Masquerade

14

"So, what do you think?" Mr. dawson asks for the third time since I've been here.

I smile at his giddy impatience before letting my gaze travel once more around the dance hall, taking in the progress that's being made. I nod thoughtfully. It's all coming together so fast, I think. Of course there is still a lot to be done, but I feel confident we have plenty of time left to do it.

"It looks wonderful, Mr. Dawson. And I didn't even have to lift a finger." I smile at him and he shakes his head at me.

"You did the hard part, my dear: you designed it. If not for you, there's no telling what kind of mess we'd have had it in."

I laugh lightly, then look away and back out into the spacious room. There are already tables covered with period dated cloth, ceiling hangings, amber lighting to simulate candlelight, wall hangings to imitate tapestries. It has gone from a bare walled dance hall to something out of the fifteenth or sixteenth century.

"You would have done just fine, I'm sure," I say, turning to look back at my father's friend.

"Don't underestimate yourself, young lady," he says with a fatherly tone. "You have an exceptional talent for good taste. Much better than I have, I'm afraid. Just ask my wife. She'll vouch that I'm telling the truth."

I giggle at that, as I don't have to ask Mrs. Dawson. I've seen him when he's in unofficial attire and he's not wrong. I'm no fashion buff, but I can at least match a top with bottoms, even if it's just a t-shirt and jeans. It's actually kind of adorable really, his lack of fashion sense, and perfectly suits his bright personality.

I look over at the dance floor again, where several men are arranging large speakers around an obscured DJ booth. Scott, Aiden, and Nick are among them and I smile fondly at seeing them here. Our brunch three days ago had been a little awkward, but it seems everyone has moved past that now, even me.

I've not heard from Spencer since the night before that, and I'm glad. I'm still processing what happened between us that night, and I'm not prepared to face what it might mean for my future. Maybe once the Gala is behind me I'll be able to give it the consideration it requires, but for now this is what I need to focus my energy on.

As if he can feel my eyes studying him, Nick looks my way and gives me a bright smile. I lift my hand to wave at him before I look back at Mr. Dawson.

"I wason Main Street yesterday," I tell him. "If I didn't know better, I'd think I'd fallen through a time warp. I kept waiting to see a group of knights ride down the middle of the street, on their way to battle."

He beams at me and puffs out his chest, obviously proud, as well he should be. Already Main Street is being lined with booths, slowly turning it into a medieval market of sorts. Soon, side streets connecting to it will resemble back alleys, and will be adorned with their own renaissance attire.

Though the Gala is still a week and a half away, everything is being set up ahead of schedule, which is a good thing. It's always better to be ahead of schedule than behind it, especially with something as big as this.

I hadn't really thought I'd be excited for the festivities this year, all things considered, but I'm finding I was wrong. With the exception of the role I'll have in them, I feel almost as excited now as I have in previous years. I have my friends and Mr. Dawson to thank for that. And my dad, of course. Though I'm not a part of it in quite the same way I once was, I am still a part. That makes me feel almost normal again.

Normalcy is far underrated.

"Haveyou seen the kissing booths yet?" my companion interrupts my musings. "Your brother and Mr. Kingsley have done an exceptional job in their design."