Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Eden Senior Ball

Becky Blackbell and Leston Affridge arrived at the Eden Senior Ball in a sleek, midnight blue sports car. 

The model of a gentleman, Leston stepped out of the driver’s seat. His black oxfords scuffed the pavement, and he rubbed a checkered handkerchief over the bonnet of his graduation present.

“Leston!” called his date, tone light but insistent.

“Coming, baby!” 

His dashing smile earned him a pardon from his date at once. Becky’s gloved hand slipped into his. Carelessly, Leston shot the valet his keys. 

Heads turned to regard the Blackbell heiress and her latest conquest. 

A golden mermaid-style dress clung to her, fitted in all the right places for all the wrong reasons. Her ruby lips curled into a playful smirk, and brown eyes sparked with mischief. 

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The live band played a set of upbeat songs that demanded more movement from the dancers.

Becky rode the carousel of bachelors, plucking a new gentleman from the throng with every new song. 

The slits in her dress climbed higher as she danced, showing more thigh than she would normally like. Soon, she was thinking less about her dance partners and more about the cool night air kissing her exposed shoulders and legs. 

Scorned and ravenous for validation, Becky enjoyed feeling male eyes on her.

Is Leston watching? And so what if he is? 

Remembering an all-important proverb, she whispered, “Blackbells never beg.”

“You say something, Blackbell?”

That voice! I know that voice way too well. 

Ewen Egeburg peered down at her with disinterested, slate-blue eyes. Clearly, he hoped she would respond with something stimulating. Hell, he’d have settled for talking about the weather if it saved him from boredom.

Becky’s nose wrinkled, and she dropped his leading hand like his skin burned through her glove. 

“How’d I end up dancing with you?”

“Don’t look disgusted. You pulled me onto the dance floor.” 

Ewen shifted his right leg and sidestepped, sidestepped back to the left, then turned, and she dutifully followed his lead. They swayed to the rhythm, loosely holding each other in a relaxed frame.  

“You’re not a terrible dancer,” said Becky, surprised.

“You flatter me.”

Leston stood too handsome, too chiseled, and too close to a fetching young lady. When he sweetly tucked a strand of raven hair behind her ear, the sapphire stud on her earlobe sparkled just so. Leston smoothly rubbed his hand on his neck in a shy, boyish way.

And Becky realized his tie was gone. The tie she had picked out for him.

Sleaze! You should be doting on me! What does she have that I don’t have?!

Manicured fingernails dug deep into Ewen’s shoulders. He could feel them through three layers of high-end clothing. Eyebrows raised, Ewen bent low to ask Becky if she would kindly retract her claws. 

Becky snapped her head up, pretty face contorted by rage, envy, and determination. 

A flick of her wrist, and her hair wrap untied. Strands of curled chestnut hair hit her mid-back in layered waves. She wrapped the sparkling ribbon around her wrist a few times and tucked in the ends. For the finishing touch, she unclipped her bangs and fastened her beloved ba-bomb pin to the neckline of her dress. 

Ewen braced. 

Over the years, he had learned her tells. Loose hair, hunched shoulders, rapid breathing, wicked grin. 

Becky was up to something. But wha–

“Wow, Egeburg!” 

He flinched. 

“I didn’t know you were such an animal on the dance floor! In fact…” Becky raised herself on her tiptoes and her humid breath tickled his temple. “I could dance with you all night long.”

A beat, and every muscle in Ewen’s body coiled tight. He wedged his hands under Becky’s palms and pushed her back.

“Wow, Blackbell.” His fair eyebrows arched, and his half-smile mocked. “Fanclub bothering you that much? I thought you liked the attention.”

Snickers tickled her ears. Heat crawled up her neck and settled on her face. 

“It’s just–” She scrambled. “Just–!”

“Disco fever?”

Ewen pointed his index finger up then down diagonally, thrusting his hips opposite to where he was pointing. 

Laughter lifted from the crowd, and Emile goaded him to keep dancing disco. 

Channeling their grade-school housemaster, Becky remarked, “How inelegant, Ewen Egeburg! Is that how you treat your dance partner?”

For a moment, he looked wounded. Then he remembered he was speaking with just Becky Blackbell and fell into a sort of easy groove. 

“Weak sauce, Blackbell. We’re not grade-schoolers anymore.”

Becky glanced at Leston, who imitated the popular dance moves. 

He’s paying more attention to Egeburg than he is to me, thought Becky grimly.

Beside Leston, his new paramour tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear, and the sapphire sparkled again. The woman’s eyes settled on Leston, and his eyes sparkled too. 

The final, yearning strain of the viola hung suspended in the cool night air, fading like the memory of a ghost. 

And Becky lost. 

Why won’t you choose me?