Masked Love

by Victoria Benson

  A woman, I believe the one addressing us, appeared on the first few steps of the stairwell, Paris and I had descended. She was wearing a gray strapless gown that reached the floor and her copper hair was pulled tightly into a French twist. She held the microphone to her fuchsia lips while beaming at us. Her blazing grey eyes were trying to take all of us.

  “The Ball has started but the Prince is feeling quite alone. Who is ready to give him needed company?” she asked. Ninety-nine hands went into the air and I smirked. Maybe she couldn’t tell the difference. I was wrong because her fierce eyes locked with mine. Even with the hands in the air, I could see her lips settling into a condescending purse which couldn’t be a good thing. Reluctantly raising my left hand, I rolled my eyes and looked somewhere else. Most of the girls didn’t need a moody outcast bringing down their high spirits anyways.

  My hand fell down along with the others as she spoke again.

  “Wonderful. Get ready-we will be assembling down the main stairwell in sixty seconds.” That was sixty seconds I could use to escape. To run and run, not to my room, but run all the way till I made it outside then get the hell out of here. But as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t. They would eventually find out.

  Besides, I couldn’t catch the next plane out of here in this dress.

  *******

  Jack

  Groaning loudly, I leaned on my perched fist, my elbow being the firm foundation. I earned a few disapproving looks from few aristocratic families, standing below me on the floor. I glared back, causing them to turn back around but I locked eyes with Henry, one of my friends who shook his head while smirking.

  “Wonderful! Get ready-we will be assembling down the main stairwell in sixty seconds,” Celia announced. Her voice echoed across the ballroom; the starting cue for the orchestra to start their boring introduction for the girls. Even with the music blaring, I could hear the click-clack of heels making their way to the stairwell. Everybody swiveled their heads towards the direction of the top of the stairwell and reluctantly I did too.

  Catching a glimpse of slight movement from my peripheral vision, I turned to see Tristan ascend the stairs from the back and take his rightful seat next to me. It amazed me how much patience Tristan had, having spent all year learning every girl’s name and committing them to memory. I would die the second a sheet of names appeared before me. He gave me a faint, knowing smile which I nodded at.

  If I said I didn’t envy him, I would be a liar. He would actually have a chance at finding true love since he was born one year later than me. Lucky him. The Masked Love only happened to the first son or if measures called, third daughter. I sighed in despair, wishing we could trade places. I turned my attention back to the stairs which were carpeted down the middle in blood red.

  Celia appeared first in a gray gown that I had to admit complimented her curves. She stood off to the right side while the first girl in the train stood off in the shadows. I groaned, this time in defeat. It was too late now. Any escape I was plotting would have to wait until all the girls were assembled on the bottom and who knew when that would be over?

  Celia beckoned the first girl with lemon-colored hair pulled back into a tight bun, wearing a gray multi-colored sequined mask with no handle. She was obviously expecting a dance. I didn’t bother looking down at her dress.

  “Welcome Emily Coertz.” Polite applause filled the ballroom and soon blended with the orchestra. How was I supposed to choose who I was to “love” in this long line?

  Emily lifted her skirt and descended the stairs with such grace, it was obvious why she picked to be first. Girls followed after her, their names called out but quickly forgotten. In the train, I saw different shades of hair, mostly blonde or black and even blue. I looked down, hoping to catch Henry’s gaze but his eyes were glued politely on the girls along with everybody else. All of the girls were trying to catch my eye, their eyes eating at my flesh but I feigned them off. My nails seemed more important at the moment. The guests soon began to move back, creating space for the girls.

  My eyes were drawn to the balcony in the back, all the way across the room. The doors were opened slightly, letting in a breeze which I could feel. It had reached nighttime but the sky wasn’t pitch black yet but a mixture of plum, cerise, and slate blue. The Eiffel Tower even looked like its tip was touching the sky. The backdrop was a real beauty tonight and I wondered if it had something to do with the Masked Love. Fate pulled a lot of strings.

  I nearly chuckled at the thought.

  My eyes flicked back to the stairs to see the last two girls making their way down. The first one I knew was very attractive with golden hair pulled back, her ice blue eyes shining through a silver mask with beautiful detailing and looking dead at me. My eyes traveled down her body curiously and once they made it back, her cherry lips were set in a satisfied smirk. She was one I didn’t mind dancing with.

  “Welcome Paris Anderson.”

  The girl behind her, the very last one managed to hold my attention a minute too longer. Instead of staring at me, her face was turned towards the balcony. Her hair, a deep dark brown, were set in windswept curls. She was holding a black, pearl-embedded mask to her face that made her ivory skin glow. She wore a gold dress that revealed nothing but her legs, which weren’t too long but neither short. When she looked my way though, her eyes made me catch my breath.

  They were an unusual shade of purple, a shade you’d most likely catch at dawn, flecks of gray and green glimmering. But it held no interest whatsoever. It made her captivating and definitely a mystery I wanted to figure out. She inexplicably drew her eyes away from me, as if looking at me was a disgrace. What the hell? It was as if I was ugly. Look at me again, I demanded inwardly willing her to look my way. One hundred and ninety eight eyes rested on me but they weren’t enough. I didn’t know her but it was hers I wanted to lay on me.

  “Welcome Isabella Lighte.”

  I watched her descend the rest of the stairs and as if waiting for another cue, the music changed. A contemporary song started to play, and that was the start of the Ball. My eyes searched the crowd for those brown curls but I couldn’t find them. Then it dawned on me and the balcony doors slightly ajar, and something gold flitting to the side only confirmed my thoughts.

  I arose out of my seat.

  Publication Date: October 3rd 2013

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