* * *
Once upon a time, she thought, surveying the scene below her from the foot of the marble stairs, Cinderella was a receptionist. The banister was cold and wide beneath her fingers, silky to the touch. The women looked like the jewels they wore, hard and bright and utterly arresting, sipping champagne and stepping sharply through the sea of people. The men they’d brought were dapper and groomed. Tuxedoes and clean angles served as a backdrop to flirty layers of expensive fabric, to gorgeous flower arrangements and sultry vapors of alcohol she could almost taste. The crowd joined and parted endlessly, a sort of human kaleidoscope. The thought made her smile.
“Darling, you do realize the point of this elaborate fête is for us to mingle with New York’s finest?” Clipped British tones snapped her out of her reverie, and Pamela Beesly turned to look at the bored expression on the speaker’s face.
“I can’t breathe down there.” She gestured gracefully at the people below. “What’s your excuse?”
“I’m a tortured artist, dearest. What would it do to my reputation if I were to go down and actually make myself agreeable?” He smirked, baring his teeth slightly and adjusting the cuffs on his sleeves.
“Jeremy, if you think that for one minute I’m going to believe that you’re not loving the limelight, then you’ve got another thing coming.” She laughed at him openly now, running her hands down the crushed emerald moiré of her gown.
“You’re no fun,” he retorted, now fiddling with the lapels of his stylish tuxedo.
Pam shrugged. “You’re awfully fidgety tonight,” she commented, ignoring his last remark.
“And you’ve got your head in the clouds, so I say we’re a well-matched pair,” he shot back.
She sighed and glanced back down at her hands, wishing she’d opted for more comfortable footwear. She had on a pair of killer heels with a price tag that made her shudder, but they were hidden from sight beneath the long folds of her gown. “I know, I’m sorry. This is all just a lot to be taking in. I never…” she faltered for a second, hugging herself tightly. “I feel like I’ve lived two different lives. Frankly, it’s a little surreal.”
Jeremy reached out and patted her shoulder before letting his hand come to rest at the small of her back. “Come now, love. You’ve put a great deal of hard work into this. We’ve put a great deal of work into this and I’ll be damned if we’re not going to sit back and enjoy the spoils while we can.”
Pam smiled up at him tightly, not quite able to muster up a full grin. The nervousness she stamped down earlier had returned with a vengeance, taking residence in the pit of her stomach and sending out tremors through the rest of her body. There was a terrible taste in the back of her mouth, acidic and sour. She hadn’t felt this way since she’d first left Scranton, more alone and more frightened than she had thought possible. Cinderella’s come a long way, she thought wryly. She had said goodbye to a dead town and a dying love. She’d wrenched herself away from everything she’d known, picked up a fairy godmother (or two), and fought hard to paint herself a new life. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and nodded quickly at her companion. “Let’s get this over with?” Pam tilted her head towards the clamoring throng waiting downstairs and threaded her arm through his.
“Good girl.” He flashed her a cocky grin and they began a slow descent down the sweeping staircase. Pam took her hand off the banister and lifted up the hem of her gown, wary of stepping on the edges as they made their way. A steady stream of chatter echoed throughout the hall, distorting the words into a strange symphony of indistinct voices. Guests were still filing through the doors, and she scanned the new arrivals as they joined the party. Greta Marset had just walked in with her husband Paul, and behind them Pam could make out Lila Davies, resplendent in a navy chiffon affair that no one else could possibly pull off with such aplomb.
Pam had begun turning to Jeremy, meaning to point out their editor when she caught sight of a tall man entering the crowded hall. She stopped without warning. She held her body perfectly still, barely acknowledging Jeremy’s expression of annoyance at her sudden halt in movement. Her fingertips felt curiously frozen, and a small, detached part of her marveled at the hold he still had on her. Blood was pounding in her ears, and she thought briefly, madly, that she would sell her soul for just a moment of silence to hear herself think.
After five years of forgetting, Prince Charming had returned.
* * *
Story Notes:
I own absolutely nothing.
Author's Chapter Notes:
"What if" is a fun, if somewhat dangerous question. Enjoy.
Chapter End Notes:
You guys want to see where this is going?
