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From the edge of the ballroom, he watches her. Fair skin and spun-gold hair, captured in the soft light, vividly contrasted by the black satin dress that whirls around her. Her eyes glimmer like emeralds, visible even all these meters away. She is perfect, Verso thinks. An angel from the heavens, come down to grace them all with her presence.
He is, as his sisters would say, utterly besotten. Lost. Head over heels. Smitten. He has thought of nothing but her for two weeks now, ever since he caught a glimpse of her at the bakery.
A brush of movement at his elbow - Alicia, mask firmly in place. She rarely does more than hover at the edges of these events, too uncomfortable to mingle. He has offered, time and again, to step onto the floor and dance with her, but - she refuses, always. Her pale blue eye glitters mirthfully as she passes him a note.
“It’s a good thing you aren’t providing the music tonight. I imagine you’d have lost your place three times over, at least.”
Verso valiantly attempts to ignore the warmth rising in his cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m not blind, Verso. Not completely, anyhow.”
“I didn’t say you were!” He splutters, caught off-guard. She must be in an especially good mood to be making such witticisms about her sight.
“Didn’t say she was what?” He turns to see Clea, a delicate flute of champagne in her hand, pins glittering in her hair. She smirks. “What hole is my brother digging himself into now?”
“I’m not-!” He attempts, but Alicia has already scribbled out another note.
“He’s head over heels for someone.”
“Well yes, I’m sure even Monoco’s figured that out by now.” Clea returns drily.
“That’s not - how could he know, he’s not even here right now!”
“He would. One look at you and he would.” Clea says. At his other side, Alicia nods sagely.
“Why don’t you both - ” he starts, but his train of thought abruptly scatters as he catches sight of her again, nearer than before. She’s spinning from one partner to the next, her hair a golden halo around her head. There are beads sewn into her dress, he realizes, catching the light and turning her into a field of stars, like a constellation fallen to earth -
Clea snickers into her glass of champagne. “You were right, Alicia. He’s got it bad.”
Verso gives up any attempt at pretense. “You’re one to talk.” He grumbles.
“At least I’m tasteful about it, brother dear.” Downing the last of her drink, she sets the glass on a nearby table. “Not even going to ask her for a dance?”
He flushes again. “I was - I will!”
“Mm-hm.” In a flourish of deep blue silk, she abruptly pushes away from the wall. “Alicia, make sure he doesn’t run off, would you?”
“What are you - hey!” His younger sister latches onto his arm as Clea moves into the crowd. His heart drops into his stomach as he realizes exactly where she is going. “Wait - nonononono…!” He is absolutely not ready for this, his tongue tied and his head fuzzy from too much champagne. He briefly considers retreating dishonorably to his room, but - Alicia is an anchor on his wrist, and he’s quite sure that she’ll put up a fuss if he attempts to drag her along. All he can do is watch helplessly as Clea glides up to Julie and offers a hand, all grace and elegance. He doesn’t have a hope of making out what they say, but Julie nods, looking slightly overwhelmed, and the two turn and begin to make their way directly. Towards. Him.
He wonders, perhaps, if the Manor floor would be kind enough to swallow him if he asks nicely. Before he gets the chance to find out, Julie is right in front of him.
“My brother, Verso.” Clea says smoothly - always quick to adopt social pleasantries when it suits her needs. “And my younger sister, Alicia.”
Julie curtsies. “A pleasure to meet you both.” Her tone is hesitant, but unfailingly polite. At his side, Alicia releases her death-grip on his arm and curtsies lightly back. Most people flinch at the sight of her face, even covered by the porcelain mask as it is, but Julie doesn’t, politely nodding her head at the younger girl and turning to face Verso.
His brain finally catches up to the situation. “The pleasure is mine, madamoiselle.” He recites, grasping her hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it (he’s secretly never been more grateful for his parents’ etiquette lessons). He’s seen her across the counter in the bakery, but - the warm light, the barrettes in her hair, the kindness in her eyes - she is radiant here.
“Your sister said you were looking for a dance partner?” says Julie.
His mind stops again at the thought of dancing with her, of holding her close and swaying to the music and - “I, uh, I can’t - I mean - ”
Her brow creases slightly downward in confusion. “You can’t dance?” She inquires.
Clea’s hand flies to her mouth to stop her laughter. Beside him, Alicia makes a strangled noise. “No! I mean - I don’t practice much - it’s hard to dance while playing piano, non?” He grimaces at his own weak attempt at humor.
Her lips curve upwards. “I suppose it is, monsieur.”
“Call me Verso.” He manages.
“Verso, then.” She holds out her hand. “Permit me the honor of a dance?”
His hand finds hers, and she pulls him along. The music has slowed to a waltz, smooth and sweeping. It’s easy for him to step into the familiar form, clasping her waist with his other hand, but - close as she is, his heart thunders in his ears, drowning out the beat of the music. He stumbles, stepping out of time with her footsteps.
“A Dessendre not knowing how to dance?” She teases, waiting for him to recover his dignity.
“I am distracted!” He protests, finding his feet.
A lifted eyebrow. “By what, pray tell?” She says lightly, “Am I not fascinating enough to keep your attention?”
“On the contrary,” he breathes, “You are my attention.”
He sees her cheeks color, but she lifts her chin proudly. “It will take more than cheap flattery to impress me, monsieur Dessendre.”
He lifts her hand, guiding her into a spin. “Julie,” he says softly, “You decorate the pastries at Angelique’s Boulangerie. You always add a little extra sugar for people you care about.” It must be the alcohol burning in his blood, surely, to loosen his tongue like this. “You gather breadcrumbs and scatter them for the birds on your way home. You like to spend your weekends at the library. If the weather is nice, you’ll take a book to the park to read.”
Her viridian eyes are fixed on his, wide with shock. “Verso…”
They’re still moving, still dancing - his heart is pounding with the beat of the waltz, his blood pulsing in time with her steps. “How could I not take notice of you? Your beauty, your strength your kindness, your generosity… you are like an angel. You shine and make everyone around you brighter for it.”
Julie swallows, but maintains her composure. “I see you come in every morning,” she says softly, “With your notebook. You like strawberries on your pastries.” Step, step, step. They’re closer together now. “You chew on the end of your pencil when you’re frustrated, and you sign your name with a little flourish at the end.”
“You’ve noticed?” He murmurs.
“How could I not notice you? You tuck yourself away in your corner of the world like a little shadow, but you can’t help but stand out to me.”
The music is building to its final crescendo. Emboldened, Verso sweeps her around, carrying her off her feet, setting her down just as the waltz finishes. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright, and he can tell from the warmth in his own face that he’s just as red. He tingles with elation, feeling lighter than a cloud, as though he might float away. He sees his sisters’ distinct red hair out of the corner of his eye, but refuses to glance over and give them any chance to gloat.
“So you can dance.” She teases.
“When sufficiently motivated.” He returns, and is rewarded by her face turning even redder.
“Verso…”
“Julie.” Verso lifts her knuckles to his lips again. “Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner tomorrow?”
“I think…” she breathes, “I would enjoy that very much.”