Friday April 28, 1933

8 days until the wedding

At just after 4 o'clock in the afternoon, I stepped out into the chilly air with a deep side part and finger waves, held in place by fresh liquid bandoline. Daddy paid for my hair to be blown out at the salon on the day of the party. He also treated Mother and Mrs. King.

Within the hour, I'd finished my deviled chicken breast and half grapefruit. I figured, if I ate before the party instead of stuffing my face after the event, I could spend more time chatting with the guests. Plus, it would look incredibly chic if no one saw me take a bite of anything all night.

I smiled imagining the inevitable payoff – whispers of I wish I could shed the pounds as fast as she can, I'll never look like that even if I try my hardest…

At 6, I dotted a bit of extra rouge on the tip of my nose, pulled on my gloves, and headed down the stairs. At half past, I stepped out of William's cab and walked through the entryway. After that, I lost track of time. Royce's eyes on me, in my all-white party dress and elbow-length silk gloves, were the only thing I measured.

My dress had cap sleeves, a low back, and hemmed at my ankles – tea length. The fabric was especially shimmery. It was certainly the most "fun" dress of my wedding season, save for the actual dress.

The actual dress, which would be ready to try on by Sunday. I knew I'd be able to fit.

And in the meantime, Royce was practically salivating at the sight of me.

"Good night, gorgeous," he said, smirking as I sauntered toward him.

"Good evening, handsome."

"Rose, I've never in my life seen a dame look this stunning. Wow."

"Thank you, love."

"How many times did traffic stop for you on your way over here?" he took my hand and spun me, taking in the view.

"You know I'm not taking count of nonsense like that. I'm all for you."

He kissed me. I couldn't stop grinning.

The guests weren't scheduled to start arriving until 8, so the Kings and Hales were back in the sitting room. The two patriarchs opened a bottle of champagne, but were the only two to imbibe. Royce, gentlemanly as ever, refused.

"Champagne's not up my alley," he explained.

The men smoked cigars, the record player crooned, and Royce could barely keep his eyes off of me. As the party drew nearer, his hands weren't able to stay away, either.

More than once, when no one was looking, he'd stand just behind me and put his hands on my waist, squeeze lightly, and pull me back into him. I'd feel him press against my rump for half a second before he stepped away. My heart was racing.

The first time he'd wrapped his hands around my waist, I thought he was going to tickle me again. The memory of the other night by the courts ghosted through me for one adrenaline-filled moment, but then he was caressing me. This was different. This was exciting to me.

This was what Vera had been talking about. I was sure of it.

By the third time he did it, I found myself wishing that our families weren't in the room with us.

But then 8 o'clock came around, and we set out.

I heard the hum of our guests and the tinkle of the grand piano in the ballroom a good twenty paces away. Royce was so elated, he almost blew right through our cue; luckily, I had enough wherewithal to rein him in, tugging back on his elbow as we neared the marble balustrade.

"Patience," I giggled.

He rolled his ice-blue eyes and sighed, taking a few steps back from the landing. "I'm just ready, baby."

He leaned in to kiss me, but I turned my cheek so his mouth would land the corner of my lips. "Lipstick, love."

"...Right," he nodded.

I took a lap around the room, pacing to pass the time. On the opposite side, I noticed a corridor unfamiliar to me. It was easy to miss – almost like you had to be looking for it to see it.

A spiral staircase descended past where I could see. There were no lights.

"What's down that way?" I inquired.

"Don't worry about it, baby."

"I'm not worried," I laughed. "I'm just curious."

And then we heard the crowd hush. He took my arm and steered me back to our waiting spot, the mystery corridor forgotten.

Francis's voice rang out.

"Distinguished guests, I present to you – Miss Rosalie Lillian Hale, escorted by Mr. Royce Arthur King, Junior."

Royce led me around the bend and onto the awning, where we were met with wide eyes and stupefied gasps. Camera lenses shuttered as their flashbulbs fired.

I hadn't expected applause. Which, I suppose, was silly of me.

Of course they'd applaud as we descended the staircase. It was a picture-perfect moment, to be sure; the most gorgeous girl in town on Royce King's arm must've looked exactly as right as it felt. I would've had to fight not to smile ear-to-ear, and not just because of my own happiness. I imagined the happiness of my observers, too.

How fortunate for them to witness this – the beginning of a new era in Rochester. A new standard had been set for the debutantes to come. The swell of the piano music made me feel like I was in a talkie as I took in the faces below.

Our families, naturally, all pink-cheeked and grinning. Mother and Mrs. King were both wiping their eyes. I thought I saw Daddy blink back a few tears, too.

Marie, Samantha, Elsie, Poppy – my girlfriends from finishing school – all applauded, their eyes trained on me. Poppy held an infant on her hip. Ah, and Samantha was pregnant!

The chief of police, his wife, and their four kids. The mayor! Goodness gracious.

Several distinguished members of the town were scattered throughout, as well as several couples I'd never seen. Must've been friends of the King family. There would be plenty of time for introductions.

And there was a group of young men, about Royce's age, clustered together that I didn't recognize. Their eyes, like those of every other man on the property, followed my descent. I saw one of Daddy's banking colleagues lick his lips.

I scanned the crowd for Vera. No dice. Frederick and Henry were nowhere to be found, either. My smile faltered for a split second as worry wormed through me. Had Henry's condition worsened?

I resolved to stop by tomorrow and check in.

In the meantime, I had a destiny to acquire.

I didn't get to see much of Royce at our engagement party, really. After some portrait photography and a welcome toast, we each got swept up by our respective admirers.

Well into the evening, I found myself doting on Poppy's baby – a little girl, named Dorothea.

"You've been such a dear friend to me," she gushed. I'm just so thrilled for you."

"Oh, Poppy, you're a gem," I crooned. The baby wrapped all four fingers around one of mine. "I'm delighted you brought her. How old is she?"

"Just about four months," she said. I nodded. I had a lot of catching up to do if we wanted our children to be in the same school year. Hopefully, we'd sync up somewhere down the line. Maybe our second, or third children…

"Well, she's darling," I appraised her, wiggling my finger inside her tiny hand. The baby laughed. "And she has excellent grip strength."

"Learned that the hard way," Poppy groaned. "Ripped an earring right off of our wet nurse. Tore through the lobe and everything."

I winced. "Heavens."

"In any case, I'm just delighted to catch up. Do you remember – "

"Has she started to roll over yet?"

Poppy blinked. "Pardon?"

"Sweet Dorothea," I clarified, a little frustrated. It wasn't that hard to keep up with the pace of conversation. "They start to turn over on their own around the four month mark, yes?"

"...I suppose," she answered. "A few times in the crib, perhaps."

"Well, it's only a matter of time," I beamed as the baby gurgled happily, squeezing my finger almost enough to hurt. "And then teething! I'm certainly not looking forward to that part."

"It won't be at the top of my list, either. So, Rosalie, you know the tailor who – "

"Does she have a middle name?"

"McCarty. The one who – "

"Door-thee-uh Muh-Car-tee," I sang, plucking my finger out from hers.

I hadn't realized that I'd begun to take the baby out of her arms until I heard my name being called. I looked over my shoulder and saw Royce, who was motioning for me to join him on the dance floor. I turned back around to find a bewildered Poppy.

"Sorry, dear, I must attend my husband-to-be," I pecked Dorothea McCarty's head – pausing just long enough to smell her head – and squeezed her mother's wrist lightly before skipping away. "Lovely to see you. Come find me later?"

Poppy waved without putting much effort behind the gesture. "Congratulations again, Rose."

"Thank you!" I blew her a kiss and spun, striding across the room to Royce like I was walking on air.

That is, until I saw who was playing the piano at my engagement party, and nearly stopped dead in my tracks.

It was only the poise I'd acquired from the pageant scene that saved my demeanor. I didn't even miss a step as I breezed past Edward Masen, as if I saw him out and about all the time. As if he weren't anything special. As if my palms weren't suddenly clammy, my mouth suddenly dry. As if I'd never even seen him not see me on Election Day.

From the outside, that all appeared to be true. But on the inside… I was grateful that he wouldn't know the sight of him almost made me jump out of my skin.

He didn't look at me to see me not see him anyway. Instead, he was focusing on… the empty music stand in front of him. Was he playing freehanded?

Moreover, why was this happening again?

I wanted to justify my fluster based on the fact that it was simply a shock to see him, reclusive as he was. It had nothing to do with the fact that he didn't seem to care at all about seeing me.

He must've been really focused on playing that piano. He must've been hired by Royce Senior to play the party. He must've been really focused on doing a good job playing that piano at the party so that he could earn his wages from Royce Senior.

When I made it to Royce Junior, I reached for the glass in his hand, hoping to relieve my dry-mouth.

"Whoa, there, honey," Royce moved his drink away, then set it down on a nearby table and handed me another one. "This one's for you. Grapefruit juice."

"You're the bee's knees." I kissed him on the cheek and snuggled into his side. "Wanna introduce me to your friends here?"

"Well, we already know who you are," one of them said. "You look just as gorgeous in person as you do in the papers, doll."

"Thank you," I grinned and curtseyed, wondering if he was talking about the pageant composite or the pin-up calendar. These were certainly the type of men who understood me, who truly saw me.

Edward Masen be damned.

"John, Frank, Oliver, Tony," he said, gesturing towards each of the guys in turn. "This is my Rosie."

"Tony, short for Anthony?" I raised my eyebrows while batting my lashes at the accused.

He grinned. "Check you out. That's exactly right, sweetie."

"Funny! That's my little brother's name," I said cheekily, then moved the spotlight of my gaze back to Royce.

Royce pecked me on the lips and turned back to the guys. "These fellas and I raised some real hell back at the Robertson dorms."

"Yeah, and thank God you didn't meet him back then," Frank chortled. "There wouldn't be a diamond big enough."

Laughter rang out. Oliver – I think – smacked Royce on the shoulder mid-guffaw. Royce shoved him back.

"Oh, I'm sure I woulda loved him just the same," I pouted. "So what do you scholars get up to nowadays?"

"Well, Oliver's married," Royce began. "His wife's back home in Greenwich. Eight months pregnant with their third, so she couldn't make it."

"Congratulations," I grinned. "Here's hoping for an Oliver the Second."

Oliver tipped his hat at me, then winked at Royce. "My kinda dame, Roy."

"Too bad for you, she's all mine," Royce bragged and kissed the top of my head. Oliver took a false swipe at him, laughing.

He continued with the biographies. "Tony here's in the business of… say, what are you up to down in Brazil, Tony?" Royce queried, sounding playful.

"Sellin' bibles," Tony smirked. The guys burst out laughing again. I snickered, too, even though I had no idea what the joke was.

"You can thank this guy right here for your grapefruit, Rose," Royce said, clinking glasses with Tony across the circle.

"Oh! That stuff's some of the best I've had in my life, bar none," I said genuinely. A few days after I'd had the dessert fruit at the King estate, another gift had arrived – a hundred of them, delivered all the way from Brazil. "I could just eat it forever."

"Happy to oblige." He winked at me.

"He's in business with a friend of a friend down in Kentucky," Royce continued. "John oversees a peach plant in Georgia, and Frank's still tryin' to learn how to tie his shoes straight."

They all burst into laughter again. This time, I laughed along with them. That was something I could laugh at.

"Aw, go fuck yourself, King," Frank thumbed his nose.

"Hey, don't you swear in front of my girl," Royce said, taking on a look of mock offense. "She doesn't like that."

Oh, please. This again? He was going to make me look frigid. "Lighten up, Royce. It's a party!"

This time, when the laughter started up, I almost floated off the ground. I wasn't just in on this joke – I'd won their approval, simple as pie. I turned to Royce, eager to see the look of pride at how easily I'd won over his chums.

But when I met his eyes, they were cold.

Or were they?

I blinked, and Royce was himself again, squeezing my waist and pulling me tighter into him.

"She says it's a party," Royce smiled wide and raised his glass. The rest of us followed suit. "Let's have ourselves a fuckin' party!"

I happened to notice that their cups all matched. Each held an inch of tawny liquid and a large square ice cube. Mine was the lone deviation – pink and frothy, freshly squeezed.

I decided not to inquire – it likely wasn't ladies' business – and raised my glass. We clinked.

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Pretty (and by pretty I mean stunning, gorgeous, beautiful, otherwordly, Rosalie-level pretty) please review :)