Snippet #1306810

The yacht docked at the end of the wooden planking, tied firmly before a bridge was dropped between the two sections. A compartment was opened while the deckhands ushered a gleaming chestnut mare — wearing a blanket emblazoned with the Cross family crest and her name, Valentina, in brilliant gold — from below deck, walking her across the bridge and onto the dock. Her eyes were covered, though I was certain that she would take the orders without fuss. I emerged to her right side with a hand on her covered rump, speaking soft words to her. She nickered a response to my soothing words, following at the end of the lead clipped to her white travel halter. It was made of a soft silk rope, loose so that it wouldn't rub her skin raw and make unattractive callouses on her perfect, feminine face.

The beauty's ears were pinned back, and to someone with little experience in the equine behaviour, it would appear like anger, but I saw her listening intently to me and continued to speak, my hand never leaving her body. Before long, we were on land once again, and the blindfold was removed, the lead rope — which was merely braided gold and white Italian silk — handed off to me. I stroked her face and neck, watching as my bags were unloaded from the yacht, and eventually, my mother, Tristessa Carrieanne "Tessa" Crosse, emerged from below deck as well, a small pony in tow. She made her way to meet me, the pony trotting after her on a long lead. He marvelled at the sound his hooves made on the wood underneath him and perked his ears to hear it more closely. Halfway across, he let out a delighted whinny and tossed his head, breaking into a short-lived canter to catch up to Tessa, who drew in the rope and pulled his head back to slow him.

"River, what are you doing?" Tessa asked as she stepped up to me, and the pony, Masquerade, dropped his head to graze. "I'll take Valentina, and you get in there to the ceremony. They'll be waiting for us."

The last comment came from the Crosses known for being habitually late for most occassions. And this one was no exception. I looked down at my watch and saw that it was true — we were late once again. Not surprizing though, really. I handed Valentina's lead to my mother, who stood with a stablehand while they sorted out stall arrangements for Valentina and Masquerade — they had to be right next to eachother, or they got lonely. I heard the stablehand ask why we needed to bring the pony as well. The answer was simple — they were best friends. Valentina never went anywhere with out Masquerade, and Masquerade never went anywhere without Valentina. The two were glued at the withers... or rather, his withers were glued to her barrel, because he was quite a bit shorter than she was.

I spared a look back at Valentina, smiling at the way she nudged a sleepy-looking Masquerade. But there was something else that caught my attention. A man who seemed to be thoroughly examining my perfectly proportioned import, seemingly pleased with her. I furrowed my brow, cocking my head slightly. Who was he? And why was he dressed so strangely? My mother waved me onward, and I looked at her, losing sight of the man completely. I shivered and turned around. It was strange how he just disappeared like that.... But I forced myself not to think about it — I was already beginning to sweat.

----------------------------------------------------

I made my way into the conference room, met by a butler who told me that I would be seated at table five. I nodded, and made my way over, stopped on the way by a man who looked to be in his mid-forties. "Young man, where is your mother?"

I was about to say something rude in remark to this, but I held my tongue. "She's discussing something with one of the stablehands. She should be in momentarily."

"Ah.... Tell her to come see me when this is over, would you?" He smiled, and this was all it took for me to recognize my mother's old friend from school. I had seen him a few times when entering private schools. He had two sons that were my age, and they always competed against me in the riding clubs, though I was clearly more natural, coming out on top every time. This man was George Millar, and he was my father's second cousin.

"Yeah, sure. I can do that," I told him, and then his smile turned into a smirk.

"I suppose she's probably aged well, like a fine wine. How long has it been now, since my cousin's death? Two years? I think her mourning period is well past over."

I shivered again, but for an entirely different reason. George Millar was so weird, I always thought that talking to him made me feel like I was covered in thousands of insects, crawling all over my body. I turned away from him and continued until I found my seat, and sat down, taking up my champagne glass quickly. I took a long drink, which my father would have scolded me for. But I didn't care. I had to shake the feeling of being watched, and though I wanted to figure that it was George Millar, it wasn't. I gave him a quick glance to confirm it. Then, I stared on past him at the other occupants of the room. George's twins, Jake and Ryan sat companionably with a young girl between them, both paying her all the attention she could hope for, while also hitting on eachother in the process. And it wasn't like they were being secretive about it either. All three of them were aware of what was going on — furthermore, they were all enjoying it. I had always known that those two were out of place.... It forced another shiver.

On a happier note, the saner girls in the room, who weren't obsessing over the gayest twins I had ever met, were good to look at — quite easy on the eyes. I was already refreshing the strategy that I used every time. Masquerade was the key. Boarding schools, horse shows, summer camps, parades; every girl I had met always fawned over the adorable little pony... and his gorgeous owner.