THE HEARTBREAK SOCIETY

➶ 19

CRYSTAL CHANDELIERS SPIRALED from the ivory-coloured ceilings, illuminating the golden polished glided patterns along the walls. Inspired by European architecture, ornated carved Corinthian columns were the first thing that caught my eye. The center of the ceiling was glass, and I could only imagine how beautiful it was at night. 

Upon entering, the only thing that kept me from turning away and heading home was August's hand. There were three scholarship students on this trip, and one of them was me. Word travelled quickly. Outsiders didn't belong, and these people made it evidently clear that I was an unwelcome guest. After the announcement of our arrival, I hesitantly unzipped the oversized trenchcoat and handed it to the attendant by the entrance. The dress had caught everyone's attention. In moments, the looming and judgemental stares shifted into venerated and envious ones. It was almost unsightly of how quick they seemed to change. Gratefully smiling, the female attendant blushed, anxiously and carefully taking the coat. 

Attempting to avoid tedious conversations, I tugged August by the hand and ventured into the ballroom. With fascination swirling in my eyes, I observed the design and structure of the building. It inspired me, and it was a shame that I didn't have a sketchbook on hand. After August was caught in a meaningless conversation, I scanned my surroundings. 

On the far right of the room, a troupe of violinist and pianist sat on a large platform. Skillfully, the melody flowed together seamlessly. It left me in awe, watching their bodies sway and the genuine love for the instruments through the song. I hummed along, immediately recognizing it. My father loved classical music, and it was blasting through the house all the time. Mazurka in A minor by Chopin. 

While surveying around, the third thing that caught my attention was the five-foot triple chocolate fountain. When August witnessed my child-like grin, he finished up on his conversation and tilted his head in the direction. "One bite," I promised with a pout. 

August looped his fingers with mine, "Go ahead," he replied, following behind as I took the lead. His thumb lightly rubbed my hand, and I found myself enjoying the warmth. Most of all, this side of August was my favourite, even if it was all a facade. 

Twirling the strawberry around with a skewer stick, I excitedly took a bite. After doing so, I extended outwards that August could take the remaining mouthful. Raising a brow, he dipped his head and bit it. And all I could think was how tempting the entire dessert table seemed. Withholding the urge, I glanced up, startled when August's thumb wiped my bottom lip. Licking it, he cheekily smirked, "Sorry, you had a bit of chocolate on your lip," and although he apologized, he certainly didn't seem apologetic at all. 

Whenever I was put into embarrassing situations, I impulsively needed to laugh it off. As if the world was on my side today, a man in his late forties greeted August. He released his hold on my hand, sanitized it, then shook the man's hand. I hadn't noticed it until now. The middle-aged man stood a few inches shorter, wrinkles adorning around his eyes when he smiled. While they exchanged pleasantries, I identified him as a well-known business owner of several of the largest established architecture firms in the world. Harrington Hills—everyone wanted him in their project but failed to even cross paths with him. He was the man they wished to meet but couldn't, and he was currently standing in front of me, in the flesh. 

Perhaps noticing my attentive eyes, he averted his gaze, nodding to acknowledge me. "You have a good eye, miss," Harrington winked, "It's rare to see such admiration."

"I know real beauty when I see it. The Corinthian pillars are a phenomenal touch!" Gushing out, I added smoothly, "As lovely as it is though, instead of the flat surface of the ceiling with the center being glass," I trailed off, gesturing apprehensively, "I think, perhaps if it was a dome of glass, it would be simply breathtaking at night. I believe dancing beneath the stars is a captivating idea. For winters, you would have a closed-dome roof. And from the inside, although it would look like a dome, the outside would be flat. This would also be interchangeable throughout the seasons," contemplating on a suitable analogy, I meekly said, "Like a convertible."