Page 8 of Gilded Princess

I smooth my hands down the bodice, marveling at the way it hugs my frame like a second skin. It’s crafted to look like iridescent feathers overlapping one another, providing just enough coverage where I’m not indecent but still showing a few peeks of skin.

Two thick swaths of fabric from my waist up over my breasts to attach to a thin satin strap around my neck. There’s a purposeful cutout from my belly button to my neck, showing just the barest curve of my breasts. Black silk falls from my waist to pool around my feet in a small train.

The overall effect is just stunning. I feel sexy and powerful, like I could not only reach a goal but crush it without much effort. A dangerous feeling.

Turning to the side, I take in my profile, then peek over my shoulder to look from that angle. My hair reaches the bottom of my shoulder blades, and the black satin fabric clings to my ass in a way that boosts my confidence a few notches.

But my favorite part is the back of the dress—or the lack thereof. The entire back of the dress is open, so you only see a few feathers wrap around my ribs to stop at my lower back. My deep red hair looks like lava as it gently tickles my back. I curled it into soft glam waves tonight and pinned it back at the sides to give off that old Hollywood vibe.

No, there’s no way that Dolores forgot about this dress. Off the top of my head, I know at least five girls who would’ve grabbed this dress in an instant.

Lainey would love this whole look. I snap a quick photo to send her later and exit the bathroom. I follow the slow trickle of people walking toward the ballroom, murmuring my hellos to familiar faces.

That’s something that always struck me as odd. They require masquerade masks at this event every year, but it’s usually the same group of people who attend, so the idea of anonymity always felt a little silly. I mean, sure, these masks conceal a portion of your face, but usually I can deduce who it is by who they’re talking to or the sound of their voice.

When we first started attending this gala a few years ago, I let myself get swept up in the romanticism of it all. I thought for sure that I’d meet my very own white knight or Prince Charming underneath a mask. He’d whisk me off my feet, twirling me until our legs cramped from dancing and our cheeks ached from smiling.

But I was fourteen and most of the guys my age were entitled assholes who couldn’t handle their champagne. A few even tossed their cookies all over the dance floor. That was enough to kill any stars in my eyes, at least temporarily.

It’s still the same group of assholes, but at least they can handle their alcohol now.

A teeny, tiny part of me still secretly hopes someone will sweep off my feet one year. Mostly, I just use it as a good excuse to wear a stupidly expensive dress and dance the night away while sipping on expensive champagne and popping delicious hors d'oeuvres in my mouth.

Usually I have Lainey and Mary by my side, and we spend the evening together. This is the first year I’ve gone without them, and I have a feeling that this is just the tip of the iceberg.

I naively thought that we’d all room together forever—at least until we graduate college. But then Aunt Lana met some random guy in Boston, who’s apparently connected, and now Lainey’s all tangled up in a mess that I’m still trying to understand.

Lainey’s being taken care of by her soon-to-be stepbrothers slash boyfriends, so I only have to worry about my sister. My sister, who snuck in late last night and hasn’t left her room all day today.

I exhale, knowing that if she doesn’t start talking to me soon, I’ll have to whip out my last-ditch move and call Mom. And neither one of us wants that.

Pushing my worries to the back of my mind, I pick up my skirts and climb the small staircase that leads into the main room.

My heart skips a beat when I get my first uninterrupted view of the ballroom.

The committee outdid themselves this year. It’s transformed into an enchanted rainforest at sunset with shades of golden yellow and bright peach infused in everything. Soft, gauzy fabric runs from one wrought-iron chandelier to another, creating a tent-like effect.

Topiary trees frame the walls alongside various big, leafy plants, giving the space a lovely pop of color contrast. Plump red berries weigh down branches of the trees next to me, and perfectly formed Cara Cara oranges hang from the tree across the room.

Two dozen peach and golden peonies make up the centerpieces on every table, and plush overstuffed chairs and chaises in deep velvet fabrics add a rich element. Caterers dressed in all-black with black masks circulate the spacious room with trays of hors d'oeuvres and champagne. I snag a flute off a nearby tray and take a sip. Bubbles erupt on my tongue, quickly followed by the crisp, sweet taste of strawberries.

I take a moment to look around and get a feel for the room. A ten-piece string band plays in the corner, mixing radio hits with classical pieces, and I idly wonder if I can convince them to play a little Taylor Swift. My lips twitch at the idea of the mayor and his wife, who are currently snacking on prosciutto-wrapped asparagus, dancing to the instrumental version of “Shake It Off.”

I spot Blaire and her posse of frenemies from school making their way toward me, and I flash them a polite smile. Blaire leads the pack in a knockout dress that I’d bet my life she had custom-made.

“Solo tonight, Madison?” Blaire asks with a raised brow as she stops next to me.

Sammi, Peggy, and Hilary, all classmates at St. Rita’s, stand around us and sip champagne. One of the perks of being the youth of the wealthy, connected, and well-respected members of society, I suppose. No one cares if we sip on champagne at these types of events. Dressed in what I’m sure was a coordinated effort, all three girls look beautiful in their blue dresses, each shade complementary to one another.

I quirk my lips and cock my head to the side as I scan all four girls before coming back to Blaire. She’s not an enemy, and while I consider her a friend, I don’t trust her with my most-guarded secrets like I do with Lainey and Mary. “You know I like options, B.”

Blaire stares over the rim of her champagne flute as she tips it back for a sip. The deep emerald color of her form-fitting mermaid-style dress sparkles under the color-diffused light.

“Some of us don’t have that luxury,” she muses.

I know she’s referring to the fact that her parents signed a glorified marriage contract when she was still a toddler.

That’s how it is for a lot of these people here tonight. Most of the married couples here were arranged, and because of some archaic rule about bloodlines and shareholders, most of these families continue the tradition of arranged marriage.

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