Foreign Feelings

Evarah's P.O.V.
“Converses?”

I looked away from the bubbles in my glass and into the familiar grey eyes of my father. My face must have been a huge question mark, because he nodded towards my feet and added, “Your shoes.”

My own grey eyes, the exact same shade as his, followed his nod, moving down past the sleek navy dress I wore, and landing on my feet, cloaked in my favourite black converses. I smiled. “You know I can't walk in heels. Plus, they kill my feet.”

He sighed in exasperation. “Evarah, I've told you time and time again; These events are not for casual dress.”

“You call this casual?” I waved my hands in front of my body and shimmied my hips, causing the smooth material to wave around my thighs. “Plus, who goes around noticing whether or not girls are wearing heels? I mean, seriously.” I gave a light laugh.

“Honey, I would prefer it if next time, you wore the correct shoes. It would make me much happier.”

I frowned. “Fine, whatever you say Daddy dearest.”

“Go enjoy the rest of the evening, Eva.” I started to walk away when his voice stopped me again. “I hope that there's no alcohol in that drink.”

I laughed outright and walked away, making my way quickly through the crowd of people and over to the open door. I paused and looked back the way I'd come, seeing my sister in her blood-red dress talking and laughing with one of her friends.

Walking out into the cool night air, I immediately breathed it in, letting it settle in my lungs before exhaling slowly. I jumped when a voice suddenly spoke up beside me.

“Converses?” The voice was deep and rich and dipped in a French accent, making me shiver in my very awesome shoes.

I turned around from looking at the dark forest bordering the house and into eyes as endless as the night itself, plastering a confident smile on my face. “Nothing wrong with a little originality.”

He smiled, and his eyes sparkled. That smile turned him from okay-looking into extremely-hot-and-mouthwatering. “You have my full agreement there.”

I found myself returning his smile. I leaned casually against the stone railing behind me, separating this small courtyard from the forest outside of it. “I'm Eva Harper.”

“Pierre Fournier.” He offered his hand, and I took it. “Eva Harper, did you say?”

I nodded and released his warm, dry hand. “That's me.”

“Daughter of Abraham Harper?” I nodded again. “Then I guess you're the one I'll be staying with for the next fortnight or so.” He smiled again, a slight upturning of the lips, but no matter how small it was, I still found myself smiling in return.

Then what he said clicked. “You're the French guy we've been expecting!” His grin showed me that he thought I was a bit slow. “It's nice to meet you, Pierre.”

“Lovely to meet you too, Eva.” As I watched him glance back inside, I actually took the time to look at him. He was tall, about a foot more so then me, and had a thin, lean build. His hair was dark brown, and hanging above his thick eyebrows loosely.

His chin was sharp and square, mouth wide, lips thin and pink. He had mostly clear skin, aside from the few red dots on his chin. Nose beak-like, but it suited him perfectly. He was wearing loose black slacks and a light blue, long-sleeved shirt that fit him perfectly and lay untucked over the top of his pants.

There was a glittering silver medallion nestling in the hollow of his neck.

And you wouldn't believe what were on his feet.

I was laughing when he caught my eyes with his navy ones. He raised an eyebrow at me.

“Volleys?” I managed to choke out around a smile.

He looked at his feet, smiled, and pulled a pant leg up. Then he met my eyes again and mocked, “Nothing wrong with a little originality.”