"Mr. and soon-to-be Mrs. Rowell," Fergus announces proudly, showing the invitations on his phone to the man in a black suit standing behind his desk.

Just from the classy employee to the width of the entrance hall, it is clear that this is a big fancy party. Of course, it is; it is the Honor Ceremony of the Armed Forces.  Anastasia's stomach knots with the thought.

First, she has pretended she has been sick to not come, but what actually makes her stomach twist is the thought of running into her mysterious savior because all the soldiers will be at this event, and from his strong looks and his outfit the other day, there is almost no doubt that he is one.

But Fergus has been so excited to have invitations thanks to his provisions deal with the Armed Forces and he has insisted so much that she has finally given in. 

There is maybe also something else... like just a little curious urge to see her mysterious savior again, just to be sure he hasn't been just a dream or an angel. Nevertheless, now she is still questioning this decision to come.

Her eyes are instinctively trailing to the door they have just walked through before coming back to her reflection in one of the big mirrors in front of her. The whole walls of the lobby are covered with those shiny mirrors, so there is nothing else to look at, and maybe it isn't the best to distract her from those incessant battles inside.

She checks her appearance one last time though, trying to find some courage, or at least, to loosen her tensed features. All dressed up and with make-up on, this is a sight she is not used to, especially when Fergus appears beside her, offering her his arm.

"Shall we go?"

She nods, still recognizing the light crease between her eyebrows in the mirror before she turns to Fergus with the best assured smile she can muster.

She lets him lead her to the large doors at the end of the hallway, not trusting her legs with those high heels, particularly as all her nerves are crackling with sparks of nervousness and eagerness, and when they pass the large door, both Fergus and she are stopped in their tracks.

"Wow!" Fergus gasps when they enter the wide ballroom.

'Big fancy party' is a euphemism, Anastasia muses at the scene before them, which seems out of this world, at least out of their world. 

The room is gigantic and almost dazzling, as every piece of the decoration is in shiny metallic shades with crystal chandeliers and darker items everywhere to create a play of shadows and light. Between all of this, there are also people and tables, and everything appears so fancy and expensive.

Fergus's eyes are shining in front of this scenery, while Anastasia's are now scanning around, paying more attention to the people present than to the ornaments. There are indeed a lot of people, but... he is not here. 

She should breathe a sigh of relief, yet her chest is tightening.

"A glass of champagne?" Fergus offers her as they approach the enormous bar full with appetizers and amuse-bouches. 

"Yes, thank you." She smiles, taking at the same time an appetizer, which resembles a mini club sandwich but more sophisticated. Everything is definitely so fancy and far from their world.

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine." She tries to ignore the feeling in her chest making it hard to breathe, and instead, she focuses on Fergus's hazel eyes.

Talking and being with him is always so easy and natural.

It has only been one week, yet it feels like she has known him forever. They have so many things in common, and everything is floating naturally so far. Chatting with him even calms her nerves, which are particularly wobbly tonight.

He is so easy-going and nice. It seems like it is so easy for everyone to like him. In only a few minutes, he is already chatting with some acquaintances and even with people he has just met. While, for her, it is more difficult. She feels out of place in this fancy setting, like a clumsy stray kitten in a den of majestic big cats, and she can't help this empty feeling inside.

She is zoning out when an announcement on the stage draws the attention in the room, the light switching at the same time that the silence is brought around.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome! I hope you're enjoying the evening!"

Cheerful yet still contained applause resonate around in reply, and Anastasia joins them, although 'enjoying' isn't exactly the word for tonight. 

She can't even begin to describe what she is feeling, and she doesn't want to. So the official speech appears like a great distraction as she listens carefully, like everyone in the room, to the same man, probably an officer, judging by the many insignias on his uniform, who continues speaking,

"We're pleased to have tonight the General Lancaster, a famous and heroic officer of the law, who will award the future heroes." The officer greets an older, strict-looking man with ten times more insignias, and another round of applause echoes in the wide room, this time, quieter but more respectful as the old man advances to the mic with an imposing gait.

"Thank you." He silences everyone with just one look, and it is easy to see how he has gained all his insignias and the respect going with them. "The Armed Forces' motto is to 'serve and protect', and these men are living by it every day. I won't make them wait any longer to give them their deserved honors." He clears his throat, looking down at his paper. "First, I'm introducing the youngest Captain, at the age of 25: Nathaniel Johnson."

Anastasia's heart stops. This is definitely not the distraction she has needed, and she has to hold on to Fergus's arm as her legs are about to give out with the shock.

Here he is. The one that has been haunting her days and nights for a little bit more than a week, he is standing there like the savior he seems to be, his uniform fitting him perfectly, and a strong and powerful aura emanating from him as he lets the General add another insignia above his heart.

He is even more spellbinding than she has remembered, maybe because of all those eyes on him. Although when his tenebrous gaze falls on her, she forgets everything around, even the air that doesn't reach her lungs anymore. There are only the two of them, and the intensity of his eyes bringing the memories of their dark shades as she gets lost in them once again.

However, their stare is interrupted by a brown bun, and she quickly takes in the reality around, especially the beautiful woman throwing her arms around him.

She looks away. Yet he doesn't. He can't take his eyes off her. In this sea of people, she is here. 

If the other day in that steam room she has already been breath-taking, today all dressed up, he's suffocating. She's wearing a simple navy blue dress, a plain outfit in comparison to all the people around, yet he only sees her. Her sleek legs are showing off as the satiny fabric hugs her slim silhouette and enhances her forms, letting guess the most tempting under, and he remembers exactly what's under.

"Congrats, babe!" Pamela blocks his sight, making him blink at her wide smile.

Pamela, his wife, he's brought back to reality, and the fall is harsher than expected, especially in his chest where his breath is still annihilated.

Yet they're still on stage with all eyes on them, so he straightens up, putting back up his strong facade, and pushing down those flutters inside his chest like he would do for any other struggle as he keeps his focus, his focus on his wife.

"Thank you." He has to glance down at his insignia to remember why Pamela is congratulating him, and he doesn't get to take a much-needed breath that she's already jumping on his lips.

Of course, he returns her kiss, almost automatically in fact, and despite her warm congratulations, he's pulling away faster than ever.

"Let's have a drink." A strong one, maybe it'll help him to clear his head, or at least to keep his attention on Pamela, as his gaze is going everywhere, but always landing on the one taking up all his thoughts.

Anastasia, on the contrary, doesn't cast him another glance, finding a sudden interest in the gray World Nations flag behind the stage for the rest of the presentation, and then in the appetizers of the buffet. She doesn't need another sight actually; the one she has got of him kissing this woman, his wife, is enough, as it has filled her stomach with a sour lump going up until her throat. She has known it already, yet maybe it was better not knowing anything about him and keeping him as a fantasy, a wild memory.

The worst is that now, on top of all these sensations he has aroused in her, there is an itch tickling her to learn more about him, and she realizes it might be scratched as the man talking with Fergus and her leads them in his direction.

"Let me introduce you to our chef Gino. He told me he's really satisfied with your products. He is just right there." 

Her eyes almost pop out of their sockets as she tries to make sure if he is really pointing to the chubby man chatting with her mysterious savior and his wife – well, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. But there is no one else around, and quickly, her wide gaze is glancing around for an emergency exit as all her alarms are ringing inside. It can't be good.

It is obvious that none of them will tell anyone that they have broken the law, but what if someone can notice it? Maybe what she is dreading the most is to face him like that, or ever actually.

Just the thought is sending those same shivers along her sticky skin, and she takes it as a cue to run away; that's what she has done for a week now.

"I need to go to the bathroom."

But Fergus doesn't let her escape, tightening his grip around her waist and dragging her with him as her feet feel as heavy as thousand bricks, the same helplessness of being stuck coming back.

"Oh, no please, I need you with me, as my future wife, and especially since you're gonna work with me."

Like in that steam room, she resigns herself that she has no escape, the same suffocating heat invading every part of her body with each step: her stomach, her chest, her cheeks, her core... She is burning when they reach them, desperately trying to inhale one shaky breath to prepare.

Nate, he, doesn't get the chance to prepare himself, even less his heart, and when he turns at the sound of people greeting the chef Gino, his heart jumps so high he almost thinks he's having a stroke. 

There she is, right in front of him, making any focus or strong facade he's trying to keep tumble down to the ground.

Her innocent doe eyes are staring at him, exactly the same way as the first time he's seen them open, piercing to reach deep inside his soul, while tonight their hazel tends to turn more into gray shades, making her more inaccessible.

"Gino, let me present to you our new farmer-producer we talked about yesterday, Fergus Rowell. And here is Gino, the best cook of this state, and you've seen Nate Johnson on the stage earlier, and his wife Pamela here," Tedman, the quartermaster announces. "Oh, and I almost forgot, sorry, Fergus's fiancee... er?" he adds, barely giving a glance to the woman catching all Nate's attention.

How can someone forget her? Nate can't understand as his eyes are glued to his angel.

His angel, she isn't his, even if in his wild memories she has been, and it actually looks like she already belongs to someone else.

"Anastasia," the producer, Fergus, says proudly, adding something else that Nate can't catch as the echo of her name is reaching the forbidden memory. He finally has a name to put on his haunting fantasy, on his angel.

Anastasia, the name of a lost princess, it fits her perfectly: graceful and mysterious.

When Fergus's hand appears in front of him, Nate guesses he's missed his 'nice to meet you', so he returns the handshake, once more almost automatically, and once more, he can't control his instinctive movements as he tightens the handshake at the sight of Fergus's hand on his angel's hip.

While when comes the time to shake Anastasia's hand, his grip becomes featherlike, and she could melt like a puddle of lava, as those same shivers are returning with the flashbacks of the last time she has offered him her hand, his intense gaze burning her the same way.

Before she catches fire, she reluctantly yet quickly pulls her hand away, turning to shake another hand, which appears so cold in comparison.

"Your dress is so cute!" Nathaniel's wife, Pamela, smiles as she returns her handshake.

'Cute', here we go again! The clumsy stray kitten is back, even more in front of this elegant puma.

Anastasia has never really envied other women's looks before – not that she is confident in herself, it is just not her main preoccupation – but right now, she is shriveling with all her insides to this small and pathetical cute.

"Yours is... gorgeous," she confesses awkwardly with a small smile, catching the precious red fabric beaded with hundreds of shiny little gems enhancing the woman's tanned skin and generous hips as she looks down.

Everything about this woman is gorgeous: her tall silhouette, her big brown eyes, her sophisticated dark bun... and with Nathaniel, they are looking like a royal couple. While her, her... she is... 'cute'.

'Cute' is not exactly what Nate is thinking right now. Deviously bewitching, angelically sinful would be better words.

Her red lips are as tempting as the forbidden apple, yet he knows their taste is sweeter, and her white skin looks so pure, though he remembers how easily it can be marked. And her eyes... they're like magnets, requiring him to gather more strength than he's ever had to do in his whole life just to look away. 

He doesn't even try to focus on the conversation, hearing only a few words here and there: 'green traditional production', 'cereals', 'delicious appetizers', and other small talks about this party, and he hopes his few nods are enough to not arouse suspicions when his forbidden thoughts and the bangs of his heart are echoing louder and louder.

It is the same for Anastasia, and as soon as the conversation ends, she almost runs to the bathroom, trying to calm down her racing heart.

Cute and plain, she frowns at her reflection in the mirror. Why has he even taken interest in her, when he has a wife looking like a queen? Why does it bother her anyway, when she is going to marry Fergus? Why does he make her feel this way? What is she feeling actually?

It is like every time she sees him she has more questions, and she has only met him twice.

Besides, the water does nothing to cool her off, neither on her dry lip, nor her burning cheeks, and even less all the boiling turmoil inside as all these questions are suffocating her.

She needs some fresh air.

Thus, she gets out of the bathroom faster than if it was filling with scorching heat, and she heads for one of the glass doors at the end of the hallway, the dark sky peeking through the windows appearing more appealing than all the shiny decorations around.

The cold air of the night isn't attracting people outside on the balcony, so she will be alone and have some quiet, exactly what she needs.

Yet she hasn't even taken two steps outside that she realizes she isn't the only one seeking quiet and coolness. 

Who do you think is seeking some fresh air? ;)

Here we are, they've been introduced officially, and we got to meet Nate's wife!

What do you think of this chapter? I hope you liked it! If so, vote and comment! :)

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