19. Belle
BELLE
T he interior of Thornfield Palace defies every expectation I had, and I thought I'd prepared myself for opulence.
The entrance hall soars three stories above us, its domed ceiling painted with murals that seem to move in the flickering light of a dozen crystal chandeliers.
Each chandelier is the size of a small car, dripping with what can only be real crystals that catch and throw rainbow light across every surface.
The marble floor beneath our feet is so perfectly polished it's like walking on a mirror, and I have to concentrate to keep from stumbling in my heels.
"My God," I whisper, momentarily forgetting my heartbreak as I crane my neck to take it all in.
Adam says nothing, but I catch him staring upward too, his mask unable to hide his awe. For just a moment, we're united in our wonder at this impossible place.
Guests flow around us like a river of silk and jewels, their voices creating a musical hum that echoes off the vaulted ceiling. Everyone is masked, their identities hidden behind elaborate creations that tell stories of their wearer's nature.
The alphas are easy to spot even masked, because of their height and broad shoulders giving them away beneath perfectly tailored tuxedos.
Their masks tend toward the bold and imposing: midnight black leather accented with silver, angular designs that suggest predators, or metallic creations that catch the light like armor.
One alpha near the champagne table wears a mask of hammered copper shaped like a wolf's face, while another sports an intricate creation of black feathers and onyx that makes him look like a raven.
The omegas move through the crowd like delicate flowers, their smaller frames draped in gowns that seem to float rather than walk.
Their masks are works of art in softer palettes with blush pink silk adorned with pearls, ivory lace so fine it looks like spun moonlight, delicate butterfly wings in shimmering blues and greens.
One omega glides past us wearing a mask of pale gold leaves that frames her face like a forest crown, while another's creation of white feathers and crystals makes her look like a swan.
But then there are omegas like me, and I feel like jumping up and down with excitement as I see them with curves that fill out their gowns beautifully, others who stand nearly as tall as some alphas, moving with confidence that radiates from every step.
A curvy omega in emerald green sweeps past wearing a mask of rich burgundy velvet with gold accents that speaks of boldness rather than delicacy.
Another omega, nearly six feet tall in her heels, sports a striking mask of midnight blue and silver that could rival any alpha's for dramatic impact.
I spot one omega with a fuller figure wearing a gorgeous mask of copper and bronze leaves that complements her auburn hair, while a petite omega barely five feet tall has chosen an elaborate creation of peacock feathers that makes her seem larger than life.
There's an omega who must be pushing six feet even without heels, and her mask is a work of art in deep purple and black that makes her look regal and commanding.
Each mask seems chosen to reflect not just beauty, but personality where the wearer is confident, dramatic where they want to make a statement, elegant where they prefer understated grace. And I smile, seeing how diverse and beautiful we all are.
Somehow their energy influences me. Usually I don't walk with my head high, keeping my body in an uncomfortable position as I try to hide it with oversized sweaters or cardigans. But tonight I am like one of them, feeling and looking beautiful.
The size difference is striking with their alphas towering over their omega partners, some by a foot or more, their protective stances evident even in formal wear.
When they dance, the alphas seem to engulf their partners, while the omegas appear to float in their arms like precious treasures being carefully guarded.
A woman in midnight blue glides past us, her mask adorned with actual diamonds that catch the light like stars.
Behind her, a man in deep burgundy velvet has a mask that looks like it's made of hammered gold.
Everyone here radiates wealth and sophistication in a way that makes my carefully chosen dress feel suddenly inadequate.
"This way, please," a voice says beside us, and I turn to see a servant in pristine white livery. He appeared so suddenly and silently that I wonder if he was standing there the whole time and I just didn't notice.
He gestures toward an archway that leads deeper into the palace, and we follow the flow of guests through it.
But as we move forward, the crowd seems to pull us in different directions.
Someone bumps into me from behind, apologizing profusely, and when I turn to respond, I realize Adam is no longer beside me.
"Adam?" I call out, but my voice is lost in the general chatter and music that's beginning to drift from somewhere deeper in the palace.
I stand on my toes, trying to spot his familiar figure among the sea of masked strangers, but it's impossible. Everyone looks mysterious and unknown behind their disguises. Panic starts to flutter in my chest, because I've lost Adam, and he's my anchor in this overwhelming place.
Another servant appears at my elbow, this one carrying a silver tray of champagne flutes. "Champagne, miss?"
I take a glass gratefully, hoping it will calm my nerves. The crystal is so fine it's almost weightless in my hand, and the champagne inside fizzes delicately against my lips when I take a sip.
"The ballroom is through there," the servant says, nodding toward yet another archway. "The dancing has just begun."
I follow his direction, moving with the crowd through a corridor lined with portraits of people in period dress. Their painted eyes seem to follow me as I pass, and I wonder if they’re former owners of this palace, perhaps? Or maybe the mysterious omega who rents it out for these events?
The corridor opens into the ballroom, and I stop dead in my tracks.
If the entrance hall was impressive, the ballroom is absolutely breathtaking.
It's enormous, and it can easily accommodate several hundred people with a ceiling painted to look like a starry night sky.
But it's not just painted; somehow, the stars actually seem to twinkle, as if the ceiling has been enchanted.
The walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors in gilded frames, making the space feel infinite.
Massive arrangements of white flowers from roses, peonies to lilies which fill every corner, their scent mixing with the subtle perfumes of the guests.
An orchestra plays from a raised platform at one end of the room, their music floating over the dancers who've already claimed the polished parquet floor. The musicians are all in white, their faces hidden behind simple white masks that make them look almost ethereal.
Everything about this place feels like stepping into a fairy tale, complete with magic and mystery.
I scan the crowd again, looking for Adam's familiar height and build, but everyone looks different behind their masks. The anonymity is both thrilling and terrifying, because I could be anyone here, but I also have no idea who anyone else really is.
"Quite a sight, isn't it?"
The voice comes from beside me, deep and rich with just a hint of amusement.
I turn to find a man in an impeccably tailored black tuxedo, his mask a work of art in black leather and silver accents.
It covers the upper half of his face completely, but I can see his strong jawline and the hint of a smile playing at his lips.
Then his scent hits me, it’s warm vanilla and spice, familiar and comforting in a way that makes my breath catch. Felix. I'd recognize that scent anywhere, even through the crowd of other competing fragrances in the ballroom.
"It's incredible," I admit, gesturing at the ballroom with my champagne flute. "I've never seen anything like it."
"First time at one of these?" he asks.
I'm wondering if he's going to continue pretending to be a stranger, or if he will confess that he knows it is me, and I can do the same with him.
"Is it that obvious?" I laugh. There's something about his presence that's both commanding and comforting.
"Not obvious," he says carefully. "But there's a wonder in your voice that suggests you're seeing this with fresh eyes. It's... refreshing."
"Are you a regular at these things then?" I ask.
"You could say that."
Before I can ask what he means, the orchestra begins a waltz, and couples start pairing off on the dance floor. I watch them move together in perfect synchronization, their gowns swirling like flower petals in a breeze.
"Felix," I say quietly, unable to keep pretending any longer.
His smile widens, and he inclines his head slightly. "Hello, Belle. You look absolutely stunning tonight."
"You're not going to pretend you don't know who I am?"
"Would you prefer that I did?" he asks, but there's warmth in his voice now, more genuine than the polite stranger act. "Though I have to say, that dress is quite the transformation from what you wear at the library.”
I feel heat rise in my cheeks. "Is that your way of saying I usually look terrible?"
"That's my way of saying you usually hide how beautiful you are," he says, and the sincerity in his voice makes my breath catch. "But tonight you're not hiding at all."
The music swells around us, and he extends his hand with old-fashioned gallantry.
"Would you care to dance?" Felix asks, extending his hand toward me.
I hesitate, glancing around the room one more time for any sign of Adam. But he's nowhere to be seen, and Felix seems kind enough. Besides, isn't this what the ball is for? Meeting new people, having new experiences?
"I should probably warn you that I'm not very good at waltzing," I say as I place my hand in his.