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Melody nodded emphatically. “Wear it and remember who you are beyond these walls.”
With tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, I clutched the dress to my chest—a royal blue beacon amidst my cinder-gray world. Gratitude swelled within me until it overflowed.
“I will,” I whispered, daring to believe that for one night, dreams might just dance within reach.
***
I shuffled into the cramped space of our living room, feeling the day’s weight lift as Josie and Melody descended upon me like fairy godmothers in a modern-day fable. They ushered me away from the reality of scrubbed floors and starched linens, pushing me gently toward a night of fantasy.
Josie hummed an upbeat tune while her fingers danced through my hair, weaving it into an intricate updo that felt both elegant and foreign atop my head. Melody flitted around us, her eyes assessing every detail, ensuring nothing was out of place. The gown they’d gifted me lay on my bed—an island of royal blue amidst a sea of mundane.
“Don’t you dare pinch yourself,” Melody warned with a smile as she caught my hand hovering near the fabric. “This is real, Mila.”
I stepped into the gown, the material hugging every curve I’d grown accustomed to hiding beneath my uniform. The fabric whispered against my skin as it fell into place, transforming me from a maid into someone who might belong among the glitterati, if only for an evening.
Josie zipped me up with deft fingers and then stepped back to join Melody in appraising their handiwork. They exchanged a look—a silent agreement that they’d accomplished something magical.
“You’re not just going to turn heads, Mila,” Josie said with conviction. “You’re going to spin them right around.”
A laugh bubbled up from within me—a mixture of disbelief and sheer joy at their words. The gloves came next, sheer and delicate, slipping over my arms like whispers of smoke. I flexed my fingers, marveling at how they transformed my hands from tools of labor into instruments of grace.
Finally, I faced the mirror, my breath catching in my throat. The woman staring back at me bore traces of familiarity—the slope of her nose, the color of her eyes—but she was enshrouded in an allure that felt altogether new. The dress painted her in confidence, the gloves spun tales of mystery and allure. This Mila looked like she could command any room, hold any gaze.
“Wow,” I breathed out—a simple word that encapsulated the storm of emotions whirling within me.
Josie draped an arm around my shoulders while Melody beamed from beside us.
“Tonight’s your night,” Josie whispered.
And for once, gazing into that mirror at the reflection of someone I both knew and didn’t know at all, I believed it. The promise of what lay ahead shone in my eyes—a hope for laughter and maybe even a dance beneath the chandeliers of Wintertide Hotel’s grand ballroom. Maybe even with him… Cassius Portman.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, grounding myself in this transformation. For tonight at least, I wasn’t just Mila Johnson, maid at Wintertide Hotel—I was a woman stepping into a dream she never dared to have before.
I stood on the threshold of change, my breath a soft whisper against the tension in the room. Josie’s eyes twinkled with secrets as she reached into a bag that seemed too small to hold any more surprises. Yet, as her hand emerged, it clutched a mask so exquisite it could’ve been plucked from the dreams that danced behind my eyelids each night.
“This is for you,” she said, her voice imbued with a note of ceremony as she handed me the mask. It was a masterpiece of feathers and crystals, woven together with such care that it seemed alive in my hands. I ran my fingers over its surface, tracing the contours that promised to shield my identity while offering a new one for the evening.
“Josie, Melody, I—” My voice faltered, the gratitude swelling in my chest too vast for words. They’d thought of everything, every detail polished to perfection.
“Don’t say anything,” Melody interjected with a gentle smile. “Just wear it and own this night.”
As if on cue, the purr of an engine announced the arrival of our next marvel. We peered through the curtains to see a limousine gleaming under the streetlights like a chariot awaiting its passenger.
My heart hitched. “You didn’t—”
“We did,” Josie confirmed with a nod. “Tonight, Mila Johnson doesn’t take buses or walk in tired shoes. Tonight, she arrives in style.”
The three of us stepped out into the evening’s embrace, its chill countered by the warmth of our excitement. The limo driver held the door open, and as I slid into the plush interior, I was cocooned by a sense of surrealism. The soft leather cradled me like a promise of luxury I had never known.
Josie and Melody joined me inside, their presence an anchor in this sea of opulence that threatened to sweep me away from all that was familiar.
“Before we get there,” Josie said, lifting three glasses filled with golden effervescence from a compartment within our ride. “A toast.”
We each took a glass, its stem cool and delicate between my fingers.
“To dreams,” Melody began.
“And to daring to live them,” Josie continued.
