Victoria Benson
Masked Love
Acknowledgements
Wow there's just so many people I would love to thank but there's so many! If you're reading this, you're one of the people I would like to thank. The fact that some of you have been waiting for something like this since the year 2010 is so remarkable and makes me feel like this book is really something special!
So thanks again to everybody: my fans, friends, family! This book wouldn't have gone anywhere without your support!
Chapter 1. "Belle Filles"
"Dah-ling, you are going to look tout simplement magnifique!" Fallip, the stylist in charge, exclaimed, coating something on the top of my eyelids. Strands of my hair were tugged in every direction as several stylists carefully played with it. Soft bristles brushed against my cheeks while something soft and glossy pressed slightly against my lips.
I had never met someone who spoke with so much enthusiasm, it was as if he were the one getting pampered. Maybe he loved his job or maybe he was paid to flatter every girl he was to work on tonight. I knew his French made girls swoon but it didn't work on me. I didn't want to be here.
"Ahh, vous avez terminé. Si belle qu'elle apporte une larme à mes yeux!" So beautiful, it brings a tear to his eyes. A tear? What was he talking about? Me or his so-called wonderful work? He spun the chair I was sitting in and grasped my shoulders. “Ouvrez vos yeux.”
My eyes opened at his command and I gazed at my reflection from the vanity mirror. The person who stared back at me couldn’t be me...but it was. The makeup I had painted on, revealed features I never knew I had. My dark chestnut hair was now glossed and shiny, a tint of red showing as it cascaded down past my shoulders all the way to my chest where the tips curled in perfect circles. Heavy eyeliner and mascara with smoky grey eye-shadow surrounded my eyes, my eggplant-colored eyes sparkling and exposing flecks of green and blue I wasn’t aware I had. They didn't use concealer on my face since I already had a clear complexion but they did brush blush onto my cheeks, making it seem as if I were blushing permanently. It was perfect and any mean thoughts of Fallip I had was erased. I willed myself not to cry-it would only mess up his work.
"Thank you so much," I said, expressing my sincerest gratitude. Fallip pulled a handkerchief from his breast-pocket and dabbed the corners of his eyes. His assistants backed off to the side, proud grins overcoming their faces.
"Vous êtes l'une des plus belles filles, j'ai travaillé sur et il a été un honneur. J'espère que vous avez choisie dans le cercle des vainqueurs," Fallip said, speaking in full French. Was I really one of the most beautiful girls he worked on, and was it really an honor? I stood up because it was the most beautiful compliment I had ever received, whether it was genuine or not. Somehow, I knew it wasn’t fake. I walked up to him and embraced him. I hoped I would have him as a friend in this competition. He also said, he hoped I made it into the winners’ circle. It would’ve been a nice wish if I actually hoped the same.
"Je vous remercie," I thanked him in French. When I pulled back, he still held onto my arms.
"Je parie sur vous. Do not forget me, Isabella douce," he said. He was betting on me and now called me Sweet Isabella. He let go and composed his face. One of his assistants tapped me on the arm and gestured towards the door, ushering me out the room. I looked back once more to see a another girl walk in the other door, Fallip motioning for her to sit down in the same seat I’d been sitting in. He looked back at me, giving me an encouraging wink. Smiling, I turned back around and followed the assistant down the corridor. We passed many closed doors where giggles and chatter wafted from behind. Lucky girls were here with their friends.
Fallip's assistant led me to a room with curtained sliding doors. She slid the doors open and I walked in, a gasp escaping my throat. Even if I despised the King and his family’s over-the-top display of wealth, I had to admit this room was extravagant. Two four-posted queen sized beds stood on each end of the room, both covered with red duvets. The walls were champagne-colored and another pair of sliding doors stood on one wall, most likely the closets. On the other side was an open door-the bathroom. The room was bare but it was obvious a lot of money was put into it.
"Your roommate will be here soon. Enjoy your suite and good luck." With that she walked out, the doors sliding shut behind her. I would need all the luck for the next four nights. I wasn’t going to dare to dream big though. One hundred girls were sent here from all over the world, all for the love and devotion from the prince who I knew would never shed. Only ten girls would be chosen and have to spend the next two months getting ready for the High Ball in the Fall, and there he would choose his wife. It was only by force I was here and I was prepared to do anything to not be one of those unlucky ten girls.
It was sad to be the only one who knew the Prince wouldn’t love these girls back. He was arrogant, selfish and needed a reality check, from what I gathered.
Walking towards the closets, I wondered which one was mine. That didn’t last long when I saw my name in cursive tacked to the left closet. Glancing at the other closet, I saw my roommate’s name-Paris. How ironic.
Truly accepting this whole ordeal was real, I pulled open the doors. The amount of dresses that hid behind was enough to make a girl’s mind reel with excitement. They were so beautiful and formal. Surprisingly, they looked pretty modern to me, something you’d see featured in Teen Vogue. Color-coordinated, white started the train and black ended it. Each dress had jewelry to match, a pair of gloves and the most beautiful and expensive-looking masks to go with-some with handles and others without. A row of heels, color-coordinated also, overtook the top shelf.
This place never ceased to amaze me and if it wasn’t for the egotistic Prince who lived here, I would actually be excited to stay in this room for the next few nights. The Ball would start exactly at ten o'clock and last time I checked it was eight. The Prince was expected to meet possible matches for the next three nights, and be prepared to pick his possible wives for the Winners’ Circle Friday night. I wondered if anyone would notice they were one girl short at tonight’s little kickoff but it was probably best not to risk not going.
My eyes flickered all over the dresses until one caught my eye; a metallic gold dress with a brocade print and cutout sides, the shoulders structured with pleated detailing. It didn’t show any cleavage which I knew every girl would be trying to do and a skirt that was lined with tulle and seemed to stop just beneath the mid-thigh. Not knowing when my roommate would be coming in, I headed to the bathroom. It didn’t matter whether it was the same sex or not, when it came to changing I got self-conscious.
The bathroom was simple but classy with a shower-thank God. Europe may not be modernized like America but I was glad we were having some kind influence over them.
Slipping on the dress, I was careful not to mess up my hair. Why didn’t they do hair and makeup after we were dressed? The dress was soft against my skin and the skirt flared around my thighs I stuck my feet into a pair of designer nude-pink pumps and afterwards, glided white gloves on which reached up to my elbows. The jewelry that accompanied the dress were beautiful, a necklace that held a bib of faceted stones with matching drop earrings. After I put the necklace and earrings on, the mask was all that was left.
It was handsome with a handle, the mask black with pearls outlining the edges. It was perfect, I thought. It would give anybody an excuse not to dance with me. I held the mask by its handle but not up to my face. There was a vanity mirror that showed my whole body. I was at least four inches taller. The dress added length to my legs and made my ivory skin glow, and if that wasn't enough the jewelry and mask added more flourish to myself. With my hair, makeup, and expensive outfit, I didn’t look like me at all. Why me, I thought, sighin
g as I headed to the door.
Opening the door and wobbling out the bathroom, I noticed in the room stood a dazzling girl, that even my makeover couldn’t compare to. Her golden hair was tightly pulled back into a rose bun, her ice blue eyes staring at me with no warm greeting, her cherry red lips pursed. A wine-colored dress lay across one of the beds. She stood in only a pale pink corset and matching underwear that raised my eyebrows. This could only be Paris.
"Well, once you're done gaping, can you come help me?" she asked, planting her hands on her hips and cocking an eyebrow up. "Well c’mon, I don’t have all night.”
Crossing my arms and raising a defiant eyebrow, I asked, “Are you talking to me?”
She rolled her eyes and walked to the bed where the dress was, leaned down and picked up a pair of crystal drop earrings that looked heavy. She stuck them in her ear holes leisurely, one at a time Once she finished and saw I hadn’t budged, she scowled. “No, I was talking to wall.”
Thought so, I wanted to say but instead walked further into the room. Jesus, these heels were tall. How did girls think these were comfortable?
She picked up her dress and I admired its detail. It was a cute ivory lace dress with a wine-colored underlay and high neckline with a keyhole cutout located around the chest. There was no way she could wear a bra with nonetheless a corset. Mildly impressed with her daring choice, I asked,
"What is it exactly you need help with? Yours has a zipper in the back.” Her face took on a mock surprise expression.
“You don’t say! I’m pretty aware of the fact that it has a zipper. I need help getting off the corset. I’m not even quite sure why I put it on in the first place," she said. They should just cancel the whole event, here was a match for the prince!
"You know, you're not really helping your case. Being a bi*ch will just convince me you really don't need my help," I explained to her, smiling. Her eyes widened in shock and her mouth opened but no words came out. She was at a loss on what to say but then she smiled.
"Huh. A girl with guts. I might actually get to like you. Now, will you please help me?" So now I was a girl with guts because I insulted her. Last time I checked, she was demanding-not me offering. But whatever, I certainly didn’t need any enemies on the first night, especially my roommate. Sighing, I motioned for her to turn around and she smirked with satisfaction. Her corset was tightly tied with a ribbon that I began to unlace. Something that looked so simple turned out to be complicated and took me a good five minutes to unwound.
“You’re good,” I told her when the corset was finally loose. She pulled it off from the front and I quickly spun around before she could face me again, only this time half-naked.
I heard the rustle of the dress and her low grunts as she stepped into her dress and she cleared her throat when she was done. Turning around, I had to resist the urge to gasp. She was a sight to see, the lace dress hugging her slender hips and ending just above her mid-thigh. The sleeves stretched all the way down to her wrists and puffed around her fingers. It would’ve been too short but she had legs for miles. It was enough to make a girl go green with envy. The wine color went great against her bronze skin and matched the lipstick painted on her lips. She pulled a pair of mauve-colored gloves on which stopped at her wrists and picked up her mask, a lace silver one with intricate detailing and no handle. She adjusted it to her face before tying it in the back, careful not to mess up her hair or makeup.
"Okay, I have to get this out the way but I have a more better chance of getting the Prince. Granted, you're pretty but-"
"He's all yours," I stated my face deadpan. Even if I could get him, I didn’t want him. He wasn’t not my type, for one and I sure wasn’t his. The girl's eyes started to sparkle and she beamed brightly for the first time I’d been talking to her.
"Well, then we'll be the best of friends!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together in glee. It was like giving a baby his/her milk. It was that easy. "I'm Paris."
"Isabella. Friends call me Bella." I watched as she squeezed her feet into silver pointed-toe pumps. Not noticing how stuffy it was in the suite until now, I ambled to the French windows and unlatched the lock, spreading the windows apart. A gust of chilly wind blew past me and into the room. Autumn was on its way. I turned back around and saw there was more to the room that I somehow missed. A vanity mirror and two dressers were pulled back across the back wall, on top perfumes, makeup and toiletries.
"So, Bella, where are you from?" Paris asked while spraying some fragrance on herself, staring at me with sincere curiosity.
"New York. How about you?" I asked, leaning against the window's frame, letting the wind lift my hair and swirl it around.
"I was originally born here, ironic right? But my dad moved us to California when I was five. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve dreamt to be Invited to the Masked Love. My mom used to say it was coincidental that I was born for the next summoning, but I know it’s fate. I was destined to be the Prince's wife," she explained. “You don’t seem to be sure of yourself though.” It's not called being unsure of myself. While Paris thought this was Fate, I deemed it a curse. Maybe if I had been born two years later, I could've avoided the Summoning.
While most girls dreamt of this, I didn't but in fact dreaded it. I swore to myself before I boarded the plane that took me here, that I would do anything in my power to get sent home along with the other eighty-nine girls.
"I'm pretty sure I want to get sent home," I snapped. It disgusted me that she wanted this so badly-blind to the fact that she will send so much love and affection to the Prince and only receive wealth, not love. That's how they all the past Kings were, my grandmother explained that much. The current King showed no such love to his chosen wife, but it was and always would be tradition for the eldest prince to choose a wife in the midst of three hundred girls.
"Then while you're here, you could help me get into the Circle. I know it's a bit self-centered on my part but maybe it will put less light on you," Paris suggested, shrugging her slender shoulders. She was right and it was a chance that I was not willing to let slip by. Paris could be my ticket out of this.
"You have yourself a deal, Paris."
Chapter 2. “Désolé, Je Ne Comprends Pas”
I barely finished my sentence when our doors flapped open and a young man walked in. Dressed in a dark coat with brass buttons and black trousers, face covered with a white mask, and hands clasped behind his back, he looked royal for a guard summoning us. I stood up straight.
“Good evening ladies,” he greeted. His eyes took in Paris and then flickered over to me, where they stayed a little longer before moving away. His eyes were the most pair of intense aquamarine I’d ever seen but still beautiful nonetheless. “The Introduction is beginning shortly so if you would please follow me.” With that he turned around, his back facing us. His umber hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail and rested against the nape of his neck.
Walking quickly to grab my mask off my bed, I picked it up and walked alongside Paris to follow the man.
We were led back into the corridor, this time going further down the hall, walking past oiled paintings that hung on the flaxen wall while to our right was a sleek wood banister. He took a sharp turn at a corner and we followed him down a small stairway, our heels clacking against the steps. The bottom revealed a lot of girls gathered in clumps. The hall was grand and immense, mirrors posing as the walls.
When we reached the bottom, the man disappeared into the sea of girls leaving Paris and I alone. Grabbing her hand, I led her to the back where most of the girls steered clear of. A pair of muffled claps silenced the hall, except for the occasional rustles of our dresses and click-clacks of heels.
“Welcome ladies to the annual seventy-fifth Masked Love! It is an honor to be graced with your presence.” No it isn’t, I thought. “And all of you young gals are looking lovely.” No we aren’t.
“Of course, this is our first night of the Summer Masquerade Ball but this time
were not going with our usual flow. The Prince will choose the ladies whom he would like to dance with tonight, so I hope you pampered yourselves good!” Who is talking, I wondered. It was obviously a female and she was talking into a microphone but I couldn’t see her? The inward groans of girls echoing throughout the hall roused me from my thoughts. They had chosen masks with handles. They didn’t expect the sudden change of events. I resisted the urge to laugh.
“We will be calling all of you in by the number embedded on the inside of your gloves. I’m presuming everyone wore gloves as it was essential. Please get in order from one to a hundred as quickly as possible, one in the front and one hundred bringing up the rear,” the voice ordered. Checking the inside of my glove, I saw the three numbers embroidered in black and my heart pounded. Of course, of all the girls who were to get one hundred, it had to be me. While it meant I didn’t have to move an inch from my spot, I knew that most attention would focused on the first and last girls. The odds of me last was one percent. One freaking percent.
Once all the girls had shuffled to their designated spots to the best of their ability, the woman continued. “Since this is the seventy-fifth Masked Love, this year will be different. In previous years there are only ten girls who are called into the Winner’s Circle. But this year we have decided that any girl who is called into the Winner’s Circle means her roommate will be allowed into the Winner’s Circle too. So instead of ten girls this year, there will be twenty!” All the girls broke into cheering and whooping while the news settled in. Once I realized what the lady said, my eyes widened and I stared incredulously back at Paris who looked surprised and at ease at the same time.
I couldn’t believe what I just heard! Désolé, je ne comprends pas!
My first impulse was to faint or pass out, whichever was faster. The fact that I just found out I was staying was unbearable. As cool as we were becoming to be, Paris would never do anything to get sent home, especially not for me. Her love was too much for the Prince and there was no point in trying to convince an unmovable girl.
Masked Love Page 1
