Page 56 of For All My Effort

Show. That caught my attention.

Sebastian chuckled softly, pulling me further into the room. It was crowded, although not in a need to push anyone out of the way. Along the floor was a literal red carpet that was meant to act as a walkway. Along both sides of it, people and couples conversed, standing around in nice clothes that no one else accidentally matched.

The ceiling was high, showing off that this level was more like two floors rather than one. I could see there was a sort of balcony along the wall with some chairs and tables already set up. Dangling from the ceiling was probably the world’s largest golden chandelier with enough arms and flame-shaped bulbs that I’d hate to be the person who was in charge of keeping that clean.

We continued following the red carpet, even going up the stairs toward the balcony. I wanted to lean down and pull at the carpet to see if it was glued down to the stairs. It was so perfectly folded over each lip that I was impressed and curious as to how they cleaned it.

“What is this show?” I asked, whispering as Seb helped me into a seat.

The table was small, the light golden cloth laid over it bare of any food. Seb sat on one side of the table and me on the other, the railing in front of us teasing me to lean over it and see just how high we were.

A loud screeching sound pulled my attention back over to Seb who was dragging the table off to the side and moving his chair closer to me. I smiled widely, loving how dramatic and disruptive it was yet he didn’t even care that people were glaring, scoffing at us under their breath.

“That’s better,” Seb said once his chair was so close his thigh pressed against mine.

“What is this exactly?”

“You’ll see.”

I groaned, but then someone behind us cleared their throat to get our attention.

“I’ll be your waiter for the day,” the male said. He was young, and his suit was less security and more server. The back of his coat had a weird flair, and the white undershirt had a stiff collar that was flicked up around his neck. “Are there any allergies the chef needs to be alerted to?”

“None,” Seb said.

The waiter nodded and left and then Seb leaned in, whispering, “This food is going to be fancy, which is code for tiny yet overpriced. If you’re still hungry later, we’ll get a snack on the drive home.”

“How fancy is fancy?”

“Think potatoes, whipped so they’re a puree on top of the most delicious bite of steak. You’ll want more, but that’ll be the entire course until the next tiny portion comes along.”

My mouth was already watering at Seb’s talk of food.

His hand landed on my thigh, the heat from him easily penetrating through the thin sheer fabric over my legs. Each finger slowly started squeezing, his pinky dangerously close to my core.

Leaning closer to me, so close that his lips bumped the shell of my ear with each word, he said, “Spread your legs just a little, princess.”

I obeyed, and his hand moved higher up my thigh, and then settled. Every finger seemed to have a direct line to my arousal, and each slight movement, each simple twitch was a tease. My perfume was only barely tainting the air, and I hoped since we were mostly around betas that they wouldn’t notice even that much.

Eventually, the waiter came back with drinks for us in gold glasses. The first sip of my drink was bitter. I did my best to hide my distaste as the waiter left and I balanced the glass on my knee.

“Here, try mine,” Seb said, plucking my drink from my grip and shoving his own in my hand before I could argue. His drink was a slightly darker color than mine had been, and I was hesitant to take a sip. But when I did, the flavors burst on my tongue. I almost moaned at the taste, and I had to force myself to lower my hand so I didn’t chug it all. “Better?”

“Much,” I agreed.

The lights on the chandelier finally dimmed, and the audience became hushed. Below the railing, on the ground level, I could see a beautifully decorated floor mosaic. Small tile pieces were part of the ground, growing and spiraling into flowers, so long as those flowers were golden. It was an elegant beauty, the kind of beauty you knew was created for the space, not the kind that was so beautifully done that the location just had to include it.

With the quiet pressing down on everyone, the sounds of steps and something else were clearly audible. I watched as several chairs were set up in the center of the floor, along with a giant sleek golden piano. Several people were pushing it, and then bending down to mess with the legs. Finally, someone came out and set a bench down in front of the piano and then everyone left again.

The anticipation was killing me. My foot was bouncing, unable to hold still in these teasing moments before the surprise truly began. I felt like I wasn’t breathing enough, trying to stay quiet with the rest of the audience. I was even leaning forward, closer to the railing, blatantly ignoring my mate as I waited to see what would happen.

More footsteps.

This time, people came out in elegant clothes, more than just the black outfits that forced employees into the background. They held instruments—all but one who made their way to the bench in front of the piano.

The audience seemed to settle. The quiet was no longer dramatic but patient.

As they settled into their seats, I admired the way they caressed their instruments. Every movement seemed purposeful. They looked like they’d been created for this exact thing, their muscles formed simply to hold up whatever instrument they needed. Their straight backs, crossed ankles, all of it was second nature to playing.