His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy.There's vomit on his sweater already, mom's spaghetti.
Wait, what?
He's nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready.
Asher Alcott did not look calm and ready. He looked exactly like the nervous man that he was. While most people would have gone pale, Asher had never had that problem. Instead his eyes would instead dart from side to side as to not stare at Marcy for too long. She looked amazing, though the joyful spark in her eye had been replaced by one filled by fire. The young woman had always had that fiery look, but now it had completely taken over. Rather that was a good or bad thing, Asher was about to find out.
Grabbing two glasses of champagne on his way over, Asher came to stand a reasonable distance in front of Marcy. He decided to start the conversation off with something simple.
”Hey Marce,” he began. ”I figured you might need something to drink?”
“You’ve got some nerve, walking up to me like this…” Marcela drawled, raising a haughty eyebrow in his direction.
”Yeah…. I figured your response would be something like that,” he responded, giving her a shrug in return. ”Go ahead and yell. I know you want to. Doesn’t my face look like the perfect target for your verbal punching?” His jokes were horrible, and probably bound to piss her off. Unfortunately, Asher had always been prone to making horrible jokes when nervous.
Asher’s comments earned himself a snort and a roll of the eyes. “You have no right to play the victim here, Asher. I was the one who got ghosted after being a clueless idiot and giving you everything all throughout that summer six years ago.”
He sighed. ”You’re right. I’m not trying to play the victim here, Marcy: I promise. I know that I haven’t changed that much when it comes to my fuck-boyish ways, but I have matured in other aspects - such as how to treat people. Which is why if you did want to yell at me, I’d stand here and take it. Because anything you have to say would be justified. I just honestly wanted to make sure that you were okay. I know that you can handle yourself, but…” his voice trailed off. ”I don’t know how to word it.”
Marcela scoffed and shook her head. “If you say you’ve changed, then it probably means you haven’t,” she told him simply, shrugging her shoulders.
"If that's what you really think I'd be more than happy to turn around and go talk to someone else. But I'm not still some dumbass teenager."
"Oh yeah?" she drawled, taking a few steps in his direction to close the distance between them and raising a defiant eyebrow at him. "Then prove it."
Asher nodded his head as a short chuckle escaped his lips, moving closer to Marcy as he did so. ”If you really want me to leave, you’ll have to say it outright,” he began, dropping his voice to a low whisper. As his eyes would meet hers, it was easy to see the familiar mischievous glimer hidden behind the formalities. “See, I was sort of looking forward to catching up with you, but I’m not going to push you either. I am known for my gentlemanly ways, after all. Besides, I’m sure as a future queen you could use some practice ordering people around. You didn’t seem to have any problems with being the boss last time we were alone.”
Marcela let out a sarcastic laugh. "So not only are you still the same immature, irresponsible man, but you also continue to showcase your obvious lack of attention skills," she muttered under her breath, grabbing his face between her thumb, index and middle fingers and letting her brown eyes burn into his. "Number one: I never asked you to leave, and I wasn't trying to make you leave. If you can't handle the truth when it's being thrown at your face, then that's your problem."
"Number two: I'm not the heiress to the Aragonia crown, nor am I marrying a crown prince or a king. My beloved Quincy has parted from this Earth. I am no longer a future queen to any kingdom."
"And number three: you didn't answer my question. I asked you to prove yourself to be the so-called mature gentleman you say you are. If you're unable to, then I guess it means you haven't really changed after all."
”Then let me start over. I’ve been standing here with these two champagne glasses looking like an idiot the whole time. Would you like one, or would you like something else?” The young man was doing his best to tread lightly. The last thing he wanted was her actually to yell at him.
Marcy stared him down for a few long, hard seconds before eventually releasing his face and accepting the champagne glass he was offering. "Thank you, Asher," she told him appreciatively, choosing to drain the contents in one sip instead of pacing herself. This ball was already raising the levels of her blood pressure.
With his face released from Marcy’s grip, Asher was glad to be able to stand up straight again. Her taking the champagne from him was one small victory that he was glad to accept.
”Do you maybe want to go somewhere to get some fresh air? Maybe catch up a little?”
While Asher didn’t want to admit it, the prying eyes that had been following Marcy since she had walked in the door seemed to have doubled when he walked over. Asher Alcott was no stranger to attention, but sometimes the staring could be too much even for him.
Sensing Asher's discomfort, Marcela decided to take a look around. It wasn't hard to find the source. It seemed that every single eye in the room was now on them, joined by the tell-tale buzzing of gossip being exchanged. In normal circumstances, the Mexican-Spaniard girl would've shrugged off the unwarranted attention. But this encounter with Asher so soon into her arrival at the ball had drained all of her energies, and the idea of a more private place was like music to her emotionally exhausted ears.
The young woman quickly nodded. "I would like that very much," she confessed, her tone shifting from the usual haughtiness and into pure defeat.
Nodding his head, Asher began to walk away from the crowd, matching his pace with Marcy’s as he went. Making it a point to stand beside her to shield her from prying eyes, he led the way out into the gardens. Hopefully the tall bushes, trees, and the rest of the plants could shield them from the people staring.
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