Masked Love by Victoria Benson (good story books to read TXT) 📕

"Huh. A girl with guts. I might actually get to like you. Now, will you please help me?" So now I was a girl with guts because I insulted her. Last time I checked, she was demanding-not me offering. But whatever, I certainly didn’t need any enemies on the first night, especially my roommate. Sighing, I motioned for her to turn around and she smirked with satisfaction. Her corset was tightly tied with a ribbon that I began to unlace. Something that looked so simple turned out to be complicated and took me a good five minutes to unwound.

“You’re good,” I told her when the corset was finally loose. She pulled it off from the front and I quickly spun around before she could face me again, only this time half-naked.

 I heard the rustle of the dress and her low grunts as she stepped into her dress and she cleared her throat when she was done. Turning around, I had to resist the urge to gasp. She was a sight to see, the lace dress hugging her slender hips and ending just above her mid-thigh. The sleeves stretched all the way down to her wrists and puffed around her fingers. It would’ve been too short but she had legs for miles. It was enough to make a girl go green with envy. The wine color went great against her bronze skin and matched the lipstick painted on her lips.  She pulled a pair of mauve-colored gloves on which stopped at her wrists and picked up her mask, a lace silver one with intricate detailing and no handle. She adjusted it to her face before tying it in the back, careful not to mess up her hair or makeup.

 "Okay, I have to get this out the way but I have a more better chance of getting the Prince. Granted, you're pretty but-"

"He's all yours," I stated my face deadpan. Even if I could get him, I didn’t want him. He wasn’t not my type, for one and I sure wasn’t his. The girl's eyes started to sparkle and she beamed brightly for the first time I’d been talking to her.

"Well, then we'll be the best of friends!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together in glee. It was like giving a baby his/her milk. It was that easy. "I'm Paris."

"Isabella. Friends call me Bella." I watched as she squeezed her feet into silver pointed-toe pumps. Not noticing how stuffy it was in the suite until now, I ambled to the French windows and unlatched the lock, spreading the windows apart. A gust of chilly wind blew past me and into the room. Autumn was on its way. I turned back around and saw there was more to the room that I somehow missed. A vanity mirror and two dressers were pulled back across the back wall, on top perfumes, makeup and toiletries.

"So, Bella, where are you from?" Paris asked while spraying some fragrance on herself, staring at me with sincere curiosity.

"New York. How about you?" I asked, leaning against the window's frame, letting the wind lift my hair and swirl it around.

"I was originally born here, ironic right? But my dad moved us to California when I was five. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve dreamt to be Invited to the Masked Love. My mom used to say it was coincidental that I was born for the next summoning, but I know it’s fate. I was destined to be the Prince's wife," she explained. “You don’t seem to be sure of yourself though.” It's not called being unsure of myself. While Paris thought this was Fate, I deemed it a curse. Maybe if I had been born two years later, I could've avoided the Summoning.

While most girls dreamt of this, I didn't but in fact dreaded it. I swore to myself before I boarded the plane that took me here, that I would do anything in my power to get sent home along with the other eighty-nine girls.

"I'm pretty sure I want to get sent home," I snapped. It disgusted me that she wanted this so badly-blind to the fact that she will send so much love and affection to the Prince and only receive wealth, not love. That's how they all the past Kings were, my grandmother explained that much. The current King showed no such love to his chosen wife, but it was and always would be tradition for the eldest prince to choose a wife in the midst of three hundred girls.

"Then while you're here, you could help me get into the Circle. I know it's a bit self-centered on my part but maybe it will put less light on you," Paris suggested, shrugging her slender shoulders. She was right and it was a chance that I was not willing to let slip by. Paris could be my ticket out of this.

"You have yourself a deal, Paris."

I barely finished my sentence when our doors flapped open and a young man walked in. Dressed in a dark coat with brass buttons and black trousers, face covered with a white mask, and hands clasped behind his back, he looked royal for a guard summoning us. I stood up straight.

“Good evening ladies,” he greeted. His eyes took in Paris and then flickered over to me, where they stayed a little longer before moving away. His eyes were the most pair of intense aquamarine I’d ever seen but still beautiful nonetheless. “The Introduction is beginning shortly so if you would please follow me.” With that he turned around, his back facing us. His umber hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail and rested against the nape of his neck.

Walking quickly to grab my mask off my bed, I picked it up and walked alongside Paris to follow the man.

We were led back into the corridor, this time going further down the hall, walking past oiled paintings that hung on the flaxen wall while to our right was a sleek wood banister. He took a sharp turn at a corner and we followed him down a small stairway, our heels clacking against the steps. The bottom revealed a lot of girls gathered in clumps. The hall was grand and immense, mirrors posing as the walls.

When we reached the bottom, the man disappeared into the sea of girls leaving Paris and I alone. Grabbing her hand, I led her to the back where most of the girls steered clear of. A pair of muffled claps silenced the hall, except for the occasional rustles of our dresses and click-clacks of heels.

“Welcome ladies to the annual seventy-fifth Masked Love! It is an honor to be graced with your presence.” No it isn’t, I thought. “And all of you young gals are looking lovely.” No we aren’t.

“Of course, this is our first night of the Summer Masquerade Ball but this time were not going with our usual flow. The Prince will choose the ladies whom he would like to dance with tonight, so I hope you pampered yourselves good!” Who is talking, I wondered. It was obviously a female and she was talking into a microphone but I couldn’t see her? The inward groans of girls echoing throughout the hall roused me from my thoughts. They had chosen masks with handles. They didn’t expect the sudden change of events. I resisted the urge to laugh.

“We will be calling all of you in by the number embedded on the inside of your gloves. I’m presuming everyone wore gloves as it was essential. Please get in order from one to a hundred as quickly as possible, one in the front and one hundred bringing up the rear,” the voice ordered. Checking the inside of my glove, I saw the three numbers embroidered in black and my heart pounded. Of course, of all the girls who were to get one hundred, it had to be me. While it meant I didn’t have to move an inch from my spot, I knew that most attention would focused on the first and last girls. The odds of me last was one percent. One freaking percent.

Once all the girls had shuffled to their designated spots to the best of their ability, the woman continued. “Since this is the seventy-fifth Masked Love, this year will be different. In previous years there are only ten girls who are called into the Winner’s Circle. But this year we have decided that any girl who is called into the Winner’s Circle means her roommate will be allowed into the Winner’s Circle too. So instead of ten girls this year, there will be twenty!” All the girls broke into cheering and whooping while the news settled in. Once I realized what the lady said, my eyes widened and I stared incredulously back at Paris who looked surprised and at ease at the same time.

I couldn’t believe what I just heard! Désolé, je ne comprends pas!

My first impulse was to faint or pass out, whichever was faster. The fact that I just found out I was staying was unbearable. As cool as we were becoming to be, Paris would never do anything to get sent home, especially not for me. Her love was too much for the Prince and there was no point in trying to convince an unmovable girl.

A woman, I believe the one addressing us, appeared on the first few steps of the stairwell, Paris and I had descended. She was wearing a gray strapless gown that reached the floor and her copper hair was pulled tightly into a French twist. She held the microphone to her fuchsia lips while beaming at us. Her blazing grey eyes were trying to take all of us.

“The Ball has started but the Prince is feeling quite alone. Who is ready to give him needed company?” she asked. Ninety-nine hands went into the air and I smirked. Maybe she couldn’t tell the difference. I was wrong because her fierce eyes locked with mine. Even with the hands in the air, I could see her lips settling into a condescending purse which couldn’t be a good thing. Reluctantly raising my left hand, I rolled my eyes and looked somewhere else. Most of the girls didn’t need a moody outcast bringing down their high spirits anyways.

My hand fell down along with the others as she spoke again.

“Wonderful. Get ready-we will be assembling down the main stairwell in sixty seconds.” That was sixty seconds I could use to escape. To run and run, not to my room, but run all the way till I made it outside then get the hell out of here. But as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t. They would eventually find out.

Besides, I couldn’t catch the next plane out of here in this dress.

*******

Jack

Groaning loudly, I leaned on my perched fist, my elbow being the firm foundation. I earned a few disapproving looks from few aristocratic families, standing below me on the floor. I glared back, causing