Sweeter than Fiction: A Taylor Swift Fic

Chapter 11: Just Another Wide-Eyed Girl

There was just barely enough light to see the regal British estate looming at the end of the drive, tealights illuminating the way to the party. A hush had fallen over us in the hired car. Before the just-as-amazing-as-Downton castle had come into view, Caitlin, the gaggle of dancers, and me had been laughing and practicing our British accents. We were all dolled up in full costume — masquerade masks, bejeweled gowns, and a shoulder-length wavy dark brown wig for me. I caught my reflection in the window and barely recognized myself: dark hair and dark lips (Lorde style) framed by the most feline mask I could find. If I couldn’t buy a cat a day, at least I could dress up as one at a fancy ball, right?

The car came to a stop, and a valet — wearing a mask and tux — opened the door, and we all spilled out. As I opened my mouth to say, Thank you, he held a finger up to his lips, shushing me, and he smirked. Right. The invitation had said that there was no speaking at this masquerade ball, and with a string of tour dates mere days away at London’s O2 Arena, my vocal chords won’t mind the rest. The six of us hesitating a moment before going inside to the party, exchanging a look as if to say, There may be no talking but there can be texting when necessary.

But as soon as we walked through the doors, the no-speaking rule didn’t even matter; I was speechless. It was the most extravagantly, elaborately, beautifully decorated room I’d ever been in — candles everywhere, lush fabrics, tables overflowing with fruit and carafes of wine and maybe that thing was a boar? We moved through the guests, all dutifully wearing masks and using made-up-on-the-spot sign language to communicate. The only sounds were a strange but beautiful music and the odd laugh escaping from a guest. Passageways, doorways, curtained nooks and crannies led off the main room in all manner of directions; it was like Hogwarts with its rearranging staircases but, you know, real. I spotted a waiter with an uncorked bottle of champagne and motioned for the gang to follow me over. I’d watched too many episodes of Law & Order to drink from a pre-poured glass of wine at a slightly surreal and freaky party, even if was thrown by the something-something Duke of Something.

Glass of champagne in hand, and without even a gesture toward the dance floor we’d glimpsed at the far side of the hall, we all instinctively headed there. If you can’t talk, then dance, right? It felt so strangely thrilling to be moving around the crowded room with no one giving me that double-take “Is that…?” look I get anytime I’m at a party, or at Whole Foods, or wherever. Tonight I wasn’t Taylor Swift. Tonight I was completely anonymous. I could be anyone in the whole wide world. I’m no one special, I’m just another wide-eyed girl.

After a few songs where we attempted to bust out our “club moves” in 18th-century style ballgowns — not easy, let me tell you — the music abruptly stopped. A spotlight switched on with a thunk and curtains parted to reveal a stage that I could have sworn hadn’t been there a minute earlier and a string quartet began playing a waltz. From behind them streamed a dozen men in tuxes and masks, each more elaborate than the last. The last one’s was in the shape of a fox, and though his face was almost completely hidden there was something about the glint in his eye and the cut of his jaw that made me want to approach this strange masked man. I felt a rush of courage and decided that since I had this hour or two where I could escape my world … why not?

The crowd on the dancefloor had thinned a little, and people were pairing off into waltzing couples. I could see my fox was still alone, so I adjusted my cat mask, making sure my face was as covered as could be, and I pounced.

I caught his eye, and (thankful for all my recent dance classes) I twirled once in his direction, stopping just up against him, and I rested one hand on his shoulder. The other hand I held out expectantly and I cocked one eyebrow at him. His lips parted a bit as if to speak but I shook my head: No speaking. He took my hand, and pulled me closer with his other arm, and we began to move to the music. He was just about my height — I was slightly taller than him with these heels on — and he was slender but built. He felt, well, good and…bizarrely familiar. We danced and if I’d dreamed the moment it couldn’t have looked more perfect or felt more like an escape into a fantasy-world where I was this whole other person, living in a completely different era. One of balls and masquerades, formal dances and …feathers and confetti floating down from the ceiling? I looked up in wonder, and my masked stranger spun me around, pulled me in tight, and then twirled me away again. 

As I stood apart for that moment, and before I even realized what I was doing, I started moving toward one of the curtained areas and I beckoned to him to follow me. What was I doing? What was I about to do? I looked back, and saw he was game, trailing me off the dance floor and into the shadows. We ducked behind a red velvet curtain, and there it was quieter, darker…definitely more private. I reached up to touch his face, to try to get a sense of what he might look like under that mask, and his hand slid up my bare arm, giving me the shivers in the best way. This is happening, I thought to myself, and so instead of waiting for him to make the next move, I grabbed him and kissed him. Like, seriously kissed him. A kiss that instantly ranked in the top-five most intense kisses of my life. And he kissed me back, and I felt lost in the moment, lost from myself…

Until he nipped my lip in a passionate yet playful way. I thought there was something familiar about this fox.

“Harry?!”

He pushed up his mask, totally puzzled to be found out, and I could see it in his eyes when it clicked who he had just been smooching. 

“Taylor. I… I hadn’t the slightest it was you.” And then he smiled that beautiful smile that had once melted my heart and now cooled any notion of being anything but happy to be found out by someone who would keep my identity secret.

“Guess we got to have that one last kiss after all.”

 ***

What madcap adventures will our girl get up to next week? In between her London and Berlin tour dates, will she...

A — Go to Belle Paris 

B — Go to Lake Como in Italy!