A perfect life

In the golden ballroom, all becomes still. I see her at the entrance, a shy smile on her lips. It’s the smile that makes me recognise her, the small bashful curl of her lips. I spent hours examining her, glancing at her furtively whenever they shared a class together. She never notices me of course; she is too busy talking to her friends or helping that hapless Trevor with his pathetic attempts at chemistry.

This time, her wild untameable hair has been straightened into a smooth, stylish bun. Her body is usually hidden away by ugly baggy sweaters and tracksuits; however, her graceful neck is on display tonight, as are her slender arms and delicate ankles. Her almond-shaped eyes are rimmed by dark kohl and her lips are painted bright red, a small rosebud against her pale skin.

She looks like Helen of Troy, with her tall farm draped by cerulean taffeta and every eye in the room trained on her. Her partner-- some tall, dark-haired Italian-- links his thick arm with hers and together they descend down the marble stairway. As she walks, wisps of pale blue gauze float bounce with every movement she makes. Her face is now radiant with joy as she realises how beautiful she is.

‘Edward,’ whines Georgina, my date for the Winter Ball and tugs on my arm. I sigh but plaster on the most charming smile I can muster. Georgina’s face is wrinkled in displeasure when she realises that my attention is not on her.

‘I don’t know why you keep on gawping at her. She isn’t even that pretty,’ Georgina continues her high-pitched whining. I want to snap back at her but I am mindful of my parents observing me from the corner of the room. Mother is engaging in polite chit-chat with her friends but from time to time, I feel her gaze upon me. Father is less subtle: he observes me in that cold clinical way of his, a half-drunk flute of champagne clutched tightly in his hands. Since I am about to graduate university this year, he has been breathing down my neck, pressuring me to marry.

Georgina Von Haute, only daughter of Lord Albert von Haute, is the perfect match of course. Although her family is no longer as wealthy as it had been, her family is distantly related to the King and could trace back its lineage all the way back to William the Conqueror. Who could reject such perfect breeding? My family, the Fitzsimons, who are no less than three centuries old, are upstarts compared to the Von Hautes. However, if my father has any say about it, the Fitzsimons are on their way up in society.

When the orchestra starts to play, the couples whirl around the floor in a swirl of pretty petticoats and gleaming coattails. Georgina sighs blissfully into my suit as she rests her golden curls on my chest. It is a good thing that she has closed her eyes: she cannot see my longing looks at her.

The music stops and the couples bow to each other. I almost bump my nose onto Georgina’s forehead. Georgina complains that her feet are sore from all the dancing and hurries to the tables, where her friends are now convening. The dark Italian also leaves her alone to sip on some champagne.

She is still standing in the middle of the ballroom when the music starts again. If she were not a commoner, she would know that the proper action to take is to join

her date and mingle with the unpaired guests for the duration of the song. However, she just stands there, gently swaying to the music, in a world of her own.

Before I can stop myself, I find myself striding towards her. Her dark eyes snap up in alarm but I stand before her, blocking her exit.

‘May I?’ I ask, offering my gloved hand.

Gingerly, she places her elegant pianist’s fingers into my outstretched hand. We are now standing so close to each other that I can count the freckles on her tanned face. She smells like soap and the wildflowers growing in the courtyard; her scent is a welcome change to the overwhelming perfume Gerogina obsesses over. I inhale deeply when my arm, encircling her waist, brings her closer to my trembling body. She is much taller than Georgina so my eyes lock into hers.

We whirl around the room, narrowly avoiding other couples; she is not clearly not trained in dance as she trips over her own gown and misses the count more than once. When I dip her down, she almost falls over! Georgina would have righted herself immediately and blushed bright red but she merely grins at me and with a huff, I pull her back up.

The music stops too soon and the Italian pulls her away from me. Her eyes linger on me one last time before she puts her attention on her date. I hear her laugh splendidly as they walk away. I turn to walk away too -- the air is suddenly too stifling.

I lean on the balcony overlooking the university’s gardens. I loosen the tight ascot around my neck and take off the cufflinks on my shirt to enjoy the coolness of the night.

A wall of sadness hits me as I realise that this may be the last time I set foot in France. My family’s business is due to transfer to America as soon as university finishes and when my Father finally passes, I would be expected to manage the family’s estates in Wiltshire. However, it is not the fine cuisine or charming cafes that I will miss the most about France.

It is her. She, who I first met at age eleven, all those years ago at school. The girl who had the temerity to best me, heir to one of the wealthiest families in the world, in every subject. The girl who refused to swoon over me like the others and challenged all my beliefs. The girl, who despite her low birth and dubious heritage, won a coveted place to study at one of the most prestigious universities in the world.

‘How are you finding the party Edmund?’ a bemused voice asked me.

The stench of tobacco and whisky assaults me. Sighing, I turn to face the interloper. Karl von Meer, the Margrave of Blomberg. He smirked at my crestfallen expression and put a meaty hand around my shoulders.

‘Fine,’ I grit out, an excuse already on my lips to leave his vicinity.

‘Why so taciturn, my friend? Are you too excited at your upcoming nuptials with Miss Prissy?’

‘Don’t call Georgina that,’ I snap and my hands curl into fists.

‘Ever the chivalrous gentleman,’ von Meer replies with a leer. He quickly looks around and whispers loudly, ‘But you don’t like high-society creampuffs like Miss Haute, do you? You are more interested in the exotic, are you not? Tall, lean and dark is more ---’

‘Don’t be stupid von Meer,’

Forcefully, I dislodge his beefy arm from my person and turn to go inside.

‘We all know you like making eyes at that mulatto bitch! I bet Daddy will be so proud. It’s a shame you weren’t the one to deflower her tight dirty –’

Quick as a whip, I spin around and bring my face only inches away from his. Although he is stronger than me, I tower over him and I easily wrap my fingers around the lapels of his jacket.

We glare at each other for a while. His normally pale face is flushed red by alcohol and there is a malevolent glint in his eye. His pale watery eyes glance over my shoulder; it is the fast movement of someone not wanting to give away a particularly tantalising secret.

I follow his stare.

Near the great doors, I see her, all willowy and graceful in her gauze turquoise gown. She is smiling unreservedly and about to leave the ball, go into her dorm, fall asleep, wake up the next morning, pack her bags and then leave here forever. Leave my life forever.

With a shove, I let go of Karl and rush after her. Her long legs carry her up the sweeping stairs and into the corridors. Huffing and puffing, I finally catch up with her as she is about to enter her dormitory.

‘Ava,’ I say and my arm reaches out to grab her.

She flinches but does not brush me off. Her black eyes look into my green ones, a curious expression on her face.

‘You can’t leave. I love you Ava Bauregarde. I love the way your hair curls, how it’s untameable, just like you. I love your fiery passion and your patient kindness. I love your quick wit and your quicker temper—’

‘Stop,’ she says and puts her finger to my lips. Her eyes roam my face, looking for signs of deception. When she finds none, she sighs.

‘So if I tell you that I was willing to run away with you tonight, you would do it?’ she asks sceptically.

What would I be throwing away if I run away with her? I would be disinherited and cast out of the illustrious Fitzsimons family, a most noble and wealthy dynasty. I would no longer have to fulfil my father’s expectations and stifle any individuality to please him. I would no longer have to listen to prejudice after prejudice sprouted by my parents and so-called friends. And I would no longer be condemned to a loveless marriage with Georgina, who could not love me as much as she loved herself.

After a heartbeat that feels like an eternity, I say, ‘Yes’.

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Waiting, a heart filled with hope and a bouquet of wildflowers clutched in my arm. The clock strikes midnight, followed by silence as most of the students and partygoers had returned home.

In the gloom, I spot a dark figure draped in a cloak that hides her face. However, I can recognise that graceful gait and slim silhouette anywhere.

She carries nothing but a small, battered suitcase; I blush at my trunks and bags piled at the back of the carriage. She wordlessly accepts my flowers and climbs into the waiting carriage, where she sits so close to me, I can hear her heart beating.

Trembling, I take off my gloves and touch her, feeling her soft warm skin, her long eyelashes, her small nose and high cheekbones—oh, to discover Ava by braille!

‘Are you sure you want to make such a dramatic life change just to be with me?’ Ava asks before the coach sets off.

Wordlessly, I pull her onto me and press my lips against hers. We only part to gasp for air. Under the cover of darkness, the coach sets off.

‘Yes, a thousand times, yes. I am all yours,’ I whisper, with her in my arms as I leave my old life forever.