The Art of turning heart

9 |

The evening of the Hawthorn ball arrived with all the expected fanfare. My family was in a flurry of activity, each member preparing with meticulous attention to detail. My mother's voice echoed through the halls, directing the maids and reminding my siblings of the importance of the evening. But as for me? I couldn't quite muster the same enthusiasm.

I sat before the mirror, my expression one of practiced indifference as the maids fussed over my attire. My gown was a pale blue, made of the finest silk, with delicate lace detailing along the bodice and sleeves. The fabric caught the light just so, shimmering faintly with each movement. The dress was undeniably beautiful, the color complementing my fair skin and dark brown hair.

Speaking of hair, it had been carefully coiffed into an elegant updo, soft curls framing my face, while the rest was pinned back with small, glistening pins. I felt the gentle tug of a brush as one of the maids ensured every strand was in place, while another applied a light touch of makeup—a bit of rouge on my cheeks, a hint of color on my lips, and just enough kohl to accentuate my eyes.

Next came the gloves, white and reaching up to my elbows. They were made of the finest kid leather, soft to the touch, and fitting perfectly. I flexed my fingers within them, feeling the smooth material hug my skin. It was all so proper, so prim... and frankly, a bit tiresome. The entire process felt like a chore, and the thought of spending the evening with the stuffy elite at the Hawthorn Manor was not exactly thrilling.

And yet, despite my outward demeanor, there was a small, nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach. A certain anticipation, a desire I was reluctant to admit. Edward would be there, of course. The thought of seeing him again was both irritating and, if I was honest, somewhat exciting. Why, though? Why did I care? I had convinced myself I didn't want to see him, didn't I?

As the final touches were made to my appearance, my gaze drifted to the small velvet pouch lying on the vanity. Inside was the necklace Edward had given me—the one I had sworn to keep out of sight, away from any influence it might exert. But as I looked at my reflection, I couldn't help but notice how bare my neck appeared. It seemed almost wrong, a glaring omission.

With a soft sigh, I reached for the pouch, my fingers brushing over the plush fabric. I opened it slowly, pulling out the necklace. The pendant, delicate and shining, caught the light in a way that made it almost impossible to resist.

"I suppose my neck does look a bit empty," I murmured, more to myself than to the maid standing behind me. "Alice," I said, turning to the maid, "put the necklace on me."

Alice hesitated for a moment, perhaps surprised that I was asking for it. But she quickly recovered, taking the necklace from my hand and fastening it around my neck. I watched in the mirror as the pendant settled against my skin, completing the look. It was perfect, just as I'd feared.

I straightened up, giving myself one last appraising look in the mirror. "There," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Now I won't look quite so... incomplete."

But who was I kidding? This wasn't about the necklace, and I knew it. Still, I wasn't about to admit that to anyone—not even to myself.

As I descended the grand staircase, the soft rustle of my gown the only sound breaking the silence, I caught sight of Seraphina waiting for me at the bottom. Her eyes sparkled with mischief the moment she saw me, a playful grin spreading across her cherubic face.

"Oh, Isabella!" she exclaimed, her voice full of teasing delight. "I see you decided to wear the necklace after all. Are you trying to impress Mr. Hawthorn?"

I rolled my eyes, feigning exasperation. "Don't be ridiculous, Seraphina," I replied, though my tone lacked any real bite. "I just didn't want my neck to look bare, that's all."