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One
Twelve o’clock, pre-dinner preparations underway. Guest rooms cleaned, first course prepped.
Three o’clock, grounds inspected, driveway tidied, decorations begin going up.
Five o’clock, Mom and Dad prepare for the evening, dressed and groomed for greeting guests.
Six o’clock, guests arrive. Cordelia begins getting ready. Cocktails served downstairs in main hall.
Seven o’clock, Cordelia downstairs. Pre-dinner socializing.
The itinerary repeated in my head: twelve, three, five, six, seven. Mom always liked our dinners running smoothly—and for my mother, that meant every minute, every second, was planned down to the letter, every ‘i’ dotted, every ‘t’ crossed and absolutely nothing out of place.
Least of all, me.
I sat in my room at my vanity, the sounds of orchestral strings and tinkling brass drifting up from downstairs where my mother and father’s guests were surely sipping from flutes of expensive wine, helping themselves to hors d’oeuvres, and talking amongst themselves about their next big investment or whose heiress daughter was going to marry their sons.
It was a scene I was intimately familiar with. After all, this had been my life for the last seventeen years.
I’d been born into this world, and I knew my place in it. As the only child of Elizabeth and Gideon van Rensselaer, I was to remain poised and proper at all times, with never a hair out of place, a lash uncurled, nor a stray comment from my mouth that could bring some unspoken shame to my parents. I was the perfect vessel to carry on the family legacy; the only thing that could’ve made me more perfect in my parents’ eyes was if I had been born a boy.
“There we go Ms. Cora. Ah, aren’t you stunning?”
Ava stepped out from behind me, examining me with satisfaction. She’d been with my parents for as long as I could remember. A kind woman in her forties, her fawn-brown hair was always pulled back in a thick bun, and her warm, round face wore a smile that could melt the coldest of demeanors.
In some ways, she was like a second mother to me. She had taught me how to tie my shoes and how to braid my own hair—before my actual mother had declared braids too “common”. When I’d started my period, she was the one I’d gone to, and the one who’d gone out of her way to make sure I had everything I needed to weather that particular storm. I talked to her about boys, because it was just… easier. Knowing my mother, it wasn’t hard to see why.
I smiled at her in the reflection and looked at her handiwork. My hair fell in thick blonde ringlets around my face, which was lightly made up with just the right amount of product to highlight my natural features. Heavy makeup, according to my mother, was gauche. Choosing to live on the wild side, Ava had even given me a bit of a glow this evening—a dusting of shimmery silvery powder at my cheeks and along my exposed collar bone, just for a slight pop. It contrasted well with the deep green dress my mother had chosen for the evening, one that matched the shade of my eyes. Rensselaer jade, they were called among my mother and father’s peers. Our social circles knew them well.
My red painted lips quirked, and I stood up, turning to Ava.
“It looks incredible. You always make me look lovely,” I said. “That’s good. I know Mom and Dad want tonight to go perfectly.”
“Hm.” Ava pursed her lips, something she did when she had something to say but was too polite to actually say it. “Well, if there’s going to be anything perfect tonight, it’s going to be you, my dear girl. And just think of all the handsome young men I’m sure your father’s invited. They won’t be able to take their eyes off you.”
I flushed.
“Well, I know that Dad invited the Kings. Their son is… Well, I haven’t met him personally, but I’m sure he’s nice.”
