n o t e
so sorry for the delay you guys; i was occupied with something. but here's the first part of the ball. picture of the golden knights' club are attached above so that you'd be able to remember somehow what they look like.
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[ waltz ]
the princess diaries;
the score by john debney
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—thirtythree—
the world
DAYS HAD PASSED so eventfully.
Paige's birthday was already fast approaching so pretty much everyone was up and about for the preparations. The commotion might had been exhausting, but it was pleasantly surprising how more or less a week had already flown by without her feeling like nothing but an abandoned place.
She had managed to leave the campus every single day rather emotionally unharmed. Practices were getting intensive and time was running in a swift manner.
Paige just wanted to get it all over and done with.
Albeit, the moment where she had to admit to her parents that Arthur and her were done was particularly difficult. They'd asked about how things were going for them both during one dinner, only to awoke a startling silence across the room when she'd tried to keep a neutral expression as she confessed the separation.
Save for the part of him being unfaithful, naturally.
Now, as she stepped up to a low platform where a big mirror stood in front of that, her mother and Isolde kept their eyes trained on her. They could've gone to the well-renowned fashion designer's boutique, but Isolde had none of it.
So the designer and his clique of seamstresses gathered themselves into the Wellton Estates so that they could personally attend to her inside the place where she was most comfortable. The mansion.
"...tailored to your needs. Anything you'd like to alter, the team would be glad to help," the designer himself said, his black-rimmed glasses perched atop his nose. He tipped his chin up as he studied her while she remained firm on the platform, two seamstress flourishing their hands around one of the ball gowns included in the selection, which she was fitting now.
"Where are the rest?" Isolde asked, in that stern fashion of hers, then casually leaned to the coffee table to reach for her teacup.
The man nodded to one of his assistants, and before long, two of them rolled a hanger in with a set of dresses swaying underneath.
Her mom pulled her eyebrows together. "Are we going to see the ball gown on the day of her dress rehearsal? These are simpler ones."
"Certainly, Isobel," he said, fingers crossed down his abdomen. "I assure you the designs are exactly the same as what we've discussed. Golds, whites, and dust pinks, silks, and tulle among others. We've still been doing the finishing touches for the gown she'll wear for the ball dance, but we're trying our best to make it as light as possible because the embellishments on it would add more weight to the wearer herself. What we have here are the samples for the introduction and the finalé."
Paige studied the gown she was wearing a little bit more. It was a white dress with golden, shimmering patterns all over it that smoothly fell down to her feet−it had a medieval air to it, although positively modern, with a long white cape tailing from her shoulders, the back of it with the same adornments.
"I think this one could have been better," Paige's grandmother said, easing her back on the couch. And if the designer wasn't pleased, he had a good way of concealing it.
But his expression was surprised, all the same, as he said, "I appreciate the comment. Which one do you think should we remove or add to it, Miss Isolde? If you don't mind me asking."
She crossed her arms and eyed Paige's gown. "A hood. I want you to add it to her cape."
"A hood?" The designer had almost rose his eyebrow. If there was a better eye for details, it would be his. "And why would this be more pleasing to the eyes?"
"The mystery," she simply said, and Paige cast her lashes to her rather unsurely. She was only the wearer and not the one to have any say of it. "That dress would be fitting for her entrance; and she cannot wear a royal ball gown and ride a horse, can she?"
"Oh," the man mumbled, "that's a fair point. I would agree. We'll get into it as soon as possible."
"I expect no less, Pierre," Isolde said, and the man nodded politely.
Pretty soon, Paige was already heading to the park. It was a weekend and she was pretty much available for the whole day for preparations, if only because Ms Denise Danssen had exempted her from training at the moment.
"...a horse," Paige said to Jouwee through a loud speaker, who was listening to her over the phone, "a horse, Jo. I've only ever tried it once or twice in my life when I was younger. Fell off the last one so I never did it again. How am I supposed to ride one now? What if I fall in front of hundreds of people? This is crazy."
Jouwee let out a half-chuckle. "What do you want, then? Ride a freaking carriage or a magic carpet?"
"No," she said in exasperation, sheering the car to a left turn. "It's just−they just take things a little too far sometimes, you know? Anyway, what time will you be at Manor?"
"Paige, we've been practicing for more than a week now," she replied with a monotone voice. "And it's a Saturday."
Rising a brow, Paige finally reached the amusement park and immediately slotted her car into a vacant spot at the parking lot. "You mean, you're not coming? Kenny and Bridgette are going to kill you. Besides, we only have two more days left. I don't think they'd be pleased if you're not going to be there."
She heard Jouwee blurting out inaudible words and huffed a quick sigh. "If I'd known it's going to be this time-consuming, I would've never okayed being shortlisted. But I love you and it's your birthday."
"Aww, I love you, too. That's a first, Jo!" Paige gushed in amusement.
"Shut up."
"Very loving, indeed."
She groaned. "This means I'm going to have to see that bastard's face again."
"Who, Jax?" Paige asked after locking the door shut behind her, shaking her head when Jouwee confirmed it. "I thought you're already warming up to him."
"I don't hate the guy, trust me. He's just infuriating, that's all. And no, it's not the cliche thing where you feel like you hate some guy and then you turn out to have grown some sort of liking towards him. It's not like that at all."
"Oh, alright. Not that I care about what explanation you'd have to say. Don't act all so defensive."
"I am not!" she argued, and Paige winced at the sheer decibel of her voice. "He's incredibly self-assured. I hate that for a guy, I swear. It makes me want to punch him in the face. He's not even that hot."
"Okay."
"You're supposed to sound convinced! How could you?"
Paige cracked up, flushing when the guards on duty by the entrance turned their heads to her. "Whatever. I'll see you later."
"Fine. See ya."
When she was about to turn in the direction of the headquarters, she stopped mid-way through the cobblestones and looked up at the castle-like threshold overhead, the one where the people go through towards the main grounds of the park.
Strangely, she felt melancholic. And perhaps it was because in two days, her life would be a lot different. She'd have to enter the grander side of her world that was both daunting and exciting that would give her room for growth.
But at the same time, she'd have to leave her reality behind the moment she crosses that.
She wasn't too sure if it was a good or a bad thing.
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Owen tugged his collar to somehow ease himself up as he listened to the cacophony from inside the grand ballroom. No doubt the media was already setting their cameras up, the invited engaging in several conversations with the other elites, and the whole team who'd organized the royal ball still pretty seemed to be anxious about the whole thing, with the purpose of making the night perfect.
It was the night they all had been waiting for. He was wearing a combination of white and gold ensemble, his jacket a military-designed tailcoat as if he were a prince and a ruler, while the other guys wore three-piece black Victorian tailcoats. The event hadn't started yet, and the celebrant was still being polished up by her make-up and wardrobe team at the dressing room.
He puffed out another torrent of smoke and leaned against the chair in the smoking lounge. The rides could be seen from where he was as it was housed in a towering panes of glasses. He wasn't extremely nervous but he felt a little bit twitchy, for sure.
It was freezing outside but the people were much thicker these days, despite the weather. Blinking, scintillating lights polluted the night skies above and everything was just so beautiful−but he couldn't get the box thing off his head.
Owen slid his hand in one of his pockets, finger tracing the edges of the jewelry box, when Archer cleared his throat beside him. He wasn't one to smoke, but all of them bachelors were inside the lounge, anyway.
"Having jitters?" Archer asked quietly, before downing his champagne. "You look quite tensed. Fuel up. Might calm the nerves a little bit."
He wasn't gonna lie. He was tensed, especially when he said that. He paused for a moment and thought about the ways of how Archer would kill him. They'd been friends for a very long time, but Arthur was still his brother.
"Yeah," he said, jerking both of his eyebrows before tipping the glass to his lips. When the sparkles gradually ceased down his throat, he let out a huge sigh and glanced at Archer with a measured look. "I've something to tell you."
"What?" Jax, who was sitting next to Archer, looked up from his phone, a tiny smirk playing on his lips. "That you're dying from herpes? Man, you never learn."
He tossed him a death stare, just as the other guys shook in mirth. "Lay off, fuckface. I wasn't talking to you. Why don't you just focus yourself on Tinder and put up your blue balls as your profile picture?"
"That's rich coming from you," he retorted, the shit-eating grin widening across his face, and Owen scowled deeper. "It's not like it's me who's practically practicing celibacy just because you can't get over yourself being a pussy."
Owen gritted his teeth, throwing another dark looks but at Holt who'd snickered so loud and at Killian who, in spite of being stoic, let out a snort of amusement and pushed up his glasses. If he'd wanted Archer to know, he needed it to be delivered with subtlety. Jax and the others appeared to be not in favor of it, unfortunately.
When his eyes swept to Colby, he simply smiled at him with a shake of his head. But his eyes held something meaningful, Owen could tell. Of course, since he knew that Colby loved Anika Lovelace, Holt's girlfriend, for a very long time now. And it somehow felt like he was in Colby's shoes.
Fuck me.
"Okay, okay," Archer held his hands up after he'd chuckled with the others. Then his demeanor turned somber, "we're already straying from the subject. What is it?"
Owen sighed as he put out the butt of his cigarette on the ashtray, and he'd wanted to run his fingers through his hair in frustration but he didn't want to ruin it. Looking at the rest of the guys, seeing that they'd already diverted their attention to the others and on their phones, he then shifted to Archer.
Archer's blue eyes flickered with curiosity, shaking his head to prompt him. Clearing his throat, Owen made another tug of his collar.
"In private," he said under his breath.
"Oh, alright."
Owen downed the rest of his champagne and they walked outside and into the hallway.
"I want to give her a birthday present," Owen started, his heart in the throes of excruciating distress.
Archer frowned. "Well, then, pass it on to her, what's the big deal?"
Owen shook his head. "It's going to be different now and I just want you to know that." He stilled for three seconds, but Archer's face was carefully blank. "I like her, man. That's probably an understatement even. I don't know...shit. It's just−I hope it's not gonna be weird with us. I know Arthur's still your brother−"
"You are a brother to me," Archer interjected, much to his stark surprise. "It's cool. And I appreciate it that you're being honest. I'd suggest that you take it slow, though."
"Naturally," Owen said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. "I'm just gonna give the gift, really. I'm not gonna confess to her. At least not yet."
"Alright." Archer clapped him on the shoulder before he pocketed one hand of his. Out of habit, he'd tipped up on his toes, only to land with a subtle thud. "Tonight's your moment. Just try not to injure the princess's feet, will you? She's hurting enough."
"M'kay." Owen got the double-entendre but his lips tugged up in amusement at once. "Glad I got that off my chest now. It's like the world's been lifted from my shoulders."
"Oh, wow, didn't know you've been working yourself up so much about it," he said. "It's all−"
"Good evening, guys," one man suddenly interrupted, and Owen realized there were two more men behind him, each one holding up their cameras, free passes hanging around their necks. They were from the official team of photographers and cinematographers for the royal ball, and Owen and Archer quickly straightened up. "A pose for the camera, please. Awesome−"
"Slacken the shoulders a little bit," a man with wild red curls said, his camera glued against his eye, the other one had his knees bent as he slowly panned his video camera across them. So they did, angling in a way so that him and Archer were slightly face to face. "Give me some trigger-happy faces," the guy half-chuckled, "nice..."
When the pressure came into a lull, Owen couldn't help but roll his eyes. Only to stiffen his shoulders again when the people backstage across the hall began a commotion, indicating that the show was about to start.
A blonde, quite heavy and in her late-thirties, quickened her pace to them as she placed her headphones around her pate. "Guys, the ball's about to start in ten. We would appreciate it if you could already take your seats. But Owen has to stay here in the backstage. You're already allowed to visit her in the dressing room, by the way..."
"Alright."
"Good," she simply said, and inclined half of her body towards the door of the smoking lounge and her voice muffled as she said, "Gentlemen. Show's about to start. Put out the coffin nails for now if you don't want Isolde to put you out."
The room erupted into a fit of chuckles.
By the time the last man from the smoking lounge was able to head out, Owen then trudged to the dressing room, still pretty antsy about the box carving against his leg. It wasn't the smallest one so it created an edgy, aggravating bulge on his thigh.
Owen licked his bottom lip and stared up at the name across the door−Ms Paige Cadwyn, before knocking his knuckles against the door thrice.
"Come in," a soft voice said inside.
When he opened the door a fraction wider, he paused for a second when he found her chuckling with Jouwee, who was stood behind her as she ran her fingers through Paige's curled light-browns.
"I hope I'm not interrupting the moment," he said, staring at the both of them in the mirror. He couldn't see much of what they were wearing since Paige was sitting on a high-chair while Jouwee's gown was concealed by the celebrant.
"Not at all," said Paige, flashing her her teeth.
"It's alright. I'm just telling her my best wishes," Jouwee turned back to Paige in the mirror with a tight smile, "for her to be happy. Truly happy."
Paige reached for the hand on her shoulder and returned a gentle, yet sad smile. "You're the best."
She snorted. "Please. I'm the greatest. Anyway, I'll leave you guys alone. I'll check if Cain's already there."
Paige nodded, and as soon as Jouwee left, Owen stared at her in the mirror again−but this time, really looked at her. In a closer distance, he could practically see the flecks of glitters across her cheekbones. But it wasn't overdone; her overall makeup wasn't heavy. But there, all the same.
"Hello there, princess," he said behind her, and red lips immediately tugged up.
"Hello to you, too. But I'm far from being a princess."
"No, sure," he crossed his arms, a glint in his eye, "but you're a diamond in the rough. You certainly look like one now."
She shook her head in mirth, curling her stray hairs behind her ear. "Okay. I will accept the compliment just because it's my birthday. We should head out. It's about to start."
He nodded, wondering how to start without looking like a wimp. No lie, but he was too proud of being rejected whatsoever−if in case Paige wouldn't like it. Owen helped her when she descended from the high-chair so that she wouldn't trip over her gown.
But before she could so much as make two steps, his hand shot out to her arm rather gently. "There's no way you can walk out the door without this," he explained when she'd pulled her eyebrows together, mild smokey eyes crinkling at the corners when he revealed the box. "Happy birthday, Paige."
She was out of words when he placed the Tiffany box into her hands covered in a pair of long white gloves. "Owen, you shouldn't have."
"Don't worry. You keep saying that you're clumsy that's why you don't like to wear expensive jewelries−"
"That's right," Paige replied, her face turning glum. "I lost the hair clip dad gave me for my sixteenth birthday. I was sure that the last time I saw it was at the hotel, though. That day you called me about the contract and I visited you? Anyways, should I open it now?"
"Of course. I'll open it for you." He took it out of her hands and undid the lid, revealing a necklace with pendant rounded in diamonds. It was simple, not too flashy but not subdued, either.
Paige's lips parted when he took it out before placing the teal box atop the vanity. "Turn around," he said softly, his hands slenderly shaking as he unclasped the lock when she did so.
He heard her taking a breath when the necklace soon fell smoothly on her clavicle. It was a good thing that her white and golden gown was a tube one because if not, then her cape and the sleeves would've hid the necklace and the idea didn't seem too pleasing for his imagination. He wanted it where she could show it to everyone. As if she were his.
Owen mentally reprimanded himself at that. Now wasn't the time to think of such things.
"Do you like it?" he asked, since she fell silent, the muffled sounds across the hall were the only thing that could be heard by him.
As if she'd just realized that he was still there, she blinked in surprise; and he could've sworn that for one second, her sadness wanted to gave away as she held the necklace and stared at herself in the mirror.
"Of course, I love it." Paige attempted a smile, but it obviously didn't reach her eyes. And damn, it pained him to see her like that. It was her birthday and yet she was downhearted.
He nodded and tried to come up with something she'd carry with her for the rest of the night. For the rest of her life. Then he remembered why he chose that.
"When you feel like the world's hanging by your shoulders," he started, licking his lip, "when you feel like it's not going to get better, just remember that thing on your neck. It will remind you that the world is round, Paige. Change is the only constant thing in the world, right? So it doesn't mean that if you feel like you're not good enough for now or that everything seems like they don't make sense today, that they won't get better. Because they will...one day, everything will make sense to you. And you'd realize that bad things don't stay as one, but rather, good things are ahead of you. Please remember that."
She gulped and her eyes started to water, only to turn around and suddenly threw her arms around him. He was surprised at first, but when he recovered, he returned the embrace just as tight as he felt his heart making irregular beats, wracking his chest.
He placed his hand on the back of her head so that she was wrapped closer into him, the other hand tugging her closer by the waist before he kissed her head.
And for one moment, everything felt so right.
"I will remember everything you've said." Her voice was unclear through the sheet of his tailcoat, her fingers clasped on his back. "You always try to put me back together when I feel so undone. I don't know where I would be without you, Owen. I'm just so glad you're here. You don't know how grateful I am that I get to live in this world with you being in it."
He felt all warm and soft inside.
Owen let out an abrupt breath at the wake of her words, his reflection tugging up a smile that made him seem like he was a goner now. When she pulled away, her eyes were now completely dry and her face had turned considerably bright.
As if out of instinct, he reached up for her cheek and he felt her stiffening under his touch. Her face was so small and so achingly beautiful, he didn't understand why he'd hurt her before.
Swallowing, he leaned onto Paige and her eyes danced in an emotion he really couldn't decipher. Make me stop, make me stop, or I will do things I will regret later...
But she didn't. It was as if she was too weak to even evade what was to happen. Instead of doing what he'd always wanted, though, he aimed for her cheek and planted a soft, gentle kiss there like she was a flower too vulnerable and made to wilt away. She smelt of something creamy and sweet, which reminded him of the flower fields in Norway and, at the same time, absolute happiness and heartbreak; all at once.
His jaw fixed shut.
I'll be waiting. I don't care.
But when several knocks pounded against the door, they quickly leaped out of each other, just as the blonde earlier shot her head inside the dressing room.
"Three more minutes, guys. Let's go."
"Alright." Paige nodded; when she spoke, the tremble in her voice was unmistakable. "We'll be right there."
Owen didn't expect how Paige had taken it all too lightly now. Because when she turned to him, now all crinkles at the corners of her eyes and her lips indicating sheer mirthfulness, he couldn't help but blink.
Recovering, he lifted his elbow and she snaked her arm around it. "Let's go?" he asked, and she bobbed her head before one hand of hers pulled the hood over head.
"It's showtime," she said sprightly.