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I usually took a bath in the evening, but I’d been told to shower this morning. It went against my routine, but I felt dirty enough that stepping under the warm spray was a relief. I scrubbed at my body, vaguely noting the pretty scent of the lavender soap. Under other circumstances, I might have marveled at the sophisticated splendor of this bathroom. It was just as nice as the ones in the big house on my father’s estate, but I’d never been allowed to spend the night there. Sometimes, when I’d allowed myself to imagine that my father was a kind man, I’d wished he’d invite me to stay and tuck me into bed at night.
But father was cruel and cold. He’d rarely spared me more than a passing glance and a sneer. He’d made it clear that he had no use for a daughter, especially not one conceived out of wedlock. My mother had been nothing more to him than a mistress, and he’d claimed that he only allowed Abuela and me to stay on the estate because I was his blood. And nothing more.
Now, I wasn’t even allowed to remain in the modest home he’d granted me. Cristian had sold me, and I might never see home again.
My hot tears mingled with the warm water streaming down my cheeks, and I sniffled.
A sharp knock on the door snapped me out of my mounting grief and panic.
“Valentina. Hurry up. I need to get you ready for breakfast,” Mariana’s voice penetrated the door, sharp with disapproval.
I didn’t understand why I needed her to help me get ready. I was perfectly capable of brushing my hair and dressing myself.
But I was too intimidated to question her, so I turned off the shower and found a fluffy white towel to wrap around my body. I’d only just managed to cover myself when Mariana entered the bathroom without bothering to knock again.
I tucked the towel tightly in place around me, uncomfortable with so little fabric to shield my body from a stranger.
She seemed unconcerned by my discomfiture, and she breezed past me to the vanity. Opening a cabinet beneath the sink, she retrieved a round brush and hair dryer. I didn’t usually use one, even though it could take hours for my thick waves to fully dry. My wet hair never bothered Abuela or Andrés. It was another feminine habit I’d never picked up.
“Come on,” Mariana urged me closer. “It’s not going to burn you.”
She plugged in the hair dryer, and I stepped in front of the mirror. I couldn’t look at my unusually pale cheeks and wide eyes. Instead, I focused on Mariana’s lovely reflection as she began to run the brush through my hair. The bristles tickled my scalp, and the dryer warmed my skin. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation. If anything, the tug of the brush through my hair was slightly soothing, and some of my nerves calmed.
Was this what it felt like to have a mother? To be taken care of and shown how to behave like a woman?
Despite the warmth of the dryer on my head, my body flushed cold. This woman wasn’t here to help me. Whatever her role, I couldn’t mistake this strange interaction for maternal kindness. She was one of the monsters that lived in this house, and I wouldn’t forget that, no matter how gently she was brushing my hair.
When she finished, my locks were glossy and sleek around my face, gently curled at the ends. My hair was much straighter than usual, making it fall longer, around my breasts.
I cursed their existence. I didn’t want them. I didn’t want people looking at them.
Petulant anger surged through me, and I flipped my hair behind my shoulders.
“Stop that,” Mariana reprimanded. She rearranged my hair back into place.
I reached up to move it behind my shoulders again, but my defiance was quashed on a yelp when she smacked the back of my hand with the hairbrush.
“We have to be at the table in twenty minutes,” she told me tersely. “Behave.”
She put the dryer and brush back into their place beneath the sink and disappeared into the bedroom for a moment before returning with a pretty dress. I hadn’t noticed it when she’d first entered the bedroom, but then again, I’d been hiding under the covers.
The dress was frilly and feminine, with pretty white flowers standing in contrast to the silky black fabric.
“We’ll have to get you some bras and underwear,” Mariana noted. “But this should cover you well enough for breakfast.”
To my relief, she didn’t make me drop my towel. Instead, she tugged the dress over my head, careful not to muss my newly-straightened hair. Once I was covered, she instructed me to pull the towel off. I let it slide to the floor, and she stepped behind me to fasten the zipper at the back of the dress.
