Foreign Feelings

Evarah's P.O.V.
Stupid French boy. Trying to steal my drink. Jesus, I hardly ever consume anything even remotely alcoholic. And it's a party for God's sake!

I mumbled to myself as I downed my drink. I was standing in a crowded corner, yet I still felt alone.

I was marvelling in my loneliness when my sister, all red and blonde, rocked up to me, her normally pale face flushed with heat.

“Eva!” She screamed, and threw her arms around me.

I managed to wriggle out of her embrace and pasted a small smile on my face. “Emilie!”

She was breathing heavily, a glass of wine in one hand (of course she was allowed to drink, even though we were the same age. Two of three triplets, actually) and the other clutching her throat. “How are you enjoying the party?”

“It's very, uh, interesting,” I said lamely.

Em bumped her hip into mine and smirked at me. “Meet any guys?”

“No!” I yelled, and then turned a slight shade of red.

She laughed. “You lie!” I glared at her. “Well, is he cute?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I knew it!” She turned to the crowd and yelled, “Hey!” A few people stopped and looked at her curiously. Emilie stood on a stool, balancing flawlessly in the 3 inch heels she was wearing, complete with a cute red bow.

Oh no! “Emilie,” I hissed. “Don't do it.”

She looked down at me and mouthed, “Relax.” Then to the crowd, “Oi! Everybody!”

“Emilie!” This time I yelled it. I knew what was coming, she'd done it heaps of times before.

“Hell-oooo!” Everybody stopped this time and looked at her. She smiled at them charmingly and clapped her hands together as best as she could with a glass full of champagne. “Guess what!”

“What?” Everyone echoed.

“Emilie!”

“You all know my amazing, but clueless, little sister Evarah, right?”

“Emilie!”

“Well, she just found a guy! A cute one at that!” The crowd erupted into cheers.

I. Was. Going. To. Fucking. Kill. Her.

“Come with me,” came a familiar accent in my ear, and then I was being pulled away from Emilie by my wrist.

I didn't bother with struggling or screaming or even being scared of where he was taking me. I wasn't scared of him. Plus, he was nice.

It didn't surprise me when we ended up outside the party and in a little hallway. As soon as Pierre shut the door behind me, all the music was silenced and I felt kind of empty.

“Okay, why did you do that?”

He smiled wryly at me. “You should have seen your face. You looked like you were going to strangle her!”

“I was!” I yelled, and then breathed deeply, trying to keep myself in control. “And look, thank you for saving my sister from my angry wrath, but really, not much harm really would have come to her.” I shrugged indifferently.

“So, who was this guy she was talking about?”

I glared at him and leaned against the wall, trying for nonchalance. “Michael.”

Shock, quickly replaced by disbelief showed in Pierre's blue eyes as I said this. I smiled victoriously.

“Michael, do you know him? He's kiwi,” I teased, wanting to see how he'd react. “Very interesting.”

Pierre scoffed. “New Zealanders have stupid accents.”

Now I scoffed. “They do not! They're hot!”

“Yeah, well what about French accents?” Pierre took a step closer to me, his lips curving up in a cute, mocking smile. “How would you describe them, huh?”

I shrugged, trying to seem indifferent. “I don't know. Silly?”

Pierre laughed. “How about this?”

“How about wha-” The words died in my throat as he closed the distance between us and leant so that his lips were next to my ear.

“You are cute.” His breath was hot, and made me shiver as it brushed my skin. “Is that silly?”

I shook my head slowly. “N-no.”

“Then what is it?” He was still close. Oh, so close. It made me nervous and very, very excited at the same time.

I mentally shook myself. No! I was not the one to be speechless and frozen.

I gathered myself and pushed on his chest, forcing him to take a step away from me. “It's not silly; It's stupid! Now get away from me!” I stepped around him and headed to the stairs, ready to turn in for the night.

I was halfway up them when I turned around and looked back at Pierre, who was watching me go. “Do you want to know what I think?”

“Should I?”

I smiled. “I think Pierre is too hard to pronounce.”

He leant against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “And what are you going to do about it?”

“I'm giving you a nickname!”

He raised his eyebrows. “And what would that be?”

I turned around and walked to the top of the stairs. “Good night . . . Pear!”