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One
“And the awardfor the most fashionable artist goes to Lucinda De Vil.” The applause is deafening as my sister—well, stepsister—stands to go get her trophy and a one hundred-thousand-dollar grant. Fury rolls through me as I look at the stage, and our father stares at me with disdain. I’ll get an earful the moment we get home. He knew I was going for this and insisted on getting Lucinda involved.
My designs are cutting-edge and trendy. Lucinda’s are retro and funky. It’s not that Lucinda doesn’t have talent—she does. Except the way her color schemes work is dastardly together. There’s no cohesiveness or sophistication to her work. Mine flows from one piece to another. There’s a theme and color scheme that meshes well.
Trying not to get too upset, I take a glass of wine the server offers, downing it in one gulp. Another hour goes by before I meet my ecstatic sister at the limo with my father, who is talking to Ricardo McKessonville. He’s the most sought-after clothing agent in the United States. Bile rises as I think about my internship with him this summer.
“Ah, here she is, Ricardo. I’d like you to meet Crucinda. I believe you granted her an internship.” My father comes up to me and gives my shoulder a hard squeeze. The message is clear—be nice, do not argue, and accept whatever he says as final.
“Hello, Mr.…”
As I extend my hand to shake his, he cuts me off. “Call me Ricardo, dear.” He takes my hand in his and squeezes. “I’d like to start by apologizing.”
He looks anything but apologetic. My brow furrows, and I shrug. “For what?”
My confusion makes everyone laugh. Lucinda steps up and looks at me. There’s a bit of guilt in her eye, but it’s overshadowed by glee. “Well, I… Well…” she stutters, and I know I will not like whatever she has to say.
“I’m receding your internship. The winner of the grant should be the one to get to work for me.”
An ugly gasp leaves me as my vision swims in a dizzying effect in front of me.
“Cru, please. I really need this.” Lucinda grabs my hands, and I’m able to focus again.
“But I earned it,” I say quietly.
My father cuts in. “Enough, Crucinda. Get in the limo, both of you. Ricardo has spoken, and that’s the end of it.”
With shaking hands, I get into the limo. “See you Monday, Lucinda,” Ricardo says as she turns back and looks at him with a fond smile. Anger boils deep inside of me.
The door shuts, and we drive off. “You ungrateful bitch!” My father says as he slaps me across the face. “After everything I’ve done for you, you could have been a better sport about this.”
“I…” His hand finds its mark again against my cheek. Lucinda smiles at me with nothing more than satisfaction that I’m being hit.
“You really should have known I’d end up with everything, Cru.” Her cocky voice grates on me as I rub my cheek. The thing is, she’s not wrong. Father has babied her ever since he married her mother.
“When we get home, you’ll go straight to your room.” He straightens his tie and turns toward Lucinda.
Sitting there stoically, I say nothing. It’s better if I don’t cry or speak. Lucinda and Father talk about her next line of clothes as I sit in my seat, looking at our driver. Jasper is my only friend, but he knows not to cut in when my father is talking. He looks away from me, and I truly feel alone. Hell, even he is ashamed to look at me. The rage inside me builds each mile we drive as we make our way home.
Once we get home, I wait until everyone else gets out of the car. Maybe if I take too long, Father will forget he wanted to punish me. The house’s west wing is silent as I enter through the side door. Walking along the gray hall, I feel a presence behind me.
“You disgraced yourself tonight, Crucinda.” My father says as he pushes me through the bedroom door.
“Father.”
He slams me into the wall and crowds into my body. “I’m going to step back and let you undress. Once you do, I want you back on this wall.”
Turning toward him, I know saying anything will make things worse. But I must try. “Please,” I whisper, hoping he won’t do this. He’s the only person who can make me tremble in fear and beg.
Instead of a slap across the face, he punches me in the right eye, and I fall to the ground. My eye feels awkward as pain radiates through me. Crab crawling backward, I try to get away from him.
“Don’t make me tell you again to take your clothes off. I’d hate to rip one of your stupid creations.” His eyes are full of malice and lust.
Not again, I think.
Please, not that.
Lower lip trembling, I stand up. Taking off my beautiful white and black mosaic dress that took me almost twenty hours to perfect, I think about a time and place when I was happy.
