Page 10 of Don’t Look Down

Momma’s too busy chatting, so I slip away and wander over to the walls to look at the paintings on them. There has to be something more exciting to do right now than just stand and listen to everyone talk.

But the paintings are all of people I don’t recognize. They’re all just standing there, looking bored. At least a lot of the girls have pretty dresses on, but otherwise there’s not much to look at. I drag my feet along the perimeter anyway, forcing myself to find at least one thing I like in each of them.

There’s one with a large dog with silly hair that makes me giggle. I stare at it longer than the other ones, wondering what its name must’ve been. Someone comes up besides me, and I blush when I realize it’s the prince.

“Do you want to do something fun?” Beauford asks.

I nod eagerly. “I’m so bored!”

Beauford rolls his eyes. “I know. These parties suck.” He pulls me over to the dessert table, and my eyes go wide at all the sweets. Momma doesn’t let us have dessert a lot.

He grabs a plate and piles lemon tarts on it. My eyes go wide as he adds more and more. “We can’t eat all those!”

He grins deviously. “Who said we’re going to eat them?” He jerks his head toward the stack of gold-trimmed plates. “Grab one of those and put as many on as you can.”

I dart my eyes toward Momma and Poppa, but they’re both distracted now, standing together, talking with all the grown-ups. Beatrice is busy with another one of the girls closer to her age, and Lockwood. Momma told her she should try to talk to him tonight. I should probably be sticking close to her like I usually do, but when I look back at the towering plate Beauford is holding, whatever he’s planning to do seems like more fun.

I sneakily grab a plate and do as he says. When both our plates are so full I can barely lift it, he hurries us through a door and into an adjoining room. This one is smaller than the other and looks familiar. The dining table set in front of a huge fireplace is where we’ve had dinner here before with the King and Queen. At either end of the table are two huge chairs, where the King and Queen always sit. Then the spot where I usually sit across from Beauford, and Beatrice sits across from Lockwood, smack in the middle of our parents. The dining room is dark, save for a few lights on the wall, and completely empty.

Beauford drops his plate on the wooden table and I plop mine next to his. To my horror, I look down and see powdered sugar all over the front of my dress. It’s stark against the dark purple material. I brush my hands over it and it sorta helps, but still looks lighter than the rest of it.

“Alright, let’s see how many we can stack. Last time, I got twelve.”

“Huh?”

Beauford grabs two tarts, puts one on the table, and then adds the other on top of it. “We’re going to see how tall of a tower we can make with them.” He licks the tart residue off his thumb. “Cookies don’t work as good because they’re so lumpy, and the cake just falls over ‘cause it’s too light. But these”—he adds another tart—“are sticky enough to keep them together and flat so they stack easily.”

I glance toward the closed door. “What if someone finds us? I’m not supposed to play with my food.”

“No one’s going to come in here. They’re all too busy hobnobbing.”

I giggle. “Hobnobbing? That’s a funny word.”

Beauford grabs a tart and holds it out to me. “Here, you can start your own stack. Although, there’s no way you’ll be able to beat me.”

I tentatively reach for the treat. Momma and Poppa would not approve of doing this. I should go back out by them, or Beatrice.

But as Beauford’s stack grows and grows, leaning really far to the left, I’m sucked in by this little game of his. And with one last look toward the door, my stomach flip-flops excitedly that we’ve snuck in here doing this.

I put the tart on the table and follow his lead. Soon, I have five stacked while he has eleven. But when he tries to add a twelfth, it comes tumbling down with a wet thud. Beau groans and slaps his hand against the table. The movement causes my stack to topple too.

“Hey!” I cry out. “Just because yours failed doesn’t mean you had to sabotage mine.”

He mutters out a grumpy apology before restarting mine for me. “I’ll get it back to where you had it.” He rebuilds my tower, then starts again on his own.

As we build higher and higher and our stacks fall time and time again, we need more tarts. Beauford slips back out into the party and returns moments later with a fresh plate.

We laugh and grumble, cheer and whine. This is way better than the party. I’m not even sure how long we’ve been in here, but my hands are full of lemon-y goo and the skirt of my dress is coated in crumbs. But I don’t care. I’m having way too much fun.

Beauford finally gets thirteen tarts, his new record. He pumps his hands wildly in the air and runs a victory lap around the table. I jump, cheering him on, hands sticking as I clap.

Our celebration is short-lived as the door swings open and a voice quietly, but sternly, scolds, “What are you two doing?”

I whirl toward the noise just as the door clicks shut behind Beatrice. She scowls at me like she does when I steal one of her favorite dresses to play in. My shoulders roll forward and I stare at the floor.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

My heart slams against my chest. “Are Momma and Poppa worried?”