Chapter Thirteen
The Ball
The ballroom of the Grand Europa was just as Up
remembered it: ritzy and opulent, the ceiling skyrocketing
overhead, chandeliers and pillars and dinner music floating
through the air. All of it way out of his element. He cast a
glance down at Taz, who looked as though she was about to
vomit all over her priceless designer dress. It was
undeniably strange to see her all done up like this, and
probably even stranger for her. He had to admit, she was
drop-dead gorgeous tonight, but then he thought the same
when she was shining with sweat in the heat of battle. They
reached the porter waiting at the door and handed him their
invitation.
“Dr. and Mrs. Charles von Tuppington, of Alabama,
Earth,” the porter announced as they entered the ballroom.
All eyes turned toward them, and Up couldn’t help but
feel a surge of foolish pride as he led Taz down the grand
stairs of the hall and into the colourful crowd of
ambassadors below. Gentlemen stared, and ladies started to
whisper. Mrs. von Tuppington was turning heads.
Taz had a look somewhere between bewilderment and
terror on her face. “Smile, darling,” Up said out of the
corner of his mouth. “You’re the centre of attention.”
“No es broma,” she whispered back, but plastered a
smile on anyway.
They were led by yet another porter to one of the many
well dressed round tables, their false names scripted in gold