Chapter 178 - Ovation
An hour later, the private jet descended, touching down softly at another private hangar. As the door hissed open and the cool air of a new climate brushed against my face, I pulled out my phone and checked the maps. We were at… Yaskaona. My brow furrowed; I had never even heard of this place. And it was an island country, even smaller than Ascaria.
Upon our arrival, a fleet of equally black cars awaited us. We smoothly transitioned from the jet to the vehicles, which then whisked us away towards the highly anticipated, yet utterly mysterious, hotel.
“So… care to tell me about why we are on this island?” I asked as the car glided through the unfamiliar streets.
“Oh, it might be because this is an offshore banking destination with low tax, meaning where our rich and government officials store their money or perhaps even launder it,” he replied. He glanced out the tinted window at the passing landscape, tropical foliage, and discreet, high walls. “Presumably, they must have a rather lavish entertainment industry and a conveniently lax prosecution of criminal activity,” he added.
“’Tax haven meets moral vacuum,’ then. How... practical,” I replied, the sarcasm heavy in my voice.
“An apt description, Raphael. I have never been to this place, therefore I do not know. But, yes, the residents must be quite wealthy,” he said. Yes, the houses were old but sophisticated, their facades hinting at generations of wealth, and if they weren’t sprawling two-story mansions, they were clearly penthouses, their private terraces likely overlooking the sparkling ocean. We were not in any urban area.
“I mean, you also own an island, right? That ancient noble cemetery?” I asked, a new thought sparking as the car turned onto a wider road, lined with ancient trees.
“Unfortunately,” he said, a distinct note of disdain entering his voice, “the late monarch swine bequeathed that place as a wedding gift.” He paused, turning his head slightly to meet my gaze. “A cemetery, Raphael.”
“A property befitting a man with a ‘flair for the dramatic,’ perhaps?” I retorted.
“I cannot even sell that damned place, Raphael; no one in their right minds would buy it.”
“I mean… the market for an ancient cemetery, without cellular signals… and the place you exiled your own mother must be remarkably low.”
“Unfortunately,” he said, genuine irritation crossing his features. “Perhaps I should have dissolved the nobility after I successfully sold that place to one of those vermin,” he added, gazing out at the moonlit foliage, a hint of regret in his tone.
The idea that he might have benefited more from the downfall of his own class, if only he’d timed it differently, is vintage Levi.
“I am… strangely amused,” I added, a slightly incredulous smile tugging at my lips.
“Clearly, I would not be a good estate agent,” he replied, with a subtle shrug. No way. He would be. He simply forgot about the island altogether while he was busy hunting the nobles.
“Have you ever considered… other lines of occupation? Other than that, consultant villain fantasy of yours?” I asked.
“Any suggestions, dear?” he inquired.
The possibilities truly are endless for him. He could be a grand architect, designing cities that bend to his will. A CEO of a tech empire, monopolizing every facet of information. A chief negotiator for global treaties, twisting words and intentions until they serve his aims. A private security magnate, controlling the very concept of safety. Or perhaps, a reclusive inventor, crafting devices that reshape the world, or destroy it. A master spy, dismantling governments from the inside out, indistinguishable from the mundane. A surgeon, performing intricate operations with the same detachment he applies to human emotions. A physicist, unraveling the universe’s secrets, just as he dissects human nature. Or a cult leader, charming legions, promising enlightenment while subtly controlling their every move. A grandmaster chess player, capable of planning centuries ahead? The possibilities truly are endless, and each one feels just as plausible, and just as dangerous, as his current ‘occupation.’ How do you suggest an alternative for a man who could, quite literally, burn the world for you, and then apologize for the ‘outburst’?
“I suppose a cult leader is always an option, given your ability to charm and manipulate,” I said, leaning back into the seat, a mischievous glint in my eye.
“Cult leader suggests a belief system, Raphael, and I am aggressively atheist,” he replied, dismissing the notion with a slight wave of his hand.
“I don’t know then… A spy, maybe? But a cool spy,” I replied, intrigued by his rapid-fire dismissal.
“Oh,” he mused. “The freelancers? That might be subtly interesting.” He glanced out the window of the car, which was now turning into the grand driveway of a spectacularly illuminated hotel.
Wait. Freelancers? Is there a market for… spies?
The car ride ended before the grand, illuminated entrance of the hotel. Immediately, our doors were opened by bodyguards, each one delivering terse information of our arrival into their earpieces. We were frisked again. I rolled my eyes. This was getting boring. But the hotel itself? My god, the hotel. It loomed before us, a breathtaking edifice of glass and light, its architecture a modern marvel that somehow blended with the tropical night.
Within, the opulence was a symphony of understated grandeur. The lobby soared, a space bathed in the warm glow of hidden lighting that seemed to emanate from the very floors. Cascading chandeliers, crafted from crystalline spirals, hung like frozen waterfalls from the high ceiling. Every surface, from the intricate mosaics on the walls to the shimmering reflections in the vast, still pools that punctuated the space.
We were escorted by the guards to a discreet elevator. As it began its swift ascent to the highest floor, destined for that ominous dinner with Ascaria’s most powerful people, a tremor ran through me. I felt a weird fear? Maybe it was not fear, but hesitation, a visceral understanding of the stakes. Nevertheless, my legs were shaking a bit. Levi placed his hand on my back. “Calm down, dear,” he said. “They are their core vermin. I am here for pest control.”
I nearly laughed. What a… bizarre way to comfort someone, yet it was effective.
“Just say it will be fine,” I retorted.
“You will do just fine, my dearest,” he said, and he gave my back an assuring rub. The elevator doors parted, revealing the penthouse level, where the murmur of voices and clink of distant glasses already hinted at the gathering within.
A single, colossal table, crafted from a seamless slab of obsidian, dominated the center, reflecting the soft glow of bespoke lighting fixtures that resembled suspended constellations. Around it were sixteen ministers of Ascaria, each accompanied by their spouses.
Before we could even approach the massive obsidian table, the collective of Ascarian power rose to their feet. A ripple of polite applause began, swelling into an ovation.
Are they celebrating the election, or because they finally got rid of this tyrant? I didn’t know.
Levi offered a smile, his eyes betraying nothing of his true sentiment.
Then, I opened my radar, scanning the room.
Minister of Internal Affairs, Mr. Reginald, a man whose stern countenance seemed etched with perpetual disapproval, openly detested Levi, so he was not clapping enthusiastically. But why? I did not know, but certainly, I would learn today.
Minister of Health, Mrs. Alexandra, a woman with a vibrant red gown, seemed to be driven by a genuine fixation.
Minister of Economy, Mr. Shaw, was reluctant, his hands barely meeting, a faint flush on his cheeks. Given our history — him bugging our house and Levi scaring him into a whimpering puddle — his apprehension was expected.
Minister of Law, Mr. Mathis, was young compared to the others, his posture stiff with a nervous energy. He was looking at Levi expectantly, his eyes wide, clearly seeking crumbles of strategic genius from Levi, perhaps hoping for a final, invaluable lesson.
Minister of Culture, Mr. Dixon, a flamboyant man with a coiffed silver mane, was enthusiastically clapping, a broad smile on his face. Given Levi, during the spiral of the currency, had shrewdly exported Ascaria’s movies and soap operas, Mr. Dixon was clearly happy with the resulting boom in tourism and the soft power it generated.
There are so many of them, and I could barely remember their names. How apolitical am I? I had to look at their names on my phone before coming here. The applause eventually tapered off.
I thought we were finally going to sit down, but no. A champagne butler, holding a silver tray, approached Levi. Clearly, they wanted Levi to pop it off. Well, this is going to be… awkward. Will he shake it and make it bubble? Levi would not do that to a vintage champagne. Is he just going to pull the cork with a quiet twist? But that’s hardly theatrical enough for this grand farewell.
Levi held the bottle, his eyes darting between the label and the expectant faces of the ministers, clearly weighing his options. To be a responsible adult and be utterly basic, or embrace the celebration, shed his composed, sophisticated adult trousers, and participate in this rather boisterous display? I could almost see his eyes burning with the impracticality, screaming, ‘Bubbles are not a good thing.’
Nevertheless, Levi began to shake the bottle. I had to suppress my laughter, biting the inside of my cheek, seeing how hilariously uncharacteristic it was for him. The ministers, however, were ecstatic, whooing him on. With a satisfying thwock, the cork popped, soaring upwards, leaving Levi’s hand drenched in sparkling champagne.
He was barely holding the urge to wipe his hand.
Luckily, the champagne butler took the bottle out of Levi’s hands. Well, I learned something new today. That expensive vintage? It went straight into a waste receptacle held by another attendant nearby. It was purely a show. The same attentive butler also swiftly provided Levi with hand towels, allowing him to clean his hands.
After that theatrical ordeal, we sat down at the massive table, where now a complete array of waiters started to fill our crystal glasses with an exquisite selection of wines and fresh champagne.
Levi, once settled, cleared his throat, commanding the room’s attention with effortless ease. “Dear ladies and gentlemen, today is finally the day our infant democracy becomes a fully serving model. The power vacuum, you see, will be over tomorrow. I am genuinely glad to see all of you celebrating that rather significant piece of history with me.”
A minister, whose name I did not remember, was the first to speak, his voice resonating with practiced sincerity. “Indeed, Levi. A truly momentous occasion. Your... strategic guidance has been instrumental in ensuring such a smooth transition. Ascaria owes you a considerable debt.” He raised his champagne flute.
Mrs. Alexandra beamed and chimed in with unreserved enthusiasm. “A new era, indeed, Levi! How thrilling to see such progress!” Her husband simply smiled and echoed her sentiment.
Mr. Shaw offered a strained, almost croaking “To Ascaria’s future.” His glass clinked against the obsidian table a little too loudly.
Young Mr. Mathis, however, his posture stiff with earnestness, spoke with a clear, almost reverent tone. “It is an honor to witness this, Mr. Blake. To see the culmination of such... precision in governance. Truly inspiring.” He, too, raised his glass, his eyes bright with admiration.
Minister Dixon raised his glass with a flourish. “To a future of stability, and indeed, continued cultural flourishing! Thanks to our esteemed guest’s efforts!” His enthusiasm, at least, seemed genuine, tied as it was to the success of his own portfolio.
The room swelled with the clinking of glasses and polite affirmations, an orchestrated symphony of acknowledgement for the man who had just, in effect, orchestrated their new reality.
That’s exactly what it was.
A collective sigh of relief, perhaps, now that the architect of their new political landscape was stepping away. They toasted him, but in their eyes, I saw not just respect, but a mix of apprehension and a kind of self-serving admiration. They needed him, used him, and now, they were eager to claim the new reality he had crafted for themselves. And Levi, the man who called them ‘vermin,’ simply accepted their accolades with that detached gaze. He truly is a creature of pure function, an engineer of human systems, and these powerful figures are merely components in his grand design. My legs still had a tremor, but now, it was less fear and more a chilling awareness of the man sitting beside me, and the world he so casually reshaped.
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The room shifted its focus as the food began to be served. Levi had assured me the chef would be prepared for his food aversion, and indeed, it was. His individual portion consisted of pureed vegetables, but they were decorated so elegantly — each dollop a perfect swirl, garnished with herbs and edible flowers — that they looked more like culinary art than dietary restriction. Thank god.
Well… ours was nothing short of a feast. I had been unsure whether it would be a fine dining affair, with small plates and delicate foams, but no. This was a grand, unapologetic banquet. Platters laden with glistening, perfectly roasted meats were presented alongside vibrant salads and bowls of fragrant, spiced grains.
Each course was a lavish progression. Miniature silver tureens held velvety bisques, their surfaces swirled with infused oils. Then came seafood towers, piled high with fresh crustaceans and oysters on beds of ice. The roasted meats, ranging from tender lamb to fowl, were carved table-side. Accompanying them were bowls of heirloom vegetables, roasted root vegetables glazed with honey, and artisanal breads still warm, served with an array of imported cheeses and infused butters.
The ministers and their spouses, despite their earlier political posturing, reacted with a primal pleasure.
It’s astonishing, really. Moments ago, they were clashing with Levi, their faces etched with political maneuvering and veiled animosity. Now, presented with enough opulence to choke a small country, they’ve melted into a collective purr of contentment. Shaw, the whimpering puddle, was glowing over roasted lamb. Reginald, the grump, was sighing over bisque. It’s almost pathetic, how easily their principles — or whatever passes for them —are suspended by a sufficiently lavish feast. Levi’s ‘pest control’ remark echoed in my mind. They’re indeed vermin, distracted by the bait, gorging themselves while the true power plays unfold around them.
Well, as a proud carnivore and thoroughly bored with Ascaria’s often bland dishes, I was enjoying the feast too, perhaps even more than the ministers. This roasted fowl melted, then exploded in my mouth. I was married to Levi and loved him, so I am less morally ambiguous. This feast might be bought with questionable funds, but at least it’s delicious.
One small mercy: ministers were not nobles. There was no dining etiquette here. They were eating like animals, just like I was, openly relishing each bite.
Then, young Mr. Mathis, clearly eager for more of Levi and his machinations, seized the opportunity. “Mr. Blake, excuse me, but please explain how you were able to abolish the monarchy? And it took a day! You did it in one day!” he exclaimed.
Levi, without breaking his serene demeanor, took a sip of his champagne. “It was one day, indeed,” he began, “but it was the cultivation of fifteen years of planning, thorough observation, and understanding the power dynamics within the nobility and the monarchy.” He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle over the attentive ministers. “But if you are asking about the bureaucratic hurdle, well, surely, there were merely ten boxes of documents that needed to be signed by the senate.” He concluded with a faint smile.
That attempt to offer ‘levity’ — it’s not levity at all. It’s satisfaction, a reminder that this ‘infant democracy’ is his creation, built on the ruins of what he so calmly dismantled. He truly is a master of pest control.
Mr. Shaw dabbed his brow with his napkin. “Ten boxes... I suppose when one is as... thorough as yourself, such things become quite manageable.”
Shut up, Shaw, you tried to bug our house, conspiring with Levi’s rivals; you don’t get to talk shit about him.
Young Mr. Mathis leaned forward, his gaze rapt. “So, the execution was merely the final, logical step? A testament to absolute preparation, then. Truly, a lesson in strategic foresight.”
“Dear Mr. Mathis,” Levi replied, his voice completely calm and even. “In order to explain my entire plan, one needs hours of uninterrupted speech. But, indeed. Abolishing the monarchy and dissolving the nobility was the final, crucial step.”
The room hushed, the subtle fear and awe in the ministers’ eyes… they understood, for a moment, the true scope of the puppet master who had just pulled the ultimate strings.
Young Mr. Mathis, completely undeterred by Levi’s chillingly casual admission, nodded eagerly. “A masterpiece of long-form strategy, then. One can only imagine the sheer complexity involved.”
Gods. This man was a… golden retriever. I mean, since he was the Minister of Law, that interest didn’t entirely surprise me, but what an enthusiasm.
Minister Dixon, meanwhile, leaned forward, clearly captivated by the narrative of it all. “A veritable opus of political engineering. One could almost envision it as a grand plotted drama.”
No, no. I knew where this was going. They are getting eager. Eager to hear more.
Half of the room remained silent, their gazes shifting between Levi and each other, since they’d just realized the true consequence of such power and planning was sitting right next to them. The other half, however, were only seeing a merely smart man, their appetites whetted for another anecdote of his brilliant machinations, utterly missing the undertones.
“An opus, indeed, Mr. Dixon. Though I concede the final act was rather swift, thanks to diligent preparation,” Levi said, and he offered a dry smile. Yeah. That day. That terrifying day when he reduced the elder council into ten men crying and pissing themselves, right before he dragged them to the jails. And, according to his timetable, the king was not supposed to die for another six months; he died early. Levi was clearly not happy with how his ‘hunt’ ended prematurely, because he was bored afterwards. I took a sip of my wine.
Mr. Shaw, looking uncomfortable, cleared his throat. “One certainly would not wish to be on the opposing side of such planning.” He took a nervous sip of wine, just like me.
Shut up, Shaw, Levi left you with nothing but some… blackmailing. You don’t get to sound so self-righteous.
On the other hand, another minister, whose name I didn’t know — but I knew he was the Minister of National Defense by the prominent scar hidden beneath his collar — spoke with a gravelly voice. “Such ‘preparations’ often entail... unforeseen complications. I trust you accounted for every variable?” he asked, his gaze meeting Levi’s with a directness few dared.
Levi, without missing a beat, just gave him a smirk. “Do the results not speak for themselves, Mr. Gabriel?”
Mr. Gabriel’s gaze remained fixed on Levi for a long moment, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Indeed, Mr. Blake. The results are… quite conclusive.” His tone was clipped, betraying a respect born of grudging acknowledgment rather than admiration.
Young Mr. Mathis, however, his eyes shining with unadulterated admiration, offered a quick, eager nod. “A masterclass in pragmatism, Mr. Blake. The sheer efficiency is truly remarkable,” he said. Yeah. Levi is… efficient.
But, as the conversation lingered on Levi’s calculated ruthlessness, the families were clearly getting weary with all these men talking about politics and grand strategies. Mr. Mathis’ wife gently touched his arm. “Darling,” she murmured. “I am sure he had many hard decisions to make, but perhaps we can discuss something else now?” she added, her gaze sweeping across the table.
“You know, abolishing the monarchy is cool, nobody denies that, but the one thing they don’t tell you is the paperwork,” I said, seizing the opening presented by Mrs. Mathis. My voice took on a theatrical flair, mirroring the wine’s loosening effect. “After the dissolution, because the archives could no longer store those dusty tomes, our house was absolutely flooded with those dust-allergy-inducing boxes! We were like rats in a maze, in our own living room!” I exclaimed, gesturing broadly with a hand. “We literally had to make our way through endless halls of documents just to reach the kitchen to gather us some sugary water, just to survive!”
The ministers exchanged amused glances. Some chuckled, a few outright laughed.
Mrs. Mathis, relieved by the change in topic, laughed heartily. “Oh, my dear, the unforeseen challenges of grand political shifts! It’s always the paperwork, isn’t it?”
I was sure she knew better than anyone what paperwork actually meant, likely buried under her own husband’s legal documentation.
A minister’s spouse leaned forward conspiratorially. “Sugary water? It truly is the simple necessities that become luxuries in times of great upheaval,” she added, a subtle smile playing on her lips. Well. Levi is a sugar addict, so sugary water is literally his only sustenance during his deep-dive obsessions. Whatever. I had seized the moment, changed the topic, and injected a relatable dose of chaos into this otherwise rigid dinner. Brilliant, Raphael.
“Yes, yes,” I conceded, shaking my head with exaggerated weariness. “You simply cannot imagine the sheer chaos of that currency change.” My mind flickered back to those days: Levi, in his silk robe, often only in his underwear, barely sleeping, his skin almost translucent, becoming a ghost that haunted our own house, fueled only by hot chocolate.
Mrs. Alexandra shuddered, her hand rising to her chest. “Oh, the market fluctuations! My personal investments were in an absolute state of flux for weeks! Utterly nerve-wracking!” she said, taking a sip of her wine.
Mr. Shaw, finally looking comfortable, threw up his hands in shared exasperation. “The currency! Don’t even get me started. My own household accounts were in utter disarray for weeks!” he exclaimed, remembering the horror.
Shut up, Shaw, Levi did the big work, you only sniveled.
Mr. Mathis, however, remained more focused on the strategic aspect, his earnestness unwavering. “But the stabilization that followed was remarkably swift, was it not? A testament to... well, to the foundational principles Levi just outlined.”
God damn it! I just wanted to play the field with the spouses. I steered the conversation in the wrong direction!
“Ah, yes,” Levi said, taking a deep breath. “The currency change… What a logistical nightmare. The concept itself is already novel enough, but to explain every detail to the staff? That was my undoing, ladies and gentlemen.”
Oops. No. Not oops. Seize the moment, seize it.
“Yeah, yeah, your management, Levi,” I said, leaning in conspiratorially, a mischievous glint playing in my eyes. “Let me tell you what he did. The staff was clearly fumbling with the directions. So, this man made three binders, thicker than my leg, and color-coded them! Yes! I am not joking! Green for the people who follow orders, yellow for people who need supervision, and red for people who might create errors!” I exclaimed, gesturing broadly to emphasize the volume of the binders.
A minister’s spouse whispered, “He truly categorized them by their... propensity for error? How utterly ruthless!”
Yeah. That’s the only normal reaction to Levi’s management style of governmental staff. He also described them as a sentient mountain of human feces.
Mr. Gabriel, meanwhile, allowed a smirk to touch his lips. “An intriguing method of categorization, Mr. Blake. One wonders how frequently the ‘red’ binder was consulted?” he inquired, his gaze subtly challenging Levi. His wife immediately interjected, “Dear, please, we also know about your management style.”
Dish, girl, dish.
He gave a slight shrug. “Every leader develops their own system. I merely aim for clarity, as does Mr. Blake, it seems,” he said, attempting to deflect the conversation. But his wife had other ideas. She leaned forward. “You see, my dear husband is a man who does not enjoy spending money on inefficient programs; he is quite ruthless at that,” she said, but a warm smile entered her face as she continued, “But, he always ensures every single personnel receives extensive medical care. He truly cares for the well-being of his soldiers, even if his methods are… direct.” A subtle hum of appreciation rippled through the table.
Ah, the classic ‘ruthless but caring’ trope. It’s almost quaint, how human it is, how they balance the harsh realities of their positions with a display of genuine concern for their subordinates.
Levi wouldn’t bother with the medical care; he’d simply design a system where fewer people get injured, or if they do, they’re swiftly replaced.
“My husband can oversee the construction of a hundred-kilometer high-speed rail line without blinking. But convincing him to fix a leaky faucet in our own home? That requires a formal proposal, a risk assessment, and usually, a significant act of divine intervention,” Mrs. Pierre said with a weary sigh, a smile playing on her lips as she glanced around the table.
Okay… A domestic story. Conjure a domestic story. C’mon, something not sexual or embarrassing. Also, I was the youngest person at this table, so I had to tread a little more carefully, my mind racing for a relatable anecdote. While I was pressing my lips together, trying to formulate a safe response, Levi smoothly interjected.
“My dear husband had to remind me to brush my teeth during that currency change,” he said, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. Well, the story was true. And it was so freaking perfect. In one single sentence, he humanized himself, offered his gratitude to me, and acknowledged the struggles of the spouses at the table. Gods, what a man. The elegant dining room was now softened by a wave of genuine, amused laughter. Several of the spouses nodded emphatically, their eyes twinkling with shared understanding of the intimate, often unglamorous, support required behind the scenes of public life.
“And it highlights the indispensable role of a good partner, reminding us of life beyond the crisis,” Mrs. Pierre said, giving me a subtle nod.
“It truly does,” Levi replied, and then he turned to me, offering a dazzling smile. Gods, Levi. You are so fucking good at smiling. I know it’s fake. I know it, but I am just mesmerized by it. The way his deep blue eyes seemed to genuinely crinkle at the corners, the subtle lift of his cheekbones — it was a performance of such profound sincerity that it silenced the cynical part of my mind. The entire table watched, captivated, as he held my gaze.
In that intimate moment, the snake rose. Mr. Reginald. His eyes were holding a burning, undisguised hatred as he watched us. Gods, where was this animosity coming from? Levi’s pharmaceutical ventures and his recent political consultancy had nothing to do with internal affairs, did they?
The remainder of the dinner concluded with similar anecdotes from both ministers and their spouses. It was a strange, unexpected camaraderie, a collective venting session where we all practically bitched about our husbands and wives and their demanding, often eccentric lives.
As the last dessert plates were cleared and the waiters began to dismantle the dining arrangement, the air in the vast salon shifted. A new energy hummed through the space, accompanied by the rising swell of music from another part of the penthouse. The party was coming. Gods, no. There is no way I’m dancing with ministers. Even though I’d built camaraderie with their families over shared grievances, the ministers themselves were a little too much for me. I mean, the age was certainly a cutting factor; they were so much older, a generation or two removed from my own social sphere.
However, before I could process my dread, my fellow long-suffering spouses guided me towards the dance floor. One of them pressed a champagne glass into my hand. Well, this is happening. At least I wasn’t dancing with the ministers. I could tell this particular dancing arrangement was not new for them. They moved with an easy grace that hinted at years of navigating such social currents, while I felt utterly adrift.
On the other hand, Levi remained held captive at the table, cornered by the eager Mr. Mathis and the effusive Mrs. Alexandra. They were peppering him with question after question, their faces earnest, their gestures animated. And Levi was so utterly tone-deaf that there was no way he would ever grace the dancing floor. Quite honestly, I wasn’t ready to watch that particular spectacle either. The thought of Levi attempting to navigate a dance was almost as unsettling as his dismantling of a monarchy.
The music swelled, pulling me further into the dazzling swirl of the party. I found myself caught in a loose circle with Mrs. Pierre, Mrs. Mathis, and a couple of other spouses, their laughter infectious as we attempted to follow the steps of a traditional Ascarian folk dance. My feet felt clumsy at first, but the sheer joy on their faces was contagious. Mrs. Pierre, surprisingly agile, spun me around. Mrs. Mathis, less coordinated but equally enthusiastic, kept bumping into me, dissolving into fits of giggles each time.
It was a strange, liberating experience. My cheeks flushed, not from wine, but from genuine amusement, and for a few precious minutes.
As the music shifted to a modern beat, the women exchanged conversations amongst themselves, their heads bending together conspiratorially. They then turned to me, their eyes sparkling, and one of them, Mrs. Pierre, leaned in to say they would leave for the powder room.
“Care to join us, dear?” she offered with a knowing wink.