hey everyone, so sorry about the wait. the start of the semester was really crazy. disclaimer: do you really think i own anything? really?

Chapter V.

As far as Clary was concerned, Isabelle's rendezvous with the male species began circa sixth grade.

She'd kissed Jordan Kyle behind the swing set and it had been the biggest scandal ever. From there, she'd exponentially progressed. At their freshman year back-to-school dance, Isabelle was the first to start gyrating and grinding on their male peers. Throughout sophomore and junior year, she fluctuated between a multitude of boyfriends, frequently making out with them behind lockers and in supply closets. And at their senior prom, Clary herself had walked in on Raphael Santiago's head underneath the dark-haired girl's tulle skirt. Instead of expressing, you know, shame or embarrassment, Isabelle smiled at her and asked if she could get her a glass of punch, because she was starting to get thirsty. College was a whole other story, mostly Isabelle getting shit-faced during frat parties and winding up in random beds.

Clary was left wondering just how many people Is had fooled around with once again as her friend got a random brunette boy's number. She walked back and sat by Clary. The two were at their third and final appointment, each one scheduled by Isabelle for the exhibition later that night.

"What is that, your thirteenth number today?" Clary asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Fourteenth, but who's counting?" Isabelle said, a hint of smugness in her tone.

Clary laughed. "You really are too forward for your own good."

A woman and a man with very familiar taste in clothing walked over to the girls' seats. When she saw the man's face, Clary shrieked in delight.

"Magnus!"

"Biscuit!"

The eccentric Asian man embraced her, leaving a trace of glitter on her shirt.

"You'll be at the gala tonight, right?" she asked.

He gave a cat-like grin. "Wouldn't miss it for the world!"

Then he pushed her into her seat and began working on her hair and makeup. He styled her bright red mane into glossy, Hollywood curls and painted her face, but not excessively. She never thought she'd look so stunning in her life. Her now-smoky green eyes flitted over to Isabelle, who sported a textured high ponytail that would look wonderful with her dress and a face full of dark and gold makeup. They grinned at each other.

"Fray, you must be fresh out of the oven, because you are hot!" Magnus squealed, admiring his own handiwork.

"Thank you, Bane. This looks remarkable," said Clary, gesturing to her hair and makeup before hugging him. "See you tonight!"

Then the two girls stumbled out onto the small street with big plans in mind.

"Clary, we'll meet you there!" called out Jocelyn from downstairs as she closed the garage door.

Clary sighed. There wasn't anything keeping her from going to the art show. Her hair was done, makeup intact, dress on; she was completely ready. It wasn''t that she didn't want to support Jocelyn and Luke - she really did, but she just didn't have the energy to. She missed her gallery back home. She missed the buzz of energy stories below her floor. She missed the New York philanthropic clientele that always came seeking new art for their penthouses. She missed Simon. She missed greasy Chinese take-out, compared to the stupid, healthy açaí bowls the people here seemed to obsess over.

She missed home.

Placing her gloomy thoughts in the back of her mind, she stood up and smoothed her long black dress. She felt like a smoldering, red-haired vixen, which made her laugh since it was extremely atypical for her. She grabbed the keys and took the silver sedan instead of the Jeep, not wanted to get obliterated by the rushing wind. In fifteen minutes, she'd reached the gallery, that was well-placed by the beach. Clary noticed how popular art galleries were around here, and remembered the residents of this beach were extremely wealthy and scoured every source of good art for their homes.

"Clary!" greeted her mother as she walked in. A large amount of people had already shown up, despite the event starting less than ten minutes ago. Clary grabbed a flute of champagne and turned to see a clan of extremely good-looking, dark-haired members enter.

The Lightwoods. Isabelle smiled and hugged Jocelyn and Luke. Alec and Magnus had their hands entwined and contrasted each other perfectly. Maryse and Robert, ever the epitome of class, greeted Jocelyn and Luke and began inquiring them about the art.

Isabelle walked over to Clary, looking like exotic royalty. "Mom's been giving me a headache for the past hour," she muttered, rolling her eyes, before brightening up. "You look so amazing though."

"You too, Iz," she responded warmly, looking over her shoulder to see the gallery packed with lavishly-dressed men and women.

Isabelle's eyes widened at the glass of champagne in Clary's hand. "Where did you get that?"

Clary gestured to one of the servers walking about and grinned when Isabelle made a beeline for their alcohol. Her friend was soon distracted by Helen Blackthorn and Aline Penhallow. Over their heads, she saw a familiar blonde walk in.

Damn, she thought to herself as she saw Jace looking god-like in a specially-tailored tux. She bit her lip and pushed away all of the Fifty Shades of Grey-type things she wanted to do with that tie as he approached her. His eyes darkened as he looked her up and down and he muttered several curses under his breath. She mentally thanked Isabelle for pushing her to get this dress.

"Impressive, Red," he breathed, extremely close to her now.

Clary chastised her traitorous heartbeat and flushing cheeks. "I could say the same, Blondie," she murmured, looking up at him from under painted lashes. She felt an inexplicable gravitation toward him - an overwhelming desire to be enveloped in his presence.

Whatever moment that was occurring between the two was instantly shattered by the entrance of a tall, dark-haired man: Sebastian.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Clary mentally swore. How could she forget?

He approached Clary with a smile. "Clary, hi. I dropped by your house and sent you a text."

"Oh...my parents wanted me here early. I would've sent you a text, but, uh, my phone died," Clary lied through her teeth. Jace raised an eyebrow, obviously not buying it.

Sebastian, however, grinned good-naturedly. "When you're as beautiful as you are, it's perfectly okay to make mistakes."

Clary smiled at the compliment, but it felt forced and she was a little ticked at the condescending remark. Pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth to avoid saying something snarky, she took the arm Sebastian offered and was soon being led away. She turned to look back at Jace, who had a hard look in his eyes directed toward the dark-haired man. His eyes switched to her now, softening when meeting her own. She blinked at him slowly and turned away, skin flushing. But before her back was completely turned, she thought she saw his lips lift into a smile.

An hour and far too much polite chit-chat later, Clary felt utterly suffocated. She excused herself from Sebastian's grasp, which had now moved from an extended elbow to a grip on her waist. His always-touching hand provided too much heat and his warm breath on her neck made her sweat rather unpleasantly. She dodged inquisitive locals and family friends and found a door in the back of the gallery. She pushed it open and emerged onto a wooden deck built on the sand. Kicking off her heels and hiking up her dress, she stepped off the porch and trekked across the sand to the water. The beach was empty at this time of night, save for the crashing waves.

It was the first time she'd felt at peace since she'd arrived in California.

She hadn't been to the beach a lot before, growing up in the heart of a metal city with a constantly-working mother, but the memories she had of those few trips were pleasant ones. An eight-year-old Clary building a sandcastle while Jocelyn smiled radiantly in a wide-brimmed hat. Thirteen-year-old Clary running and crashing against the small waves, with Simon in tow. Sixteen-year-old Clary desperately trying to get a tan, but laughing at her failure when she turned pink from burning instead. Counting all the freckles that appeared after a day full of sun. Collecting sand dollars and odd seashells.

A fully-grown Clary now smiled at the memories, no longer desiring to run around and play among the waves, but rather enjoy the tranquility of their presence.

The beaches were probably the only good thing about California. It was the only thing that enticed her into coming, besides seeing her mother and step-father.

"I hope you're not considering throwing yourself into the sea to end your misery. Then again, after an earful of Sebastian's 'legitimate' surfing career, I would too," interrupted a voice over from the deck.

Clary laughed, the first genuine one all night as she looked at Jace.

"I think I actually will if I hear about the benefits of his preferred band of board wax one more time," she answered.

Jace laughed too, a quiet but wonderful sound, and Clary found herself wishing to hear it more often.

"You have a nice laugh," she blurted before flushing and mentally cursing at her total lack of boundaries.

Jace stopped laughing and just stared at her for a moment. There was something indecipherable in his expression, something that turned her bones to liquid and made her stop scolding herself. The way he was looking at her made her not regret what she said.

"I like yours better," he finally said.

She felt warm all over, but not an embarrassed, oh-no-it's-a-compliment sort of way. It was more of a genuine appreciation for what he said. No one had ever really said anything about her laugh. Her hair, sure. Eyes? Occasionally.

He spoke again. "I never got the chance to tell you how remarkable you look," he murmured, the words sending a thrill of adrenaline throughout her body. This reaction was so different than the one she had to Sebastian's compliment. "The greatest masterpiece in a room of art."

She bit her lip at the magnitude of his words. There was no way this was the same jackass that she'd dumped coffee on or that insulted her hair color at every given opportunity. This charming, seductive (although he always was) Jace was a whole other beast. Much more frightening.

"I bet you say that to all the notches in your bedposts," she whispered, her tone light but connotation sharp. She knew the thread he was spinning.

But instead of the cheeky response or smug smirk she was expecting, she got a cold look instead. Jace took a step back from her, his golden eyes that had been swirling with emotion were now vacant, hard.

"You have no right to act like you know me," he spat. Her eyebrows shot up.

"I live almost ten feet from you! You really think I'm blind to your string of lovers?"

"Oh, sure, because you're so high and mighty, aren't you?"

"I'd rather have a stick up my ass than be an asshole."

"You're an asshole regardless for jumping to conclusions about people you don't know."

Honestly, Jace was a difficult person to argue with. He really had the whole stoic thing down, whereas Clary bordered on hysterical and sounded more like a frantic mother at a supermarket.

"You know what? I haven't jumped to any conclusions. In fact, I can't even figure you out! Are you the nice, genuinely human Jace that you seem to be to everyone else? Or the Jace with a stupid ego complex and a dick he can't keep in his pants!"

Oh, she broke him. His face was turning red, jaw clenched, eyes darkening. In a predatory manner, he drew closer until Clary was holding her breath and trying to fight the thrills running through her body.

Because if she thought charismatic Jace was a struggle for her, this was even worse. This Jace, that she caught a glimpse of at the opening of the gala, the one that made her thighs clench and heart race and adrenaline flow, would be the death of her.

She tried to mentally reason with herself, like, should she be mildly concerned? Should she probably give a fuming (albeit very, very sexy) Jace some space? She knew Jace wouldn't hurt her, but she was more scared at her inexplicable urge to jump his bones and her steadily declining willpower. And considering the things she just said, probably not a good idea to plant one on him. Actually, a terrible idea.

But before she could either salvage or destroy her dignity, the back door of the gallery swung open, and any words Clary had a fighting chance of saying died in her throat.

"Clary?"

Because there, in the doorway, stood the person she'd never in a million years expect to see here.

Simon.