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To my surprise, it stuck a little at the middle of my upper back, the fabric straining over my chest. Again, I resented my breasts. They felt far too large. I’d barely been aware of them before father’s funeral, but I was quickly growing to hate them.
The fabric was slightly loose around my waist, and it didn’t quite hug my hips. Mariana tied the sash around the waist into a bow at my back.
Then, she went back into the bedroom, returning with a black plastic case. She set it on the countertop and unfastened it to reveal an array of makeup. I’d never seen so many lipsticks and rouges all together. My only frame of reference for makeup was what I’d seen on TV commercials and in magazines. Mariana’s collection was bafflingly extensive. I didn’t realize women needed so many products.
She stepped in front of me and studied my face for a moment before nodding slightly. She selected a compact and large makeup brush. The soft brush hairs against my cheeks felt even more soothing than the hairbrush, so I closed my eyes and focused on sensation for as long as possible, blocking out my confused thoughts and fears.
After a few minutes, she prompted me to open my eyes, so she could coat my lashes with mascara before painting my lips with a neutral lipstick.
Finally, she stepped back behind me, placing her hands on my shoulders as she studied my reflection in the mirror.
“Lovely,” she approved.
I sucked in a gasp at my appearance. I hardly recognized the girl staring back at me, her dark lashes longer and thicker than ever and her lips looking far too full and pouty. The dress was as tight as I’d feared, straining over my chest before cinching in at my waist.
“Much better than that t-shirt,” Mariana noted. “I’ll make sure you get more pretty dresses like this. It suits you.”
Tears welled in my eyes. I was in a strange house with a strange woman, and I was staring at a stranger in the mirror where my reflection should be.
“Don’t cry,” Mariana ordered. “You’ll ruin your makeup.”
The command was sharp enough that I blinked back my tears. The fear that had plagued me since I’d awoken rose up again, curling around my windpipe like a choking vine.
I remembered the cruel boy who’d snapped at me while I huddled on the floor, broken and sobbing.
Was he nearby? Would I see him again?
“Come on,” Mariana urged. “We don’t want to be late. Vicente doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
I froze. I didn’t want to see Vicente. My skin crawled when he looked at me.
Mariana took my hand and tugged me along in her wake, leading me out of the false safety of the bedroom and into the monsters’ lair.Chapter 2ValentinaWe strode down a long hallway, a crimson rug marking out path. Dark, hardwood floors were visible at either side, contrasting with the bright white walls. Those were adorned with paintings, intermittently interrupted by closed doorways to our right. To our left, large, arched windows allowed morning light to stream in and illuminate the house.
When we finally reached the end of the long hallway, a door was open before us. I hesitated, but Mariana took my hand and pulled me across the threshold. My palm was clammy against hers, but she seemed too intent on rushing me in to drop my hand.
“You’re late.” Vicente’s cold drawl was soft, but it made menace roll through the room.
I stared at the mahogany table to avoid meeting his eye. Several dishes were covered with silver domes, keeping their contents warm. The spread was far more opulent than any breakfast table I’d ever seen.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noted Hugo seated to Vicente’s right, and another, smaller figure beside him.
I tried to suppress my tremor. It was the boy who’d stared at me so coldly as I huddled on the bathroom floor.
Mariana didn’t acknowledge my discomfiture. Instead, she pulled me along in her wake as she made her way to the head of the table and took her seat to Vicente’s left. She indicated that I should sit beside her with a sharp tug on my hand.
I took a small, relieved breath when she finally released me, and I surreptitiously wiped my sweaty palm on the dress I’d been forced to wear.
I could feel the weight of their eyes on me, the press of their disapproval.
“I’m sorry we’re late,” Mariana said, her voice soft and deferential.
There was a moment of terrifying silence.
“Don’t let it happen again.” Vicente’s tone was smooth, but it dripped with warning.
“Of course,” Mariana promised. “I’ll make sure she is on time from now on.”
She?
They were talking about me. As though I wasn’t even here. I felt more like an object than a person, and my skin crawled.
