Faeling

At seven the next night, Merritt was nonchalantly checking his watch, trying to prevent himself from imagining a bedraggled Oz being ushered into his town car by an elegant Janna Mason. He refused to sigh as he glanced around the gallery—his gallery. Theo was calmly telling the caterers the plan for the evening, and Merritt found himself strangely jealous of his friend. There was a bubble of nervous energy writhing in Merritt’s chest, and Theo’s eternal tranquility made it worse by simple comparison. There was no way he could lose his composure though, no matter how close his fate was. Instead of dwelling on what the night might bring, Merritt made a circuit of the small gallery’s showroom, checking and rechecking the lighting and placement of each painting. He managed to waste a good fifteen minutes assuring himself that each work was perfectly level.

Finally, he heard Theo call Janna’s name. They were here. Merritt glanced at a mirror, straightened his black tie and went to the front of the gallery to make his presence known. He readied himself with a smile, knowing that whatever silly get-up Oz had thrown on, no one would care—she was an artist after all. Merritt caught sight of Janna, her long dark hair in soft waves around her face and sweet pink lipstick daubed on her full lips. Paired with a sleek, midnight blue gown falling to the floor and sky-high pumps, Janna Mason managed to look like her usual sophisticated self, but with all the ice taken away. She was still imposing, of course, but that came mostly from beauty rather than aloofness. Merritt was about to compliment Janna on the large diamond around her neck (he’d learned early on that women tended to like when other people noticed their expensive jewelry) when he noticed Oz standing behind her. For half a moment, Merritt didn’t recognize her—it took her glancing at him with a shy, rather uncomfortable smile to realize who it was. He’d been expecting a sweatshirt and paint-stained jeans, but her formal attire was by no means unwelcome.

Upon their first meeting Merritt had judged Oz as frumpy, chubby and not terribly pleasant to look at, but either Janna Mason had worked some literal magic or he had been dead wrong. He took her in—mid-length black retro style dress and pale, pale skin peeking over the sweetheart neckline, cat-eye make-up and red lips with shoes to match, her blonde hair pulled into a stylish knot on the top of her head. The girl he’d known was gone—even the alluring one he’d kissed almost two weeks ago now. She exuded confidence and self-assurance in that dress—at least, she did until Merritt spoke to her.

He gave Janna a polite nod and slid straight past her to his prize. “You look lovely, Oz.” He kissed her delicate hand, the words almost sticking in his throat. He would have to find a glass of champagne before the doors opened, he couldn’t be talking to his guests with a scratchy voice. Merritt looked more closely at Oz now. Though she looked incredible in the dress—he might even say she looked better than Janna—up close it was clear that Oz was scared out of her wits. He tried to give her a gentle smile as she squeaked out a ‘thank you’ and tripped over the compliment she tried to return.

Merritt felt his heart jackknife sideways. This wasn’t good. He could hear Theo and Janna calmly discussing plans for the night, but none of it would be any good if their artist had a panic attack and needed to leave the party before it began. Merritt began telling Oz how much he liked her hair, her dress, her shoes—something, anything to distract her, but thinking about the fancy costuming only seemed to make the poor girl more nervous. He glanced over at Janna, hoping she’d have a way to calm her friend, but she and Theo were going over the guest list again.

“You really do look beautiful tonight,” Merritt tried half-heartedly. Compliments usually worked. He gave her a knee-weakening grin—extra effective when he was in formal-wear—with no effect. He sighed aloud, feeling the panic rising in his own chest. It didn’t really matter to his business itself whether or not tonight went well—he’d pulled off his part of the bargain by finding a wonderful artist, it was her job to sell her art and herself to the patrons that arrived—but he found himself worried what would happen if tonight was a flop.

I could probably get her to sleep with me either way... Comfort-sex still counts as winning, the thought came unbidden to his mind. He shook it away and led Oz to a plush chair toward the back of the gallery. For a long moment he couldn’t think of anything to say to her, simply watching her fiddle anxiously with the small clutch she carried as she stared off into space, tapping her feet against the marble floor. Finally, he remembered why he’d asked Janna and Oz to come to Daedalus so early.

He stilled her hand with his larger one. “What do you think of the lighting in here, Oz?” Her feet stopped tapping. Oz’s hazel eyes met his for a moment before gazing around the room, finally taking it in.

“It looks good,” she whispered, nodding. She squeezed his fingers and stood. Oz took a deep breath and walked to the nearest set of three paintings. Merritt followed her, pushing down the urge to take told of her hand again—she didn’t seem to need the comfort and he hated holding hands. He watched as her eyes flicked back and forth, quickly assessing the display. “Switch these two,” she said firmly, gesturing at the second and third painting in the set. “The chronological order of the paintings doesn’t matter to me. The colors will look better if we change it.” Oz turned to him, sure of herself but still asking permission.

Merritt nodded and gestured vaguely, both surprised and relieved by the change in character. “It’s your exhibition, Oz. They’re your paintings.” She rewarded him with a wide grin. Oz reached up and took one painting from the wall, handed it over to Merritt, and moved the second it its rightful place. As Oz took the first painting back from Merritt, her pale fingers brushed his. He watched her intently as she hung the painting, stepping back to admire her work and then touching each painting to straighten them. For once, Merritt wasn’t thinking much of anything—there was something strangely captivating about Oz when she was wrapped up in her art.

It’s probably just the dress, Merritt told himself sternly, though doing so made him admit that Oz’s figure was much better than he’d ever noticed before, even when undressing her. Perhaps it was just that he was really paying attention now because it mattered.

“Alright,” Oz murmured to herself, bringing Merritt out of his reverie, “Where to next?” She turned slowly, taking in the rest of the gallery before her eyes caught something across the room and she strode purposefully away. Janna intercepted her half-way, asked a question Merritt couldn’t hear and then followed Oz to the offending art display. Theo came up next to Merritt with a level.

“I figured you wouldn’t trust anyone else to double-check,” he said evenly, his soft brown eyes meeting Merritt’s in unspoken question. Merritt looked away before his friend had a chance to read his emotions, telling himself he simply didn’t have time for Theo’s moralizing. Instead he thanked Theo and began to straighten the paintings, one by one, following Oz’s progress around the room. By five to eight, Oz had finished moving anything that needed moving—it was perfect. The four of them stood in the center of the gallery and assessed the display one final time.

With a smile pasted to his face, Merritt called one of the caterers over. “Champagne, please.” He turned back to the others. “I think we’re ready for guests,” he said, oozing the confidence he always felt. “Definitely cause for celebration!” They each took a glass from the tray the caterer offered and raised them to Oz, who blushed crimson. “To the artist whose talent has made tonight possible. May your success match your genius! To Oz.” Janna and Theo echoed his final words and all four of them took a sip of their champagne—though in Merritt’s case it was closer to a gulp. He watched Theo pull Janna to the side, undoubtedly using their last few moments to review the game plan—and give Merritt a bit of time to speak to Oz alone.

Oz looked around the room again, the steel certainty with which she’d arranged her work slowly ebbing away as she imagined mingling with patrons, leaving her only slightly less nervous than she’d been when she had arrived. Merritt swallowed audibly, knowing it was his job to handle her tonight. Janna was her business manager, but with all the favors he had called in—and the fact that the Council knew Oz was part of his prophesy—it was on him to stay by her side tonight. Merritt tentatively laid a hand on her forearm, internally chastising himself the entire time—since when did he do anything tentatively?

“You really have no reason to be anxious, Oz,” he assured her. “Your work is incredible. I wouldn’t be surprised if a fair amount of it sold tonight.”

Oz sent him a grateful smile. “I hope you’re right.” She sighed heavily and turned towards him, his hand falling away as she moved. She didn’t seem to notice—or care—that their contact was broken. “I just can’t stand being the center of attention,” her hazel eyes met his, fear evident in them even without the aid of any fae skill. She gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m a bit of a mess, and this,” she gestured at her attire and the gallery itself—all white marble and gold leaf, “isn’t even close to me.” Oz’s smile turned into something more genuine as she continued, “Now you, Mr. Peters—you make sense here. You fit here.”

Merritt pointedly looked Oz up and down and replied, “You could fit here too.” At just that moment Theo and Janna both let out peals of laughter, making Merritt miss the small frown that crossed Oz’s features.