"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I tell him, tucking some hair back behind my ear. "Just a little nervous," I tell him as his quizzical look continues to pour into me. It's not like I'm lying; I am very nervous about how tonight is going to go. I'm also nervous about how the next five and a half months of my life are going to go.
"Well, try to relax, we're here now," Rhodes's soothing tone calms me for a moment as I look out the window. The car is traveling up a long gravel driveway that weaves around to the front of a large-looking estate. A grand tall yellow building is wide open in front of us. Men and women draped in fine jewels and expensive suits ascend the staircase up into the expansive hall. It looks like something straight out of Downton Abbey, such a regal event where I will stick out like a sore thumb.
Ambrose pulls to a stop, and a boy in a grey suit immediately opens my door and offers me his hand to help me out of the car. I take it and step down onto the gravel, my heart thumping hard in my chest as I realize the walk to the stairs could be a disastrous one.
Luckily, Rhodes quickly appears at my side and takes my arm, walking with me to the stairs. I lift my long skirt slightly to aid myself with the climb up the stairs, keeping my head down as much as possible.
"Rhodes Whitlock and Amelia Kendrick," Rhodes tells a man in a dark suit at the door, who gives him a nod and beckons for us to enter the hall. The sound of a soft string orchestra and the drowning hum of speech fills my ears as we enter. There must be at least 200 people here at the moment, but there is plenty of room for people to comfortably weave around glass cases filled with what I presume are auction items.
A few of the patrons turn their heads as Rhodes and I enter. Upon first glance, we look to be one of the youngest couples in the room. A few of the faces I see are vaguely familiar; maybe they've been on TV, or they've played a sport I've seen an ad for, I can't really tell.
"Let's get a drink," Rhodes leans his head down to speak to me before he leads us over to an impressively long and well-staffed bar to the left of the entrance. Yes, a drink may help, but I have to be careful. I definitely think that getting drunk and sloppy would be considered 'causing a scene.'
Rhodes orders himself a drink, and before I can put in an order for myself, I hear Rhodes speak to the bartender about something for me. Great, now I can't even choose what I drink. A few moments later, Rhodes is presented with a small tumbler filled halfway with a dark liquor, and I'm presented with something clear and pink.