The Fake Girlfriend

Chapter 11

e l e v e n 

             Once the Hanson's maids had left, I stared at my quaint reflection in an ostentatious mirror. I sat, wide-eyed, at Zach's mother's dressing table, an eminent honor might I add, and I felt very insignificant. Of course I felt insignificant. I was a peasant sitting  on a king's throne.

             My reflection would tell me otherwise. It wasn't plain, dull Rose Hastings glaring back at me through the silver glass, it would be rather offensive to compare the outlandish beauty to her. The beauty's golden locks writhed in beautiful ringlets past her shoulders; her dark eyebrows were sharp, prominent —the most defined feature of her face; and her eyes —my God her eyes— they constantly stared unwaveringly into me. I fervently denied the face to belong to me, but the way in which she perfectly mimicked my every move blundered my determination. 

             "You look..." I glared at Zach. "nice." There was endearing nervousness in his voice. He had just returned from his parents' acquaintance.

     "Nice? Well please excuse my pomposity, but that cheap compliment completely underestimates the beauty we are both appraising. Nice, unquestionably, is a definite inaccurate description. I'm offended."

             Zach just stared at me with weird, disoriented eyes. "I love it when you use clever words, strangely, it turns me on." I rolled my eyes. "Forgive me," he said, "You are terrifyingly beautiful. "

             I smiled and we looked at each other for a second.

             "Shall we go downstairs, m'lady?"

             I momentarily searched his eyes for a glint of humor before I realised it was his cue for me to establish the role of his girlfriend. I fought the rude comment wanting to surface and took his arm. "We shall." I said, then looked down at my chest. Get your shit together, I told my heart.

             As we slowly walked, arm-in-arm, I sneaked a glance at Zach. Our eyes met, surprised, and we understood each other. He was just as —if possibly more— scared as I was. But for a different reason. Zach was worried his parents wouldn't approve of me, I was terrified of tripping and falling down their stairs and embarrassing myself in front of a member of parliament. I had had a one-hour bus journey to plan out every single word I would say to Hilary Hanson. Starting with a compliment on the lavish interior of her house and ending with an acceptance to her book club. Tripping over the white satin dress that clung appealingly to my body would ruin my attempts to act demure around Mrs Hanson.

             So as Zach and I descended slowly from the granite spiral steps, the only sound being the graceful tap of the borrowed heels which had a name I didn't know, I was relieved to hear an eloquent voice speak up distracting the watchful eyes that scrutinized me tenaciously.

              "Thank you all for coming to my ball." I recognised the ardent voice as Mrs Hanson. Though her high soprano voice compared better to chimes than normal vocals. "It is rather rare that I have had the chance to celebrate since the accident" —Zach stiffened underneath me. I looked up at him, puzzled— "however earlier this week, I heard incredible news!" Mrs Hanson diverted her thoughtful eyes towards me and she smiled. "My son, Zachary, had finally courted himself a decent young lady. And now I've seen her in person, I am even more elated having thrown this party. I cannot be more happy for him, and her. So I propose a toast," She rose a thin golden glass, "to him and her." 

             A rehearsed chorus followed her speech accompanied with a round of applause.

             With a fleeting look, Mrs Hanson motioned for us to come forward. We obeyed as soon as we reached the bottom of the stairs and advanced towards her not bothering to spare a glimpse at the perhaps hundreds of witnesses. We didn't need to look to know their eyes were filled to the brim with envy.