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“Father Zimmerman,” I whisper. He closes his eyes and I want him to open them again. I’ve never seen such a grayish-brown color before. As he looks at me, they shimmer, almost unnaturally.
“Don’t say it like that,” he mutters, and his hand is gone.
Blinking, my eyes tear up. I’m so stupid. Of course, he doesn’t want me. He’s a priest, trying to be friendly and keep me from being a bad person. A sinner. “I’m sorry, Father Zimmerman. I have to go.”
Before he can say anything, I dash out of the church and chastise myself for being such an idiot. Making my way back into the house is easy enough, and as I step into my room, I shut the window. There’s a black dress on the bed for me with a note.
“Dearest Jacqulin,
I am looking forward to meeting you. Your father has described you as delicate as a rose and as beautiful as one, too. If you’d do me the honor, please wear this tonight so I may see my future wife in a delectable dress.
Yours truly,
Arturo
Gag me. If he had just said, wear this dress so I know who you are, I would have been happier. Instead, he tried wax poetics and failed. My mind floats back to Father Zimmerman and my body aches. I’ve never been turned on before, so this is something new to me. Taking a deep breath, I step into the bathroom to shower.
Twenty minutes later, I’m finished. I’m not too embarrassed to say that I thought of how Father Zimmerman might touch me. The ache inside of me is almost unbearable, but I don’t know how to make it go away.
After drying off, I do my hair in a fishtail braid, and I smatter on a little makeup. I’m not into dolling up. The dress is lacy, and I don’t like it. Instead, I walk to my closet and find a new dress. Black is not my color. It never has been.
Ellie comes in and gasps. “You look amazing.” I blush as I look at myself in the mirror. I have on a red dress with black heels. Now this is more me. “But that’s not the dress Mr. Gomez brought over for you.”
“No, it isn’t. I don’t like the dress he brought over.” Ellie frets as she walks over to me.
“Miss, please, don’t make things harder on yourself.” She warns me and that gets my attention.
“What do you mean?” I put on a shimmering lip gloss before throwing it into my clutch.
“Your father will not be pleased.” That’s all she says as I walk to the door.
“Do I not look beautiful?” Was I wrong in assuming that what I like isn’t flattering?
“Oh, Miss, you look amazing. I wish I was as beautiful as you, but your father and Mr. Gomez don’t like to be defied.” She rubs her arm and my anger flares.
“Does my father hit you?” I ask, trying to keep my cool.
“Oh, no ma’am.” She opens my door. “You better get going if you wish to not be late.”
Taking the stairs in these three-inch heels is a slow process. As I step down onto the ground floor, my father turns, and his features quickly flip from surprised to angry. “What the fuck is this?” He stomps over to me and grabs my left arm roughly. “The dress was supposed to be black, amore.”
“I did not like the lacy fabric.” Deciding to go with the truth is not the right answer. My father practically flings me away from him toward the step. I stumble and yelp as I fall to the ground.
“Go change right now.” He snarls at me and continues in Spanish. “No seras una mocosa está noche.” You will not be a brat tonight. The words kill my mood, and I no longer want to go to the party. Not that I wanted to go to begin with, but with this red dress on, I felt good.
“And if I don’t?” I ask quietly, trying to stand up.
“Why you…” He doesn’t finish. Ellie is in front of him.
“I’m sorry Sir, but… but if you mark her, it will displease Gomez.” Is she trying to save me? Or is she on Gomez’s side? I’m so confused.
My father straightens himself and smooths his hands down his suit jacket. “Of course. You are right, my precious girl.” Yeah, there’s something going on with those two, but I don’t want to dissect it.
“Come, Miss, let’s get you changed.” Ellie helps me up the stairs and once we are in my room, she turns to me. “Do not provoke him, please.” That’s all she says as she helps me out of the red dress, and I pull the black one on.
I hate lace.
Club Ambrosia is not my scene. It’s loud, are people bumping into each other, and it’s smoky in here. Disgusting. I prefer a quiet area to read, away from anyone and everything. “Stand up straight.” My father grates on my nerves each time he talks. If he hates me so much, why did he insist I come back?
