quickened beat as sensation surged through her veins. Breathe, she commanded silently, inwardly cursing the way her body reacted to his presence.
He offered her a musing smile and nodded slightly, "Miranda."
"Bruce. It's nice to see you."
They had not seen or spoken to each other since he got back to the Manor. His eyes were instantly drawn to her collarbone, where the robin necklace rested. Instead of a more expensive and flaring jewel, she had chosen something simpler but meaningful.
"Now if you would excuse me," Cobblepot began, "I have some guest to attend to."
"Sure," Bruce said.
"You cut your hair!" Damian exclaimed as he turned once again to his mother.
"You've liked?" she asked him.
"Yeah, but you look beautiful either way."
"Oh, thanks! That's why you're my favorite son."
"I'm your only son," the teenager stated with a crooked smile on his face.
Soon, Vreeland's russian husband, the mayor and his wife and the Foxes joined them.
Fox had brought his wife – Tanya – and their youngest twenty years old daughter – Tamara "Tam" Fox.
Miranda knew Tam only by pictures. Lucius used to call her affectionately as "little leftover from the pan" – due the fact she was a late-born child. The age difference between her and her siblings – Tiffany and Timothy – was more than fifteen years. According to Tanya Fox, her youngest daughter was a happy and unexpected miracle.
They exchanged pleasantries and spoke about superficial topics for a few minutes, before Tam took the initiative and asked Damian if he want to go for a walk and get to know the place better, what he promptly accepted.
Miranda excused herself and began to circulate, greeting old acquaintances, business partners, co workers and city authorities.
"Ah, Commissioner. It's been a little while."
"Miss Tate," Gordon replied, extending his hand. He had just arrived accompanied by a redhead teenager. "That's my daughter, Barbara."
"Nice to meet you, Miss Tate," the adorable girl greeted.
"Nice to meet you too, Barbara. It's a refresh seeing some young faces around here. No offense, Commissioner, but my son would get bored quickly and throw an emotional outburst if there were only adults in this party."
"That's okay. I know the 'joys' of the parenthood. I have two teens," he said with a soft smile. "Jimmy's in a summer camp on the north of the country and Babs is gonna spend some days with me."
"That's great. I hope you two have a great time in here."
"Thank you, ma'am," Barbara replied politely. Miranda got fond of her almost instantly.
Gordon allowed his gaze to skim the great ballroom. "Is Mr. Wayne around here?"
Miranda noticed a hint of anxiety in his voice. "He's over there," she pointed to the place where Bruce became caught up in conversation. A blonde was standing at his side as he conversed with an associate. Miranda realized the woman was leaning on him as if they were intimate. She could recognize her as Natascha Patrenko – the prima donna ballerina of a Russian company and former date of Wayne.
What is she doing here? she thought.
"Miss Tate, if you would excuse us, I'm gonna tell him a hello."
"Oh," Miranda squeaked, trying to regain composure. "Sure. See you around."
The elegant staff brought around a constant supply of canapés and drinks. She got a glass from one and took a sip of champagne. Instantly she felt a little better.
The women in the party might be watching her and no doubt judging her, withholding their assessment of her as the mother of Wayne's child, Miranda reflected, but there was no doubt about their reaction to Damian. "He is every inch a Wayne," one elderly matriarch announced with obvious approval.
Bothered by all the attention she was receiving, Miranda disappeared into the throng and sought haven in a kind of living room on the mezzanine level.
She took another sip of her drink as she kept studying the panels, which decorated the walls of the room.
"Quite a sight," a male voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Yes," she agreed without bothering to look back at her interlocutor.
"I... I'm sorry, did you want to be alone?"
"I am," she said, turning her head and finally recognizing the owner of the voice. A starry smile tilted her generous mouth now.
"Sionis."
"Tate." He let his gaze flicker over her body and face. He noticed her eyes were an incredible shade of blue and her lips looked as if they were capable of inciting a man to commit sin. She carried herself with a natural grace, Roman Sionis conceded – but she looked tired. And jaded. Like a woman who had seen too much, too often. "It's been a long time."
"Indeed." Last time she had glimpsed him once or twice in the basement of the abandoned Stock Exchange.
"You look stunning, if it isn't obvious," Roman complimented.
"Thank you. You're not too bad either."
"For a moment I've thought Medusa's gaze have turned you into stone. You're so focused on these panels," he said as he pointed to the frames on the wall, which were telling the saga of the hero Perseus. "A beautiful lady as you shouldn't waste your time looking at such monstrous creature."
"Well, first of all, I don't consider admiring a piece of art as a waste of time. Secondly, I don't know if you're fully familiar with the Gorgon's myth, but she was originally a ravishingly beautiful maiden that was turned into a monster."
"Would you care to enlighten me?" he asked grimly.
"She was a virgin priestess devoted to Athena's temple. Due her stunning beauty, she was coveted by many men – even gods – but she chose to refuse all of them in favor of remaining faithful to her duties as one of the keepers of the Goddess of Wisdom's temple. One night, Poseidon – the Lord of the Sea – caught and raped Medusa inside the temple. Athena felt insulted and punished Medusa, transforming her beautiful face to something so terrible to behold that the mere sight of it would turn onlookers to stone. From then on she was banished to an island to live alone, away from the eyes of the mankind."
"And then she turned many innocent people into stone, until she was decapitated by Perseus," Sionis added.
"Yeah. Well, many of those people wanted to kill her and they were not so innocent. Because Medusa couldn't be looked upon by another man, she grew bitter and her bitterness turned her hair into serpents, making her to look even more monstrous."
"The scorned woman's epitome."
"Precisely. From Medusa's severed neck, who was with child by Poseidon, sprang her two sons: Pegasus – a winged horse – and Chrysaor – a golden sword-wielding giant. They could not be born before due the anger felt by Medusa, an anger that made her impossible to give birth."
"And the moral of the story is...?" he asked with amusement.
"It's some kind of metaphor. In the beginning, she was a beautiful woman devoted to the Goddess of Wisdom, representing the sovereign female wisdom. After, she was a victim blamed for her victimization. And finally, she was transmuted into a scorned woman. And because of that rejection, she became unable to love and to be loved, and start to hate men due the fact she was no longer a beautiful woman. She became a monster because of the actions of a god and a goddess," she paused for a moment and then continued as she pointed to another panel. "From her death resulted Pegasus, which represents fertility and spiritual creativity. He also represents the Medusa's beautiful side, the side that was hidden and could not be seen because her stagnant pain prevent it to do so."
"Striking story. I feel sorry for Medusa. Feel free to gimme private mythology lessons whenever you want."
"I should charge a price then." The edges of her mouth lifted a little.
Fully smiling, he gallantly offered an arm to her. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, my lady, but this humble man can only pay you with a dance."
"Fair enough," she said with a provocative grim, wrapping her arm through Sionis's.
Minutes later, Roman was sweeping Miranda around the dance floor. He danced divinely and for a moment she forgot about everything else. Closing her eyes, she moved with the music, relishing the sensations that seeped in. Sionis was an excellent partner. It had been far too long since she had allowed herself a moment of pure enjoyment.
"You're very quiet," Roman said midway through the dance.
"I'm enjoying myself immensely," she said with a quick glance up.
"Mind if I cut in?" Bruce's voice disrupted their dance. Two pairs of annoyed eyes stared at him.
Roman stopped and pulled Miranda away slightly. "Wayne! Thought you were dead." There was definitely a hint of irony in his voice.
"I hate to disappoint you, Sionis, but not yet," he said with a smirk. Grabbing Miranda's arm, he turned to her, "I guess you owe me a dance, princess."
Her gray-blue eyes seared right through him but his dark ones kept holding her own. Miranda knew she was in a dangerous mood because she was feeling so sensitive and self-conscious. Only one single night of being under intense scrutiny was pushing her to her limit.
"I don't think so," she muttered and dislodged from his grip.
"And I think you don't wanna make a scene before our guests," Bruce replied.
Miranda's could not help glancing around to see if anyone was paying special attention to them and she noticed a hush fell around the room. Taking a step forward she turned to Sionis, "I'm sorry, Roman. I'll save one dance for you."
Giving a half smile, Sionis stepped back. "Sure, I'll look forward."
Bruce put out a hand and Miranda placed hers in his palm. It would be their most intimate contact in days. This closeness made her supremely conscious of the faint mix of nutmeg and ginger scent of his exclusive cologne. It teased her senses and sent warmth coursing through her veins.
With distinct irritation in her voice Miranda said near to his ear, "How dare you?"
Bruce's hold tightened almost painfully, and with a dangerous smile on his face he looked down and said, "Me? You gave Veronica the party's idea. People are expecting us to give them a show."
"'If only they knew the truth. We are a pair of great pretenders, building our lives over a pile of lies. Giving false testimony just to save our asses." Sadness punctuated every word she said. "There's a wall made of hypocrisy that keeps on surrounding us. What kind of example we are giving to our son?"
Her tone made him frown.
"Damian knows who we really are. He knows that some choices we've made were necessary."
"They really were?" she said as she was feeling the strength of the muscles beneath his jacket. Without even allowing him to answer her question, she changed the subject. "Are you sure you can spare some time away from that russian ballerina?"
"She's socializing right now. Jealous?"
His cool arrogance made her want to spin out of his arms and leave the dance floor.
"Far from it."
Bruce almost laughed it in her face. His head went back, the muscles in the long throat tightening in rejection of her declaration. "And what about you? Roman Sionis? That guy clearly has issues."
"For God's sake Bruce, you think you're the only desirable man in this party," she said sharply.
"Do you think of me as desirable?" he looked down, studying her features with a certain sense of amusement.
"We're finished here," she stated and made a slight movement, intending to walk away.
Bruce tightened his fingers around her waist, pulling Miranda even closer. Heat and tension surged between them. The music kept going but they were not dancing anymore.
"Finished?" he echoed cynically. "We are very far from finished."
"What makes you think that? It's over – done."
"'It's not done. Quite the opposite. It has only just begun. Or have you forgotten what happened between us in Switzerland? You wanted it too. Every bit as much as I did." His voice contained a mix of anger and annoyance and his devil's good looks had intensified. He was tired of her games.
Miranda stared at him, her eyes like a pair of blue topaz stones in a disturbingly white face, no trace of colour along the fine cheekbones. Her mouth was drawn thin and taut, as if to let nothing at all escape from it.
"Nothing has begun," she began "We had sex, that was all. It was just an itch that had to be scratched."
Her tone was sharp, apparently definite. But he knew her well enough to catch the faint tremor on the word, to note the way her eyes did not quite meet his, could not meet his and declare to his face that this was really over. It was no more over for her than it was for him but she was not going to admit that fact easily. She would fight him, all the way on this.
"It was a closure," she continued, trying to sound convincing. "I can't let it go on any longer! We have to stop before we can't stop... Before we can't help ourselves!"
Bruce just uttered something guttural in reply that Miranda was not able to understand and then he was kissing her.
For just a few seconds, she felt the ecstasy of his touch, closed her eyes and surrendered completely to his kiss, as her heart was kicking up. She could only smell his enticing scent and was not aware of the covert glances given them.
When he finally broke the kiss she was pliant in his arms, staring up at him, dazed. He looked impossibly grim.
She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders and looked him dead in the eye. "Think I need another drink."
She turned and without thinking straight or looking back, she went through the mass of partygoers and reached outside. Her heels clicked against the pavement and sounded like a frantic heartbeat. Once there, she called her chauffeur. Seconds later, the man pulled the car at bottom of the gangway and opened the door.
Already inside the car, she glanced back at the front door of the Iceberg Lounge and fought back the tears that were insisting to burn in her eyes.
In her mind, Bruce just had kissed her to prove his point and provide a show for the audience. It was pure and simple humiliation. He not even had tried to stop her from leaving.
She could hear her deceased father's voice in the back of her mind, haunting her as a bad omen.
Don't let your feelings blind you. Men such as he do not let the nature of battle affect them. He is a warrior. Death is his maiden.
Biting her lower lip, she finally gave vent to a silent cry. Moments like these, made her sorely self-conscious of the fact that underneath her ice stone-hard cuirass there was a catching fire heart beating.
