Calore Dance Academy// Red Queen AU

Chapter 81

Hey all! I hope everybody has had a good semester and a restful break. Semester one of college was fantastic--and busy, as I'm sure you all can guess. Although I cannot promise a consistent update schedule, I want everybody to know that I think about this fanfic a lot and have every intention of finishing it. I should be able to update two or three more times within the next two weeks, so stay on the lookout for a few more chapters. :)

As always, leave some stars and comments. They make my day. 

NOTE: This chapter does contain some semi-explicit content in the fifth scene. 

Happy New Year!

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The elevator ride up to the pinnacle of Billionaires' Row never fails to make me queasy.

I always think that my stomach and head will get used to the 90-story ascent. I've come up here a number of times now, once for brunch, another to stay over for the night, a few times to hang out with Maven. I always think that the ride won't bother me. It always does.

When the sleek doors glide open, I stay frozen in the silvery box for a moment before regaining my composure.

Elara, dressed in silken pajamas, looks up. Across the large parlor, she sits upon one of the alabaster couches with jewelry catalogs strewn in front of her. She's also exchanged her contacts for a pair of round-framed glasses, but her hair hasn't lost its blow out and her skin remains impossibly poreless. As I near her, Elara's expressionless face melts into something more motherly. It looks synthetic.

"Mare. You look so cute."

She pats the spot next to her, and I don't have much of a choice other than to sit down.

Among glossy catalogs depicting extravagant jewelry for Manhattan's fall season, a laptop rests on the low table before Elara. It looks like my boyfriend's mom is in the middle of a How to Get Away with Murder episode.

"Thanks," I tell her. "The tights are from the same place I buy my leotards."

My concert outfit is composed of a faded blue jean skirt, a deep-plum crop top with spaghetti straps, fishnet tights, and leathery black heeled boots. Yesterday when I was out with Iris, I found some electric-purple mascara that pairs well with silver eyeshadow and my peach-colored lips. My friend also let me borrow her hair crimper, leaving my brown locks in waves halfway down my back.

"Oh, Maven, you look cute too. I have to take a picture of the two of you."

As my boyfriend emerges from the stairwell across the room, he contains an eyeroll. Embarrassing mothers cross class lines.

Maven wears a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a black button-down. His raven hair is greased back to match the shine of my boots. He pretends to look reluctant as Elara rises from the couch, fishing her phone out from her pajama pants pocket.

"Come on. Stand over by the windows."

I cross between the two low tables to stand beside Maven. Central Park sprawls below us, golden in its evening glory. Our backdrop will make for a wonderful picture.

"What time do I need to have your son home?" I ask Elara as Maven crosses his arm around my back.

Elara raises her phone enough to obscure her face. I bring my own arm around Maven's back, press my tongue over my teeth to clear any lipstick, and grin.

"Oh, don't worry about it. No matter what time Maven gets home, I'll be asleep anyway. If you two want to stay out later and do whatever, that's fine by me."