Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
But that was what I wanted.
I wanted the dresses, the flowers, and even the big church wedding with everyone in attendance. What I didn’t want was for my mother to choose my spouse. But if I didn’t make some type of decision soon, then I might not have a choice.
How was I supposed to go out and date when all I could think about were the different things that priest could have done to me in his room, or in that dark library?
How was I supposed to find love when I was consumed by the idea of sex with this forbidden man that I didn’t know?
“Ms. Astrid, your mother has a guest in the conservatory, and she would like you in attendance,” the butler said, opening my door without knocking.
I hated when he did that, but he did it under my mother’s orders to make sure I wasn’t doing anything a young lady shouldn’t do. I was a twenty-two-year-old woman who wasn’t even guaranteed privacy in her own bedroom.
“Thank you, I will get changed into something more appropriate and be down shortly,” I responded, the way I was expected to.
“See that you do. Your mother does not like to be kept waiting.” He closed the door behind him without waiting for a response and in a true lady-like fashion, I flipped off the closed door.
How I cursed when she wasn’t around, even if it was just in my head most of the time, and the vulgar gestures I occasionally made were what I considered micro rebellions. I used to be braver. I used to have so much more freedom, but once Mother lost control of Amelia and Harrison, I was all she had left. Meaning all of her energy, all of her focus and rage, were pointed at me.
The butler didn’t bother telling me who was visiting my mother, so I assumed it was one of her cronies. Other society women who liked to live vicariously through their children, to talk shit about how youth was wasted on the young and if we only knew how terrible our fashion was and how they would never be caught dead wearing such things in their day.
I considered, for a moment, a larger act of rebellion. Instead of appearing in front of whoever was in the conservatory with Mother, what if I went downstairs and just didn’t go into the conservatory? What if I just walked out of the front door and kept going? Could she stop me? She wasn’t able to stop Amelia.
I thought about that, and I realized Amelia had something that I didn’t when she left. She had a direction, a dream.
She found her own place. She didn’t just immediately move in with Luc, but she knew what she wanted to do with her life and was looking at how to open her school.
Maybe if I had a dream, if I had a direction or something to work toward, then I would be brave enough to walk out that door.
Until then, I had to face the music. But if I was going to suffer through what was no doubt a painfully long visit rehashing the same stories I’d heard a million times and listening to someone gush how lucky I was to have such young skin, I was going to need something to help get me through.
Quickly, I ran over to my door and locked it before opening my closet. Ignoring the dozens of hangers full of designer clothes, I instead dove for the back corner where I hid my secret.
The black shirt the priest had lent me. I grabbed the soft fabric, brushed it against my face, and then buried my nose in it and took a deep breath. Every time I smelled this shirt, I detected a fresh note. Something citrusy other than the bergamot. Lemon perhaps? Or citron? Another spicy note, something that reminded me of pink peppercorns, but deeper.
After a moment, I put it back in its hiding place and chose a pink sweaterdress made of the softest cashmere I had ever felt. It was warm enough to be appropriate for the season, but still hung from my hips and swayed every time I moved. Dresses like this always made me feel pretty, not overdone, not too fussy or flouncy, just pretty.
I even stopped to put on the pearl necklace that Luc and Amelia had gifted me on my last birthday, and a touch of lip gloss. Simple. Demure and sophisticated. Added stylish boots and I was ready.
Now, did I greet my mother’s guest or make a break for the door? Amelia would help me get settled somewhere to figure my life out. So would Harrison.
I headed downstairs, telling myself I hadn’t decided. I could still make a break for it. Fleeing was still an alternative option to plastering on a fake smile and sitting through the tedium. Reaching the base of the stairs, I heard a deep, masculine laugh. It was a forced one that was polite even if not genuine, but there was something familiar about it.