Calore Dance Academy// Red Queen AU

Chapter 38

Double-length chapter tonight! Apologies for not updating last week, but this chapter is basically two. :)

Enjoy! I had a great time writing these scenes.

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In time, the drawn-out, blinding flashes fade away and give in to the fire of Calore Industries.

Maven's tux-clad arm stays linked through mine, and he wears an amused, delighted smile. He looks like somebody told him the funniest joke, but really, we just paraded across a red carpet at an embarrassingly slow pace while paparazzi assaulted our vision. The people here don't walk as they do in Midtown, all in a rush. Here, it's as though they have all of the time in the world.

I wear my smile along with Maven, wondering where my photo will end up in the morning.

The gentle pressure that his elbow has on mine and the soft fabric of my dress calm me enough, enough to block out the paralyzing fear of tripping in my heels. But regardless of Maven, regardless of my dress, and regardless of my extra height, the massive two-story doors, glass and framed in gold, inevitably arrive. At the sight of more big men wearing black suits—as opposed to black tuxedos—the guests clustered in front of us pull out driver's licenses and ID cards. Similar things happen at the other two sets of doors to our left and right, with women decked-out in jewels and men wearing thousand-dollar cufflinks exchanging cards with security.

Even now, standing feet from them and in finery of my own, I'm struck with awe at the opulence, the decadence. Everything's too much. The flashes behind me, the behemoths of doors and security guards. The lush beauty of everything and everyone in sight. I hear the echoes of Mister Calore in my head, as photographers called out Maven's name. Miss Barrow followed it, as soon as they realized who Maven was with. The stares are still going on, as other attendees turn around to regard me and Maven at the sound of our last names.

Yet I manage to keep moving, reminding myself that I am a Principal dancer at the Manhattan Dance Academy.

The guards remind of it too, recognizing the two of us as Principal dancers and making sweeping motions for us to go inside without ID checks.

So without further ado, Maven and I step past the guards. The camera flashes leave altogether. Air leaves my throat, my lungs, and my blood, and I take in what I see.

I might've stepped inside, but it doesn't feel like it. The floors stretch hundreds of feet in either direction, and the ceiling stands fifty feet high. In Calore Industries' lobby-turned-ballroom, the serpentine design of the plaza floor transitions into the sunset marble that the Academy has laid across its halls. The blue-black of night vanishes as golden light thoroughly takes over. Enormous empire chandeliers hang from far above, and more light comes from the walls, where tablets of limestone protrude from others to make sconces.

Golden elevators stand off to one wall, and starting at the third story, golden-rimmed balconies with glass railings stack on top of one another until they meet the ceiling. They wrap around the ballroom as the one in Blonos's studio does, and supported by massive sunset pillars, wide bridges span the air of the cavern-like lobby to connect balconies on opposite walls. Across from the row of elevators, an artificial waterfall turned electric red by lights runs from the ceiling, past the balconies, and to the ground, where water pools in a koi pond before trickling away into a man-made river. Wrought-iron tables and chairs trace the shape of it.

The amplified music of some faraway string ensemble carries throughout the ballroom, and an amalgamation of perfume and wine wafts through the air. The clicks of my heels are drowned out ten times over by crowd murmurs, coming from ahead and behind, to my left and right, from the balconies and overhead bridges. Though I would never put a bet on it, I imagine there's close to two-thousand guests here tonight.