Calore Dance Academy// Red Queen AU

Chapter 70

Hello all! I hope that everybody is having a wonderful summer! (Unless you live in the southern hemisphere, of course. Sorry about that . . .) Although I'm busier than I thought I'd be, it's still nice to be out of school! If you haven't already, DM me to join the Calore Dance Academy Discord server! We have 15 members!

Question: Should Nat write an unplanned MareCal tango scene at the Plaza? Drop your comments + the context of this scene.

As always, happy reading! And do star and drop comments! I love them!

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"You know, Mark Twain once said that if you make your mark on New York City, you are a made man. Or woman, Miss Barrow."

I smirk at the mayor. "Is that right, Mister Mayor?"

The Plaza Hotel carries the memories of an older time in Manhattan. Its architecture is even older than that, having been inspired by the French Renaissance, according to Mayor Jon.

In the lobby, an elaborate chandelier, a creamy coffered ceiling, and a floor of mosaic tiles that formed weaving roses and golden vines greeted me. It bled into labyrinthine marble halls with arching, two-story, wooden French doors. The gold trim and the grey flecks along the marble make the massive halls look like something out of Heaven. The mosaic tiles of weaving roses and golden vines stretch along the expansive corridors along with silver chandeliers. Golden handrails accompany grand flights of stairs, and gilded panels accompany engraved ceilings. Hulking palm trees resting in green ceramic pots extend up to my hips.

"Indeed," he says. "I start off every morning with a few pages from The New York Times, and I didn't miss yours. It's quite a feat to have done what you have at seventeen years of age. You should be very proud of yourself, Miss Barrow."

I only nod at Mayor Jon. Everybody says that, and at this point, I don't know what to say back.

I walk through the halls of the Plaza Hotel with the mayor of New York, the man who my parents themselves voted for in the last election. He really does seem like an ordinary man in the grandeur of the hotel with his average height, simple dress clothes, and older face. But he walks like the mayor of New York. He smiles at the party guests like the mayor of New York. He talks to Tiberias Calore like the mayor of New York, like he's the one in charge.

Iris walks on my other side, having followed her father, who walks on Jon's other side. With her long hair curled in waves, she wears a gorgeous blue cocktail dress. Cal and Evangeline have gone their separate ways, thank God. They headed off through another door with Mister Calore and Volo and Laurentia Samos, and though I ought to wonder what they're doing, I don't have it in me to care. Maven's with them, off trailing his own father for reasons that I prefer not to think about.

"This hotel has hosted all of history's great people. Mrs. Patrick Campbell, a famous actress of the time, tried to smoke in the tea room back in 1907. All of the men thought it was so unbecoming of a woman to be out smoking in public. The hotel gave her a little folding screen so that the other guests wouldn't have to watch a woman smoke. People flocked to the Plaza to see American heiress Gladys Vanderbilt have tea a few years later. Teddy Roosevelt hosted his political events at the Plaza, and his distant cousin, Franklin Roosevelt, would follow. Hildegarde, Marilyn Monroe, and the Beatles were here too."

I don't know why Mayor Jon possesses any interest in me.

What I do know is that he loves to listen to himself talk.

He reminds me of Julian.

We come across the Palm Court, a strange amalgamation of elegance and paradise.