XVII

It’s meticulous: our arrival to the gala. Rosemary since breakfast today, which was a stack of pancakes with fresh fruit and the best smoothie I’ve ever had, has had a plan for our course of action. She’d put the curls into my hair and pin one side back just a bit right before five o’clock. Then when that was done, she did her hair and before seven she had finished our make-up and we were dressed.

I needed her help to get myself into the gown I chose without disrupting my hair or make-up, thus why Rosemary saw me in just my under garments in her bedroom earlier this evening.

I picked the gown she knew I would: the baby blue with purple and pink embroidered flowers on the bodice, and upon Rosemary’s insurance, I only wear delicate amethyst earrings that match the pin in my hair to keep pieces from framing my face.

Blake, as I should have suspected, sports an intricate floral patterned suit, mind you in the same colour family as Rosemary’s wine gown. Hers has a much fuller skirt and because of the simplicity of the bodice, she’s paired a small and dainty real diamond necklace with chandelier earrings.

“What?” I ask realizing Rosemary’s stare from the front seat of her car. Blake drives again upon her demand. This time, however, I’m alone in the back seat.

“Did you tell him you’re going?” I know who she’s referring to.

“No, I didn’t.”

She makes a noise of contemplation. “Hm. Should I point him in your direction if I see him?”

If Rosemary hadn’t told me to not lick or chew on my painted lips, I certainly would be. “Don’t engage with him,” I request because I know that if I demand it, she’ll only be egged on.

“Well, what if he approaches me?” Rosemary asks coyly and it takes all of me not roll my eyes.

“He won’t.”

Then Rosemary’s facade cracks and she’s smiling at me brightly, so brightly that I almost believe that our bickering was all a joke. But we’re both smart enough to know that our single night together wasn’t enough to dispel all of my qualms with Rosemary as a person. As a potential aid. As a friend.

The parking lot of the banquet hall rolls under the car’s tires, kicking up the settled dust of the gravel seeing as we were an hour later. Blake, insisting on tormenting what could have been a quiet car ride spoken only of the fact that we had missed the complimentary dinner.

“Well I told you to start getting ready at a quarter to four,” Rosemary had claimed, which albeit true, was less of an order at the time and more of a recommendation that would benefit her. “And then you didn’t so I assumed you didn’t care to be there at the start.”

Blake looked glumly at her. “I know how long it takes me to get ready. Just because I didn’t get ready at the time you wanted me to, doesn’t mean I was the reason we’re late.”

Their agrument was arguably stupid and convelouted so I was glad when it finally stopped. Between the merciful ending of that conversation and Rosemary’s engagement with me about Ethan, the ride was silent. That, of course, was until Blake put the car in park marking our official arrival to the gala.

Not waiting for Rosemary to brief me in the car, I unbuckle my seatbelt and open the door, finally letting the gown have the space it needs. The skirt settles around me and I make sure to not close the car door on the back of my dress.

“Shoulders back, smile,” Rosemary says. She then grabs my sinking chin and forcing me to look ahead, “and keep your head up.”

Rosemary loops our arms and for once, I graciously accept the offer of stability.

The dragging of heels on gravel quickly switches to the muted clicking on linoleum by the soft orchestral music playing from the speakers embedded into the wall.

The foyer opens to a balcony extending the entire upper floor perimeter of the ballroom and I drop Rosemary’s guiding arm to approach the edge to rest my forearms on the cool brass.

“You’re not overdressed if that’s what you’re worried about,” Rosemary tells me as she comes to stand next to me. Blake has already taken the liberty of leaving me alone with her.

I was worried about it because what a cruel joke it would be to show up with the best dressed girl I know to a gala for the other best dressed girl’s mom wearing a dress meant for something far fancier. A Waters girl, making everything about her: people like to talk about us.

“Are you my ride back after?” I ask, turning to peer at her.

“As of right now.” Her face breaks into a wolfish grin.

“I’m not going home with Ethan,” I say defensively because maybe I can admit to myself that God, I really hope he’s here, but I won’t say I want to spend the night with me.

“I’ll find you when we intend to leave.”

I put my hand on her arm, give her a small smile that might not be as sarcastic as I meant it to be, and walk away. With one hand on the grand staircase’s railing, and the other balling at my side, I leave Rosemary to watch me disappear into the crowd of gown and suit sporting townsfolk.

A part of me that’s a coward is praying I don’t find Amelia first. Or better yet, she doesn’t find me because I was conversing in a friendly manor, even spent the night with, her unsworn rival.

But if there’s a God above like Dad claims, he’s not on my side because as soon as my foot hits the last step, Amelia Smythe herself is escaping from the crown and walking towards me.

Goddammit.

“I was wondering when you’d arrive, Char,” she says in a surprisingly cheerful tone because even with my back to the balcony, I know Rosemary is still watching.

“Only an hour late,” I say quietly. “I like your dress.”

Amelia looks down at herself, like she could ever forget what she’s wearing. It’s not in typical Amelia style with a large skirt and baby pink fabric, but instead is a humble silhouette with a deep V-neck and wide, modest straps. The striking part isn’t the shape because why would it be when the dress has chromatic sequins sewn onto every expanse of her body. She glitters under even the dimmed lights of the dance floor.

“Thanks, I like yours too,” she says truthfully and despite her sincere tone, there’s still an awkwardness that permeates the air around us. She knows, of course, where and who it’s from. It’s that reason she doesn’t like the fact that she likes the dress.

I shake the feeling of Rosemary’s gaze and ask, “Are Carmen and Mark here yet?”

As if the pressure of Rosemary dissipates, Amelia smiles and brightens. “Yeah, follow me.” She takes off back into the crowd and I follow behind, effortlessly. “They didn’t see you come in so they’ll be excited. I think Carmen saved some dessert for you: a butter tart.”

I shouldn’t be abandoning such good friends for the likes I have, minus Ethan, though, he’s a good friend.

Upon my arrival to their table, I lean over Carmen’s shoulder and grab the butter tart off her plate. In her ear, I tell her I like the yellow colour of her dress.

“Jesus, girl!” she exclaims, whirling around to see me. “You truly are menichal.”

I set the butter tart on her plate, too anxious to eat but also too engrossed in a could be conversation to have to halt while I potentially ate the dessert.

“Yours is cute too, where’d you get it?” Carmen asks, turning her whole body to where I’ve sat down on the empty seat next to her.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Oh good,” Amelia says as if remembering something when she sees her mother, wearing a very sensible pantsuit with a train down the back of her blazer, walks by. “You missed her ‘please re-elect me speech too.”

Maybe Rosemary and Blake spared me because how could I sit there knowing that woman had abandoned all hope and cause for her search into my sister.

I laugh humorlessly. “How much of it was rhetorical devices?”

Amelia smiles back. “Most.”

I can’t say I particularly enjoy the orchestral music that streams from the speakers, it’s certainly not something I’d listen to with headphones, but as I focus more on the conversation I have with Mark, Carmen, her girlfriend, and Amelia, I can tune out the music enough to enjoy the atmosphere of the gala. Despite the candles lit on every table, the air isn’t stuffy: I look over to the doors leading out to the courtyard, and, as I suspected, the french doors are opened with no obstruction to the cool air of the night.

All and all, I enjoy myself.

I decline the dance Mark offers when Amelia and him return from the dance floor, my best friend insisting her feet are going to be too swollen by the end of the night to keep dancing. She’s the one who pushes her own boyfriend at me.

Carmen and her friends from soccer disappear into the crowd and Mark and Amelia eventually decide to go converse with her mother and the work associates I don’t recognize, likely local members of parliament and other government officials.

I, taking full advantage of the self serve punch bowl, just sit alone at the table covered in our assorted bags and Mark’s suit jacket. I’ve not seen Rosemary or Blake in the hour or so since we’ve arrived, though a narsactic part of me know they’ve been keeping an eye on me throughout the evening, making sure I’m behaving and not doing anything they wouldn’t do. Or more likely anything they would.

“Hey,” a voice says.

For a moment I think I might go into cardiac arrest because, Good Lord, it’s Ethan Stock. He’s here in a navy blue suit fitted right to him. The slacks reach the right part of his ankle, the sleeves reaching right to the bone of his wrist.

I don’t know much about suits but I do know they are far more particular than gowns, so that’s why I blurt out, “Did Mayor Smythe buy you that suit?” I’m not trying to be judgmental, really, I’m just trying to figure out how developed her relationship with Ethan’s mom is.

I can’t say Mayor Smythe has ever spent money directly on me, let alone the cost of a custom suit.

He’s stunned by my question: I can tell by the way his eyes move from me down his person. Then, without saying anything, he pulls out a chair next to me and sits down.

“Good to see you too,” he says. There’s no jest in his words, just exhaustion.

I blush considering how nosy my question was. I have no right, nor reason to know or even want to know. “Sorry⸺about not telling you I’d be here.” Even if his previous words aren’t a direct jab at me not telling him I was coming to the gala, Rosemary has built that guilt inside of me. It spills over knowing he’s here, in front of me with a personally tailored suit.

“You didn’t owe it to me to tell me,” he says and I hear his unspoken words, neither did I. “And yeah, Linda bought the suit for me.”

I nod. “Cool.” It’s stupid answer, I know, however it’s all I can muster up right now.

“You look nice.”

I look up from the table to him. “Thanks, the dress and stuff are from Rosemary.”

“I wasn’t talking about the dress.”

My stomach drops and as if spurred on by his forwardness, I match his behavior in kind. “Do you want to dance with me?” I ask.

“I was hoping you’d ask,” he says with a small smile on his face. Ethan stands and offers his hand to me and I take it with no second thought because for once, when it comes to Ethan, I’m certain of what I want.

He grins at me and lifts our joined hands so I stand. Then, without so much as a second glance at me, he’s walking us through the hordes of dancing couples, my hand a vice in his.

Every few steps, Ethan looks back at me and tugs my arm so I stumble closer to him. With no warning, Ethan halts his movements on the edge of the dance floor and I stupidly haven’t noticed: that’s why I fall into him.

“Sorry,” I say quietly. “I should have been paying attention.”

He drops my hand and move both of his hands just above the place where the bodice of my dress sweeps out into the skirt. I can feel his hands through the structured lace material on my torso and it makes my breath catch.

“I know how overwhelming this might be, don’t apologize,” Ethan says as takes a small step closer to me so our faces are only inches apart. His cool, minty breath fanes my face when he says, “I’m glad I picked this colour for my suit. It matches your dress so well, it’s almost like we planned it.”

I bring my arms⸺only at the right height because of the four inch heels I sport under the hem of my dress⸺around his neck and clasp my fingers so they rest on the warm skin between the collar of his coat and his smoothed down locks.

“Right, yeah,” I whisper.

He’s positioned us close to the open french doors and when the wind blows behind me and I shiver, Ethan turns us around in a simple three steps so his body blocks me from the nighttime air.

My last experience dancing with a boy was during a middle school dance, so I can’t honestly say I’m experienced at this, but seeing as Ethan’s uncertain steps match mine, I feel a bit better about my inability. We sway slightly, my left foot replacing where his was as we move around the points of an invisible small square.

“What convinced you to come?” he asks after a moment of figuring out the rhythm.

“Rosemary,” I admit and when he gives me look, I elaborate, “she invited me over for the night so we could pick out a dress.”

“You stayed the night? I thought you didn’t like her.”

I don’t really like her, no, maybe appreciate and respect after last night and this morning. Maybe those two. I, however, focus on the most important revelation from my time with Rosemary⸺Ethan probably doesn’t care to hear about my internal conflict on whether or not to call her a friend⸺so I say, “She knows Ava pretty well.”

Ethan’s swaying pauses for a moment. “And?”

“What do you mean ‘and’?” I ask more forcefully than was needed. “She knows my sister, that’s enough incentive to deem her useful to us.”

Ethan drops his hands from my waist. “Don’t take advantage of the fact that she cared for your sister. Don’t use her for your own gain.”

I’m taken aback by his defence of Rosemary. “What if she knows something important?”

“No one is conscious of what they know, Charlotte.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I demand.

Ethan takes my hand again, this time with a bit of hesitance and begins to lead me out into the gardens. Maybe, if my anger was directed at him, I wouldn’t have followed but it’s really not. Maybe I would have dropped his hand and walked off to find Rosemary and tell her I’m ready to leave now.

But I don’t do any of those because this is Ethan and I trust him and his judgement, at least enough to hear him out right now. Even if I really, really want to be immature and just run off.

Ethan brings us to a concrete bench off the side of the path, surrounded by neatly trimmed hedges and illuminated by solar powered ground lights lining the path.

Ethan sits down but I remain standing above him not a few feet away. He puts his head in his hands and says, “Don’t you think that if Rosemary really cares about your sister, she’d be telling us everything she knows about where she could be?”

I straighten. “Yeah.”

“So she has then told you everything she knows or thinks she knows.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“She might know more but she isn’t consciously aware of that, so don’t use her or manipulate her because you’re just going to hurt your chances of getting her to realize more.”

I take a step back on the path, slightly reeling from his words. “Why are you defending her?”

He seems to hate that I’ve asked a question so heavy: his torso rocks and he still won’t look at me. “I’m not defending her, not really.”

“Then why make me feel bad for something I haven’t done yet just to protect her?”

Ethan looks up at me and that’s when I realize why his head has been in the confines of his hands. I realize it when his cheeks are wet and his eyes are red-rimmed. “I’m trying to get you to stay away from using people you might actually care about one day!” His voice is hoarse and his hands ball in front of him.

I take another step back. I’m so far from him now that my dress catches on the hedge behind me. “I didn’t mean to use you, if that’s what you’re implying.” I choke back a sob. “I, honest to God, needed your help and I was upfront about what I was asking. You knew what I wanted the entire time so don’t you dare imply I used you. I was even going to pay you for your time!”

He bites down on his teeth so hard his mouth distorts. “I wasn’t talking about me.”

My muscles, once taught in defence of myself, relax and deflate, and I feel defeated when I ask, “Were you just talking about Rosemary?”

“Yes,” he breathes.

“Oh.”

He remains quiet and I take it as my queue to sit down next to him and remedy what I’ve so callously destroyed.

I pick at the skin of my fingers and bite at my lips before saying, “I’m sorry I though you’d be on my side. I’m sorry for getting upset when you put me in my place and gave me a wake up call for how I was treating Rosemary.”

By way of accepting my remorse, he nods.

I glance over at him and when he doesn’t make a move to adjust his closed off position, I continue. “I know you said you weren’t referring to you and me but still, I’m sorry if I used you at all. I tried to be transparent about what I want and what I expected but I guess I got caught up in the situation and forgot to be honest with you. I hope you can forgive my treatment of you as if you were just an extension of your mother.”

I put my hand, palm up, between us and when he slips his cool fingers into mine, for the first time in a long time, I feel like I can really breathe and think. My eyes close as I rub my thumb aimlessly over the smooth skin of his hand.

He brings our hands to his face and he brushes the skin of my hand on his cheek. Then he brings it down to his lips and he presses a cool, light kiss to my knuckles.

All the breath from my lungs leaves me and I struggle to inhale while my hand is still against the skin of his lips.

I yank my hand away, only to place it on his cheeks. I draw circles with my thumb over the flushed, pale skin of his face. And then he’s leaning towards me and his lips are on mine.

There are three things I do when I realize Ethan is kissing me so gently I almost cry. First, my hands find the sides of his head and I stroke his hair. Second, I rotate my body my knees are beneath me and I sit facing him on the bench, the state of my dress is forgotten. Third, I kiss him back.

My lips move against his with so much vigor, Ethan grabs my waist and hoists me onto his lap. His breathless mouth breaks away from my lips and as I lean back to get a cold breath of air, Ethan’s lips have found their way to my jaw and are making my way down my neck and across my throat.

I let out a breathy moan.

He, knowing I might just pass out, stops and rests his head on my shoulder.

I press a light kiss to the top of his head and try to catch my breath.

We remain in this position long after we’ve begun breathing normally again.