Chapter Text
Everything suddenly felt wrong.
Francesca’s gown felt like it was suffocating her from the inside out. Her corset was tight enough to remind her that she had to make the conscious decision to breathe. The fabrics torturously grazed her skin until she clawed at them to stop, leaving angry red marks across her stomach.
And yet, she could not reach them.
Just like she could not meet Michaela’s gaze.
Francesca inhaled deeply.
She had forgotten how overwhelming these events could be. The sounds of voices piled on top of one another had her looking for a secluded spot.
The only part keeping her grounded was the sound of music coming from the room. Her brain quietly hummed. She often found herself trying to figure out how she would replicate the music on her piano.
The soft background noises of the violins had just gotten a little louder when Francesca realized she was being spoken to.
It was a gentleman she had never met before. Francesca knew what he was about to propose, but before she could pretend she hadn’t seen him, he held out his hand and asked, “-may I have this dance?”
Francesca’s brain barely had time to process before she found herself mindlessly dancing to steps that she had become all too familiar with.
Her first dance out of her mourning period had heightened the sound of whispers. She could feel the eyes on her.
She could feel Michaela's eyes on her.
In fact, she knew exactly where Michaela was standing and what she was drinking. She knew the exact dark blue dress she was wearing and how it brought attention to some of her assets.
But something about the fact that she was there, watching, made Francesca feel a little less suffocated. Even in the arms of a man she did not know.
On the other side of the ballroom, Michaela was getting irritated by the attention she was getting from some of the young ladies. Some of which, at some point, did have part of her attention.
But now Michaela’s eyes were steadily focused on Francesca, and Francesca only. She paid no mind to those who wished to converse.
They cut through the music with such intensity that they locked eyes with Francesca the second she turned towards her.
It was as though the room fell silent, and all Michaela could pay attention to was the way the man’s hand gripped Francesca’s waist. The way her hand glided in and out of his as he led her through her turns. The way his eyes flickered from her eyes to her lips as though he had any chance of getting near them.
Michaela clenched her jaw, her nails already making portraits of the moon on one of her palms. The other, gripping the glass so tightly that it would be embedded with its pattern.
She could feel her fingers twitch.
The only thing keeping her from bolting out of the room was the knowledge that she had the privilege of seeing Francesca when she had learned to play a new song on the piano or finished a puzzle. The privilege of grazing her hand without the glove. The privilege of making her contort with a few simple words.
And the fact that Francesca was still staring at her.
Her eyes found Michaela’s after every turn and step. Hesitant, but there nonetheless.
As the dance came to an end, Michaela felt her body slowly become less rigid. Francesca’s eyes were still on her.
Michaela lifted her glass and watched Francesca's eyes follow the glass rim as she brought it to her lips. Her eyes followed the droplet that made its way to the corner of Michaela's mouth.
Francesca’s tongue swiped at the corner of her own mouth, hoping to catch it from across the room.
Michaela had noticed that Francesca’s eyes would sometimes slip to the depth of skin right by her neckline, and dart right back up to Michaela’s eyes with something that could be mistaken for embarrassment.
Francesca looked away.
Michaela revelled in it.