Our hearts pounded enough to feel, banging as if they wanted to escape and run off together right there. Every touch, despite being sparse, was electric.
People were looking; the thin hairs on my neck and arms told me so. Ironically, it had the same thrill of a stage.
Arkady’s touches brought me back, and there it was. A smile. Pure and absent of malice.
“Is something funny?” I whispered.
He shook his head. “You’re radiant.”
A bell chimed, dampening the music of the instruments and inviting a chorus of excitable chatter.
Even when I tried to pull away, Arkady’s grip on me tightened. My breath caught in my throat. The crowd began to move to the adjacent room, yet he held me there still. His eyes looked sincere, like there was something else he wanted to say.
I waited for it, but it never came. Like it caught in his throat and dissolved the instant my attention was drawn.
“I have to go.” I twisted my wrist in his grip.
He snatched it, but the touch was gentler as he raised my hand to his lips. He kissed the back. “Then I suppose I shall let you go”—he studied me for a moment—“for now.”
He released me, but I was already overheating. Though I think it had to do with being ripped from such a moment of bliss and thrust back into the reality that exists outside of ourselves.
The crowd gathered at the bottom of the stairs, a sea of leering strangers. The auctioneer poised at his podium with a gavel and papers. The first items were to be auctioned in order of starting bids, lowest to highest. I positioned myself beside the banister with my sisters and my mother, ready for our turns when they would come.
Félice forced her hand in mine, squeezing. I looked at her, and she only raised a single brow. I furrowed mine at her to ask why she was looking at me. She swiped a finger across her undereye in a gesture.
I blinked and touched my face. It was hot and wet; a tear had slipped through. I wiped my cheek and sighed. Félice squeezed my hand again, this time in silent reassurance rather than to seek my attention.
The auction items went fast, and not just because of the quick speech and shuffling of the crowd. There was a painting from my parents’ private collection. Miscellaneous accessories, jewelry, antiques, and more fine art than the most esteemed museums. Lastly, a statue of a couple dancing collected from Arkady. Did it hurt him, seeing his work resold, or was it a badge of pride?
Was he watching?
Cosette was first to the stage after the sculptures. Her figure was immaculate. She was a slight bit taller than I was, her pregnant belly carrying low, which complemented the sweeping fabric of her gown that went straight to the floor with little bunching or draping. Her train connected high in the back like a cape. A soft dusty pink that matched her cheeks and a few of the flowers in her hair. If anyone was having a good time, it was her. She smiled and walked in a circle, displaying the dress before the auctioneer announced the starting bid.
This was when therealauction started. It was funny seeing grown men fight over a dress, throwing out life-changing amounts of money for something they had no use for, perhaps an outfit their mistress might wear for them once and never again.
I shouldn’t have judged; this was for charity, after all. Maybe some of these men were honest and would gift it to their wives, maybe daughters. But I couldn’t be blamed for my pessimism, as they’d all been spotted not less than five times at the ballet. Some seats even had their names on them.
Félice let go of my hand. She was next.
The farther she got from me, the more my ears began to ring. The crowd got taller, the room larger—or maybe it only appeared thatway from feeling all too small. I tried not to look at the faces, my environment. It would be my turn soon. One more performance and I could go home. I could discard the dress, the jewelry, the tight hairstyle, this life.
I wouldn’t do another year of this. No, I was not in the business of pleasing people any longer.
The auctioneer’s voice cut through, announcing my own cue to enter. I took a hard swallow to ease the dry despair, then climbed up the long steps until I reached the plateau, letting my gown settle at its intended length. I stepped in a small circle, making sure the short train would gather gracefully behind me on the floor.
It took a moment to build up the courage for my eyes to leave the pattern on the carpet, slowly focusing on the crowd ahead. A sea of people, glittering with wealth and inflated self-importance.
“Opening the bidding at three hundred,” the auctioneer called.
Immediately, little white numbered paddles popped up all through the mass of people. They began bobbing up and down. If I squinted, it could look something like prairie dogs peeking from their burrows.
The squabbling fast-talk of the auctioneer registered so foreign, it might as well have been a separate language, aside from the “sprouts of numbers,” as he called them.
Four hundred, six hundred, one thousand.
All I needed to do was stand, smile, and be quiet.
I scanned the crowd. Did Arkady see me from wherever he was? Was he off getting a drink? Talking with someone else while he waited? It was no surprise that he hated gatherings; I suspected he may have been as claustrophobic as myself.
