All the glamour and the trauma and the fucking melodrama

Her eyes scanned the room for any familiar faces. There were some that she recognized, but after having lived most of her life in Dawnmire there were certainly still people from the Alderrath upperclass that she hadn't met yet. Which was why it was good that she attended these things every once in a while. She may not be here to find a suitor or flaunt her riches, but that didn't mean that she shouldn't make connections. Who knew when that might come in handy. Besides, she was a Grimaldi, which meant that she was expected to show her face from time to time. Well, they couldn't say she didn't try. She'd put on a dress for the occasion and scrubbed the ink off of her hands, looking just as much a darling of society as the other women her age. The difference being, of course, that she wasn't exactly an eligible bachelorette. The scoffs that had sounded from the moment she stepped through the door hadn't gone unnoticed by her, of course. They hadn't been unexpected either. It wasn't exactly a secret that she had left her husband; even if she didn't necessarily tell people, they still had their ways of knowing. It didn't make her popular with the incrowd.

She gratefully took a glass of wine from a servant as he passed her, her gaze focused on the couples on the dance floor. If someone were to ask her later, she might just join in. Might. Maybe. That was if anyone even were to ask. Either way, for now she was perfectly content enjoying her wine and watching the scene in front of her unfold. Who knew, maybe this would be the birth of some happily or unhappily married couples.

[+ Penelope]

There were so many things gone unsaid on that dance floor. Gazes exchanged, fingers brushed, fans opened. It really was a game, or a mating dance. Like birds trying to impress one another so they could have babies and then never look at each other again. She knew she shouldn't be so bitter about it, but God, was this really what these people wanted? She didn't doubt that for some this was just as much of a chore as it had been for her.

For others, though, this was where they thrived. It was instantly visible when that was the case. Like the young woman who had just stopped dancing, the smile on her face so graceful that it looked like there was absolutely nothing going on behind her eyes. So perfectly suited.

Cleo took another sip of her wine and suddenly the woman was standing right in front of her. "Lady Penelope. Hello." she said, a smile plastered onto her face. "So good to see you." she mimicked the other woman's tone. In truth, it really wasn't. Not that she didn't want to see her, per se, but she didn't know the women well enough for it to justify her words. Had Cleo grown up in Alderrath, the two might more or less have grown up together, although she doubted they would have been friends. She was such a doll that it would surprise her if she had ever even seen the cobblestones of the middle ring. Even now, with that sweet smile and genuine feigned interest there really was nothing to undo her perfect demeanor. The brunette took another sip of her wine. "I do go by Cleo now, actually." she said, her gaze once more on the dresses twirling in front of them. It was funny that with so many stories going around about her, the name somehow didn't seem to stick that well. This wouldn't be the first awkward conversation she would have about it, but oh well. She'd gone through hotter fires.

Cleo wasn't made for this sort of get-together. Never was, not even when she had the perfect husband to hold her by the hand and parade her around. She hated the unwritten rules, the stiffness of it all. Now, it wasn't like she looked down on those that did enjoy it; she was glad that at least some could carelessly follow the path that life had planned for them. Sometimes she was even jealous of them. If she hadn't been so wayward, so independent, would her marriage have worked? If she had just accepted the role put onto her, maybe they wouldn't have fought as much. She supposed she would never find out.

A small smile appeared at the kind words the other woman spoke. She was nice enough, she supposed. But they weren't friends, making it hard to believe that her words were genuine. What did she care whether they ran into one another or not? Still, after what had happened the conversation could have become way more nasty than it was. Or maybe that was yet to come. The smile on Penelope's face notably faltered, making Cleo brace herself for the words that were to come. She hadn't made it easy for herself, changing her name as she maneuvered her way back into society as a free woman. Still, it was easier than the constant reminder of the person she used to be.

Luckily, Penelope's question was quite innocent; why Cleo instead of why the new name. "Clémentine is my middle name." the brown-haired woman responded by ways of explanation, a thankful gleam visible in her eyes. She didn't care for the looks thrown her way, the whispers as she walked past, but questions she wasn't sure how she would deal with. Because how could she possibly explain that everything about her old name was painful? How it had started so sweetly (Gigi, will you marry me?) and ended so incredibly vile (You're a selfish bitch, Giulia.) Thankfully, people didn't seem brave enough to ask most of the time, and so her memories remained her own.

"Have you been enjoying yourself so far?" she asked, more out of courtesy than that she was actually curious for the answer. She could probably already guess what it would be, anyway.

She was all too aware of the dangers that her being here brought with it. Not just being at this specific banquet, but Alderrath in general. She knew he had friends here and that news of a Grimaldi living in the city would spread rather fast. But what was she supposed to do then? Take on a whole new name, hide who she was and where she resided, even to her own family? Build a whole new life up from the ground with not a penny to her name? It wasn't an option. At least this way she still enjoyed some support from her family and her last name did initiate some form of respect, even if that vanished as quickly as people learned who she was. No, she would much rather be shamed than hide in the shadows.

Penelope repeated her name and she tried to decipher her gaze, looking for anything that showed she was... appalled, disgusted, anything of the sort. She didn't really find anything that did not match the tone of her words, though. "Thank you." she answered, rather surprised if she was being honest. The Villiers daughter could very well only mention it to be polite, but that was still so much more than what she was usually offered. It was nice to hear, really. Cleo wasn't exactly the most common name under upperclass women and so she had debated whether changing back to her old family name wasn't enough. But she wasn't Giulia Grimaldi anymore, just as much as she wasn't Giulia Hamilton. So Cleo it was.

Of course it was excellent. Wasn't everything excellent and marvelous and wonderful for these people? And even if it wasn't, no one would dare to say so, would they. It was agonizing, the way everything was always accepted, any and all mistakes swooped under the rug for no one to find. She had been guilty of it as well, of course. Hadn't her marriage been grand and lovely and oh-so-exciting? Luckily Penelope didn't know that sort of hardship yet and genuinely seemed to be enjoying herself. For just a second she thought that the darling of society was going to say that she wouldn't be able to walk anymore from all the drinking and so she almost choked on her wine in surprise. But that wasn't what she was saying, of course it wasn't, so she put on the best half-smile she could muster to join in on the other woman's chuckle. It became slightly strained after her next question. "No." Cleo answered, her gaze drifting over the pretty gowns that were floating over the dance floor. "I haven't danced in ages." One might expect a certain melancholy in her light voice, but it wasn't there, not really. The truth was that Sebastian preferred drinking over dancing and that he did not appreciate her dancing with other men, she had learned that the hard way. But it wasn't exactly something she desired either. She much preferred watching the game play out from the sideline, putting pieces of the puzzle together until it made sense. They all had their own motivations and beliefs and it was just oh so interesting to watch. Of course that wasn't exactly a desirable explanation, and so she added: "I'm sure I must have forgotten how."