Slippery Slopes by Emily Franklin Page B

won’t have many objections.
    “Spheres?” Matron writes this down on her board.
    “Yeah, you know, orbs. But these are huge. Imagine a carnival ride but made of clear glass….”
    “Glass?”
    Melissa coughs from way down in her throat out of nervousness. “Maybe not glass. Plastic? Anyway, each one could probably fit two people and they’d be illuminated from the bottom, so they’d glow. Like an iridescent snowball.”
    This last image resonates with Matron and she stops writing to look at Melissa and listen. “And?”
    “And the electricians have already met with the kitchen staff, because I wanted a …” She pauses, momentarily losing her footing. “I thought it would be fun and different if we had a conveyor belt….”
    “That sounds rather industrial.” Matron’s mouth forms a straight line.
    “No—wait. That came out wrong. What I mean is …” Melissa risks being yelled at and grabs Matron’s clipboard. She draws what she means. “See? Small tables, all glowing with that interior light, and food on top. Only the tables can move. The resort’s mechanics and electrical crew said they could do it….”
    “Really?”
    Melissa nods and gently hands the clipboard back to Matron. “They said they’d look upon the job as a challenge.” She sighs and smiles. “Plus, I told the head electrician that his daughter could be the snow princess.”
    Matron rattles her pen against the clipboard and casts a doubtful eye. “And that is?”
    “Just a title. She can be the one to start the festivities—in the miniature hot-air balloon over the ice lake.”
    Matron looks transformed—she claps her hands and smiles. “I knew it. I knew you had it in you, even with a broken ankle or whatever it was you had.”
    “Have.” Melissa briefly relives the skiing, the dare from Gabe, the falling, the massive wipeout, and feels annoyed all over again that she was swayed into the jump. “I still have it—broken ribs.” Melissa pats her sides, momentarily distracted from Matron’s enthusiasm by a large herd of people moving toward the Main House.
    “I do hope you’re getting rest.” She writes something down. As she continues to write Melissa begins to wonder what she could possibly have missed. Matron checks over her shoulder, noticing the sizeable crowd by the Main House. “The paparazzi never loses interest, do they?”
    Like I’m so experienced with cameras flashing and microphones protruding. Without knowing what to say, Melissa wills herself not to think of Charlie and the supreme confidence or cruelty that made her jump all over James. Melissa thinks of her largely sleepless nights and her aching heart, not to mention her ribs, and shrugs. “All part of the job, I guess.” She tries to sneak a look at Matron’s clipboard. I hope she likes all my plans. I’m sure she does. And now that they’re basically in place, I can chill for the first time in days. “Anything I didn’t answer?”
    Matron goes back to her straight-lined mouth and shakes her tightly bunned head. “All set, it seems.” She jots one more thing down and circles it.
    Melissa smiles, satisfied. “Great.”
    “All except for one thing …” Matron points to the writing on her board. “Where exactly are you going to fit the ballroom into this outdoor extravaganza?”
    What? Crap oh crap oh crap. Melissa’s mouth drops open. “Ballroom? I thought … it was, you know, a dance. And we could all …” She looks out to the lake. “Dance on the lake?” In her mind it had seemed beautiful and serene, romantic, as if everyone had been transported back in time.
    Matron crosses her arms and shifts her stance, clearly wanting to deal with the crowd overtaking the Main House. “Miss Forsythe—Melissa—this is a luxury resort. The Winter Wonderland Ball is covered in Tatler, Hello!, Vogue, Vanity Fair, and every major newspaper. Royalty from the Baltics, all of Europe, South America, and Asia will be here, along with all of our