The gallery was as beautiful as the day.
Everything was bright and sunny as Jack helped load her paintings and sculptures, and as night fell, the stars shone Atti's twinkling eyes.
The party started in earnest around seven, when people started rushing in. And boy, did the people rush.
It seemed like half of Gotham was there. And the half that came was a mottled mismatch of society. The highs and lows mingled with each other, debating the meaning of this piece or the aesthetics of that piece.
Atti knew everyone, and everyone knew her. She was on first name basis with wealthy patrons sniffing their wine suspiciously; she knew the secrets of the minds of the mildly crazy art fanatics; and she was every art students' best friend.
They all wanted to congratulate her, or ask about the price of the painting, or ask why she wasn't selling some pretty sketch, or ask when the cake was to be cut.
Then, everyone started to ask about him.
Jack had no clue how to respond. He was silent, or otherwise stuttered and had no answer.
Atti started introducing him as her "Pretty face for the night" or "Arm candy," but slowly let it become "Partner. No, not in art. In life, I guess."
Jack smiled and went with it, subtly pleased with his new status. His socially awkward stance and fidgeting, flighty eyes calmed and relaxed slowly.
He had a title now, and it was the one he really truly wanted.
He was no longer worried about how much leg was showing through Atti's party dress, or how she flipped her hair when she laughed at the handsome, young men's jokes.
He felt like he belonged. Until they cut the cake.
The large, portly, Columbian gentleman who owned the gallery stood up and gave a short speech spattered with Spanish words. He then gave Atti a large pat on the back and said "Felicitación, Senorita Regilia!" while handing over the large, bone knife Atti had carved just for the occasion.
She cut the giant octopus cake with great pomp and circumstance, slowly cutting up the sirens and smashing the boat after removing the tentacles and huge sugar beak.
Atti popped the champagne, and glasses were filled. Everything was more than lovely.
Until the dark haired man came up.
He was the son of a kind, old Italian man that Atti had met earlier. He had come off as a mechanic, or humble blue collar worker, until he shelled out over three grand for a weeping angels painting. His son, however, had looked the part of the money.
The son was menacing, grumbly, and all around a brat. The poor old man apologized whenever his son made a pass at Atti, but the boy never looked apologetic.
It pissed Jack off so bad.
It was made worse when the boy flicked a little frosting on Atii's face just to wipe it off. The predatory sheen in his black eyes made Jack fearful for Atti.
But his fears went unannounced, and Atti stood up for herself.
She pulled away from the boy and walked over to Jack, giggling like a school girl.
"I have frosting on me!"
Jack pulled her close and smiled.
"It seems you do. I hope you didn't put too much dye in the frosting, or you'll end up like a smurf!"
He tendery wiped away the blue smudge on the corner of her lip, leaving Atti clean and bursting at the seams with joy.
Atti leaned forward and licked the frosting off Jack's fingers, before spinning away with a wink.
She was going to be the death of him.
More so than he thought when he caught the eyes of the slighted stranger.