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We both got ready in separate rooms since tonight is a masquerade ball and all about mystery. I eye the mask, which Polly insists I must wear. I can’t deny it really is stunning. It goes well with the beautiful jewels on my dress, which catch the light when I turn to examine myself in the bathroom mirror.
Polly wanted to pull my hair into some twist thing, but after much debate, she begrudgingly agreed to leave it down, but only if she could style it. So we came to a compromise. I asked if she could style it using the onyx comb I found in the jewelry box.
I don’t know what it is about this piece of jewelry, but I know I’ve seen it before. I just can’t remember where.
As I look at the clip, holding up tufts of my thick hair so it sweeps across my shoulder, I can’t believe this is me. Polly curled the ends so my hair falls elegantly over my left shoulder, draping over my breast which is pushed up to the heavens, thanks to my push-up bra.
My makeup is simple, and I’ve replaced Polly’s bright red lipstick with a sheer pink, which I feel more comfortable with. My eyes are painted a smoky black, and Polly added some subtle glitter to my upper lids, which reflect the light when I turn the right way. My cheeks are naturally tinted pink as I feel beyond embarrassed to go downstairs and face a room of complete strangers looking like someone other than me.
I finger the small diamond earrings Polly lent me and smile. They match the diamond piercing in my nose, which was not done intentionally. I was going to wear my hoop, but Polly made it very clear that the second set of earrings and nose ring had to go. Again, we came to a compromise, and I ditched the hooped nose ring and the second set of studs but left my tragus and replaced the hoop with a small diamond stud.
Polly seemed satisfied with our negotiation and said I looked like a punk version of Cinderella, but I don’t see the resemblance unless she means my shoes. The heels were an issue since I would break my neck wearing those things, so I’m wearing my Doc Martens instead.
Reaching for my white mask, I carefully place it over my head, positioning it so it sits snugly and comfortably on my face, hiding the white ribbon ties under my hair. The eye holes are like cat eyes, and the ends flick into high peaks, accentuated with glittery edges and diamonds.
Polly said this mask is made of some kind of metal called filigree, which is meant to resemble lace, as the mask is not solid but has tiny sections cut out, revealing my flushed skin underneath. I like it as it still provides some mystery because just enough of my face is covered.
Ensuring my comb is securely fastened, I take a deep breath and tell myself to stop stalling.
Smoothing out my skirt, I like how my black nails contrast with the white. I open the door and can’t help but think that Polly may be right. I am kind of like Cinderella. I’m the perfect rags-to-riches story and even have the evil stepsister to prove it.
But that’s not entirely true.
As Polly transformed me, she did so with care, and I sat, mostly silent, trying not to overthink how someone I passionately loathed is slowly becoming a little more likable. It’s fair to say we’ve got a long road ahead, but the past couple of days of not fighting with her or Cynthia have been nice.
Even in these ridiculous clothes, I feel more like me for the first time in a very long time.
Maybe things are looking up.
I open my door and make my way down the stairs. As I descend the final step, my pounding heart feels like it’s about to splatter all over the polished floorboards.
I subtly look around the room for Quinn. Surely, he’ll be easy to spot, but as I look around the crowded house, I realize every male is wearing a suit. I really should have thought this through before trekking into a room filled with complete strangers who all look a little kooky.
Ladies have opted for long, elegant gowns, which complement their elaborate masks, and even though the color theme is kind of cool, it’s also a little creepy. We all look like chess pieces.
A masked server waltzes past, offering me a glass of something bubbly off a silver tray. I gratefully accept because I need something in my gurgling stomach. I down the drink in one mouthful, cringing when the acidic burn hits my throat. But the burn calms my raging nerves, so I look around for a server because I need another glass.
However, the moment my eyes lock withhisacross the room, my frantic heartbeat kicks into an unhealthy staccato. At this moment, everything fades, and the only thing that exists…is him.
Quinn casually leans against a wall, watching me closely behind his plain black mask. I almost choke when his sensual mouth tips up into a dimpled smile, his silver hoop catching the light from the crystal chandelier above him. He’s wearing a simple tuxedo, but nothing about Quinn could ever be simple.
The crisp white shirt draws out the bright green of his eyes, and the pressed black suit fits him perfectly, highlighting his muscular, broad frame. The lapels on the jacket are black silk, and as my eyes drop to his pants, the snug material falls just the right way. I can’t help but smile as I see a pair of black Chucks adorning his feet, completing his sexy, rebellious look.
He gives me a small wave, and I’m barely able to register a response as I watch his bright eyes do a slow, deliberate appraisal of my body. I suddenly feel naked under his probing gaze. As he tugs on his lip ring suggestively, I almost buckle at the knees.
But it’s not his piercing eyes that have me almost leaping over the guests to kiss the hell out of him; it’s his hair. It’s been cut and styled like a freaking supermodel. His bangs are still long, but they’re fashioned into a messy peak, and the shorter sides are gelled stylishly, giving him the ultimate bed-head look.
“Oh, Mia, you look beautiful,” someone gasps, standing directly in front of me.
Taking a minute to compose myself, I see Cynthia smiling before me, looking rather stunning herself.
Her long black hair is twisted into a messy side chignon and clasped together with a small topaz clip, very similar to the one I’m currently wearing. Her strapless black silk dress sweeps the floor behind her, hugging her petite frame. Her mask is akin to mine, but is black instead of white.
“Thank you. So do you,” I reply, realizing I’m staring at her without a word.
A pink hue brushes her skin, and I see where I get my scarlet cheeks from. “Thank you. Have you seen Quinn?”
I give her a small nod.
