Raha Rejali (12) | STAFF REPORTER
I sat in the chairs, denying every man who asked me for a dance. There was just no way I was going to give my mother the satisfaction of smirking at me and insinuating that I would one day marry whoever it was that I would dance with. I drank my sparkling champagne, and I could feel almost every man’s eyes on me. Did I happen to mention that I was an heiress? Yes, to a hotel chain. Our last name was known worldwide, and everyone decided that they wanted to put a ring on my finger from the minute I stepped into the room.
They tried to charm me, to manipulate me into believing their feelings were genuine. My response was often the same: “No, you’re too poor.” Some might call me a witch, but after having my heart broken countless times by men who only grew interested in my money, I learned to be blunt and avoid them altogether. I was a twenty one year old, single heiress. And I liked it that way.
“All alone?” A voice broke my train of thought, making me turn to the source.
“And you are?” I questioned when I saw a tall man standing there, his eyes focused and curious. He was waiting, one hand holding his wine and the other in his pocket.
“Atlas Whin, at your service. And you are?” He sat down next to me without my permission. I pursed my lips a bit, unhappy. However, at the same time, he asked me for my name. It was possible he knew my name but not my face.
“Rosette Borne,” I lied, using my middle name and my mother’s maiden name.
Suddenly, his name registered for me. Atlas Whin. The heir to his father, Robert Whin’s, shipping company. They were greatly international, and I would’ve said his wealth was on par with my own. I regretted lying, wishing I could’ve told the truth so we could’ve laughed about how many proposals we’d gotten from strangers. Still, I played along, pretending I didn’t know who he was.
“Rosette,” the name rolled off his tongue. “What a beautiful name.”
“Thank you,” I smiled, putting my glass down before we broke out into conversation. I could feel the eyes of those in the ballroom on us, even those who were dancing. I hadn’t laughed so much in a long time, and I didn’t think he had either. I dodged questions about my family name and such, wanting to revel in the feeling of being comfortable.
“Rosette?” he turned his head to me.
“Yes?”
“Did you lie about your name in fear that I might ask you for a dance?” he asked. My eyes widened in shock before I looked away, feeling stupid that I believed he didn’t know who I was.
“Yes. Many do the moment they realize who I am,” I replied honestly, turning my head back to him. Would he judge me?
“You’re right,” he stood up, making me feel a bit somber. I supposed it was right for him to feel a bit upset with me. At least that’s what I thought, until he extended his hand. “Rosette Borne, may I have this dance?”
I stared for a moment in silence, before a smile reached up to my lips. “Of course.”
We danced with all the others, staring only at each other.
And my mother was right. I did marry the man I danced with.
