Flitting around in a shimmery silver dress, Kali assumes this is what princesses feel like. She'd liberated the dress because it reminded her of dress the Syrian Prime Minister's daughter was wearing at the party that was the site of his assassination.
By Kali. Whoopsie.
She scoops a shrimp through the cocktail sauce and pops it into her mouth, turning, mouth full, to be greeted by a painfully handsome man in a suit.
"Hi."
She says nothing, green eyes wide, chewing quickly so she can swallow the prawn and actually use words, but he takes the opportunity to continue introducing himself. "Caleb Cadwell. Would you like to dance?"
She swallows, head bobbing in a nod, blonde curls falling over her shoulders as she takes his hand and lets herself be led on to the dance floor. She doesn't know how to dance, but his arm curls around his waist and his fingers curl around hers and she wills herself to just go with it. You can do it, Kali. You had one class in how to not be a freak of nature. That's clearly enough. Gently, she lifts her hand to curve over his shoulder, slipping around to flatten against his back.
"Kali. That's my name, I'm Kali."
He smiles and she feels her stomach do a back flip as he pulls her flush against him. "Hey Kali."
It isn't until later when they're making out in the hostess's bedroom and she's pushing his suit jacket off his shoulders that she finds out he's an FBI agent, but by then she doesn't really care.
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