BROKEN BEGINNINGS

Chapter 8 - Party Crasher

Esme holds up a gown of swirling midnight blue silk and black lace. "This would complement your figure perfectly!"

"Are you sure about that?" I shoot back, raising an eyebrow. It's the kind of dress a noblewoman of the king's court might wear, not some nobody to the likes of me.

"Well, you'll never know if you don't try," admonishes Esme, trying to shove the dress on over my head.

"You aren't my mother," I crab, squirming and trying to get the dress to fit right. It still hangs a bit loose around the waist, as hard as I try, though.

"Here, put this on." Esme throws a torture device—err, I mean, corset in my face.

"Why?" I groan, trying to adjust it around my middle.

"Just let me." Esme huffs, taking charge and yanking the strings in the back. The black leather of the corset almost instantly squeezes my breakfast out of me.

"How... am I... supposed... to... eat... in this... damn... thing..." I wheeze.

Esme shrugs. "You don't."

"I'M FUCKING GOING TO A FANCY DINNER AND YOU'RE TELLING ME NOT TO EAT!?"

"Yes," Esme says matter-a-factly, like I hadn't just exploded and swore at her like nobody's fucking business.

"Fiiine," I groan, knowing that I quite honestly can't win this argument.

"Yay! Now, I think Mother kept her makeup down on the tenth floor..." Esme says, flashing out of the attic, as I trail behind.

"There's more!?"

***

At eight o'clock, I finally arrive at the town square. Esme said she was going to stay out of trouble up at the house, and good luck cause I'd need it.

After managing to trip on the hem of my dress over a dozen times and narrowly avoiding a mud pit off the side of the dark path, I finally made it to town to find candles flickering in every corner and flowers strewn in every possible place.

The townsfolk must have been funding this for months, because judging from the silver platters to the golden tinsel to the German wine, this must have all cost a fortune.

As I push my way through the crowd, I'm able to pick up and piece together that Queen Victoria sent down a high-standing English duke, who, along with the queen's mission, happens to be using the opportunity to travel the land in search for a wife for his second son. (From the sounds of it, his first is engaged to the royal princess)

Ladies of great noble standing and high social status were being specially announced to the crowd, so it was no surprise when the herald called out "Sarah Von Dubois!"

Sarah waltzed into the spotlight with her umber hair swept high into a beehive-style, and her dress was of the finest dark green velvet. Sunflowers adorned her slim waist and jewelry of gold and emeralds shone from her ears, neck, wrists, and fingers.

Multiple shouts of "Marry me!" "Over here!" And "I love you, Sarah!" Swelled from the crowd, and Sarah basked in their gaze like it was a shining mirror, reflecting back unto her glory a thousand times over.

A butler holds out a tray of drinks and I grab a flute without thinking. I'm going to need a lot of alcohol if I want to survive tonight.

Sarah bustles through the crowd and flings her arms around me, on the verge of tears. "Tarese, darling! I am so sorry! That fabric was for old widow Tupper, but I got the packages mixed up! You can imagine how infuriated the old git was when she unwrapped a dress," Sarah moaned, pausing her apology for a moment to dab her eyes with a silk handkerchief.

"I tried to fix the problem and bring the dress to you, but I was late to my fitting and the maid wouldn't let me go!" She wipes her nose in a delicate manner.

"I-It's okay," I tell her, completely unsure of what else to say.

"But you seem to have managed just fine! I love your dress. Where did you get it? The poor shelter?" Sarah smirked.

Just then, the duke decided to save my ass and make his big entrance.

Everyone applauded greatly and stormed for the town hall when the feast was announced. I noticed that the duke's second son, Dorian San Carlo, followed slowly after his father, not seeming to want to be at the party.

Not being very hungry, I settle down on the edge of the fountain, wondering if I should just go back to the house. I haven't time for banquets or wine or any such nonsense. I sling my arm back and throw my flute across the square as hard as I can.

"That was some throw," says a voice behind me, catching me off guard so that I nearly topple into the fountain.

Dorian catches me and pulls me upright. I stand and to my great surprise and suppressed glee, see that I'm actually only half an inch shorter than he is.

"How'd you get out?" I ask, trying to keep the conversation neutral.

"The window," Dorian says, cracking a sly smile that my own mouth is only too familiar with.

"Umm," I sputter, trying to think of something to keep the conversation going. Dorian seems to have an idea, and I almost have a heart attack.

Dorian San Carlo leans in... an kisses me.