Fourth Generation

XXII: Before the Performance

"Leila, stay still!" I lightly smack her with the clipboard as she fidgets in her deep green, floor-length, satin dress. "For a lady in high society, you sure don't act like it."

Leila stands on a podium, the late morning light shines through the large window opening up to the cobblestone streets outside. The thick burgundy drapes harmonize with the wooden floors and velvet furniture. Bundles of fabric hang from the wall, a bare manikin standing in the corner as mirrors cascade us. No matter where you peer, you will always meet your own gaze.

Leila gazes down at me through the mirror with a tender smile. "You've really come out of your shell El. I'm glad." I return her simper as she straightens her posture on her podium. "Ouch!" She hisses as the seamstress circles around Leila, pushing in pins and laying the fabric flat.

"I'm sorry, but you gave me no time to prepare." She huffs and takes a sip of water. "The dinner event is tonight, and now you decide you want the hem of your dress higher. And you want me to adjust the sleeves, so it hangs from your shoulders?"

"I will pay you extra, Denise!" Leila flashes her a practiced smile. To the untrained eye, it looks genuine, but after living at her side for the past two months, I'd know better. I turn away and flip through the pages on my clipboard. I lock my eyes shut, pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale. My whole schedule for Leila has been launched into a dumpster fire because she just had to get this dress refitted...

"Miss Sanders!" The seamstress gasps.

My hand drops to my side, and I turn around to watch Leila step down from her podium and approach me. Her index finger taps the spot between my brows as she benevolently rubs tiny circles there.

"Leila, what are you do-" I begin to ask before she cuts me off.

"Relax, Elysia. I know I ask a lot of you, and I am grateful for all that you do, but if you keep frowning, you'll get wrinkles." Her finger pauses, and she drags it to push a loose string of hair behind my ear before resting her hand on my cheek. Our faces are only a matter of inches apart when Leila's face softens as she leans in and kisses the side of my face, holding herself there for a few moments before she pulls away, her fingertips dragging from my face. She returns back to her place in front of the mirror as if nothing has happened.

What was that?

I clear my throat in an attempt to also clear my mind. "I still think this is ridiculous. We're putting a target on our back by hosting this dinner party."

The seamstress returns back to her work, and Leila adjusts her long brown hair in her reflection. "My mother is stubborn. If she planned this event, it's going to happen regardless of a revolution."

"Aha!" The seamstress backs away from her work and smiles. Whisking away a piece of grey hair that fell from her bun, she walks around Leila. "Perfect. I will sew it and drop your dress off in a few hours Miss Sanders."

"Thank you, Denise. This means the world to me." Leila leaps down and heads for the changing room, "I'll meet you in the car, Elysia."

I nod and bring the clipboard to my chest before heading out. Our drive remains quiet, and I try to catch a bit of sleep every time I blink. We pull up to the house, and there is a swarm of people. DEU officers are everywhere. Their black metallic armour and faceless masks are scattered about the yard and home checking everyone's ID. My hands grow clammy, and my breathing shallow.

"Elysia." Leila grabs my hand and holds in hers, "I'm not letting anyone touch you. If they even want to talk to you, they have to go through me."

It's my job to take care of Leila, yet here she is. Holding my hand, protecting me, ensuring I remain unharmed.

I nod and take a deep breath as I try to focus on our next appointment. My trembling hand turns steady as I flip the paper up and look at the 12:30 time block. "We have to meet your mother to double-check the guest list and timetable of the evening events."

"Perfect," Leila smiles and lets my hands go, "you are doing fantastic."

We step out of the car, and I press the clipboard to my chest. I can feel my knuckles turning white from compressing the sides. Leila loops her arm with me as we make our way to a side entrance.

"Excuse me, ladies," a DEU officer steps in front of us and holds his hand out. "I need to see your identification before you can enter the house."

I squeeze Leila's arm, and she strokes my hand. "Sorry, sir, I didn't realize I had to hold identification with me since I am Miss Leila Sander's, daughter of William and Milly Sanders."

Her smile is sour and cold, making the DEU officer take a step back before he nods, "Of course, Miss Sanders. My deepest apologies."

Leila nods and hauls me past him. I catch his eyes through his helmet as he nods at me as well. I guess the DEU officers are tolerable when they aren't trying to kill you.

We make it to Mrs. Sanders' office, and Leila begins to go through the list of names and people who've sent in their RSVPs. I make my way to the window and watch the officers outside make their way around the house to examine every door, window and possible exit. My stomach coils, my anxiety asphyxiates me, wrapping its long, frozen, overwhelming fingers around my throat. But I maintain my composure, closing my eyes and finding my breath again.

Something is wrong. I feel uneasy.

₪ ₪ ₪

"I'm surprised we were on time for your appointments today," I speedwalk with Leila at my side. "Now it's the fun part, getting ready for tonight's events."

Leila shoots me a quick smile and flings her rich, curled brown hair over her shoulder. "I told you we'd be fine."

"Thanks to me-" I bump into a chest as we round a corner. "M-my apologies!" I gasp and bounce back, dipping my head. I glimpse up to find Leila holding back a snort, and Amell's eyebrows mounted.

"I see you are learning the formalities in this godforsaken house," Amell smirks and rests his hands in his grey, herringbone vest.

"Mr. Sanders," I form my own smile as I curtsey, "what a pleasure to bump into you."

"Quite literally," Leila takes my hand and tugs me away, "if we don't go, we won't be ready in time for tonight."

"Right," my smile falls, and I raise a hand to say goodbye to Amell.

"Wait! What could you possibly need to do that would take three hours to get ready?"

Leila and I both share a uniformed look of mischievousness and gasp as we try to hide our grins.

"Did you just hear what he said, El?" Leila rests a hand on my shoulder.

"My Lady!" I enthusiastically slap my hand to my chest, "I think he assumed what it's like to be a woman."

"Oh, my," Leila draws her hand to her forehead and leans into me, "Miss Gale, you must explain our dire situation to this incompetent man at once!"

"Where to start?" My voice is thick with drama as I overcompensate for my lack of theatre knowledge, "First nails, then the hair, the makeup, the dress, the accessories, and most importantly..."

"The emergency snacks Elysia must store in plants around the house for me to eat without being judged." Leila bursts and smiles charmingly.

Amell's mouth slacks at our performance and blinks hard as if that will clear the image of two un-composed giggling ladies before him.

"You know..." I grin and brush my skirt, "the usual."

With that Leila, and I rush away giggling, but not before I sneak a glance back at Amell, who stares at me and shakes his head. A goofy, unrestrained smile finds its way onto his face before he walks away.