Steam rose from the crystal-clear water, warming the room to the vaulted ceiling. A row of oils and bath salts lined the marble edge, each in a crystal bottle with a handwritten label. Rose. Lavender. Bergamot. She uncapped them one by one, breathing in scents that had no place in her life. Until now.
Daisy liked the jasmine best, thick and sweet and somehow right. Pouring a dash into the water, it swirled across the surface, perfuming the bathroom like a secret garden hidden under moonlight.
Steam wrapped around her as she undressed, gasping in pleasant surprise at the heat radiating from the tile floor. How luxurious. Carefully removing the locket from her pocket, she clasped it back around her neck where it belonged.
Turning, she stilled—her smile faltering as her gaze fell upon the thin woman staring back from her reflection.
The sharp jut of her collarbones matched the protruding harshness of her hips. The visible ladder of her ribs had her curling a protective arm around her waist. While some women might strive for her figure due to some skewed beauty standards, the unintentional result of a waif-like form only filled her with shame.
Hunger and neglect did this. The proof of hardships and sacrifices showed in every defined rib.
“I may not have to hide at all tomorrow. Who would want this?” Her harsh words hurt, and maybe they should. She was angry and had only herself to blame for neglecting her needs for so long.
But then defensive pride rose up inside of her. She hadn’t chosen this. And she would not choose to play the victim now. This entire journey was about choosing better, for herself, for her future, for…ever.
Lifting her chin, she met her stare in the mirror, and this time she didn’t flinch away in shame. From here on, things were going to change. Not just her circumstances, but her body. She was a work in progress, a masterpiece in the making, and she refused to feel ashamed of the girl who got her this far.
She took it all in—the limp hair hanging in pale tangles from the root, the freckles that stood out like rust spots on her pale skin. Her eyes, so familiar to her mother’s, bruised from exhaustion.
This is what poverty looks like, she thought, refusing to shrink away from such raw honesty. “I’m here,” she said out loud. “This is the last day I’m going to be poor.”
She turned away from the mirror and carefully stepped into the tub.
She now understood why these next hours were called The Becoming. How poetic that they brought the tributes to a place called The White Swan.
Settling into the water like a lone ugly duckling, she smiled and welcomed the transformation ahead.
As she soaked, ears muffled below the placid surface, she thought of the person behind all of this. Wondered why they did it. What did they have to gain?
A shadow. One she might never meet or understand.
Aunt V called him J. Thorne. That made sense since the invitation had been signed J.T.
Daisy decided then and there that, should she ever meet Mr. J. Thorne, she would thank him for this gift, even if it turned out to be nothing more than a warm bath in a lavish palace for one magical night.
She stayed soaking in the luxury for some time, held weightless by the water, the delicate scent of jasmine filling her lungs, existing in a place she’d never been before. With nothing to do but rest, she found her mind suspended somewhere between hope and fear.
Once she dried herself with a lush towel from the heated rack, she slipped into the robe that had been hanging in the closet. Plush folds wrapped her from shoulder to foot, monogrammed in gold with the delicate swan motif she’d come to love.
She bet the bed was as soft as a cloud. After brushing her teeth with the freshly packaged toiletries waiting on the mirrored tray, she went to find out, but froze in the doorway to the main room.
Heart hammering hard in her chest, Daisy stared at the bed with wide eyes. The covers were turned down. Folded back in precise invitation. Different from how the bed had looked an hour ago.
A single chocolate resting on the pillow, and a tray of fruit and cheese waited on a draped cart by the windows. The curtains had been drawn against the night, and the lamps had been dimmed to a soft amber glow.
“What the hell?”
Her eyes darted from each little detail, proof that someone had been in her room.
A sense of violation washed over her like a tsunami, knocking any remnants of relaxation out of her bones. How could she have been so careless, lying naked in a tub, eyes closed, ears under water? Did they see her?
She clutched the lapels of her robe shut and gripped her locket, unsure what to do. Then she moved through the suite with new alertness, searching every shadow.
No one was there.
The suite was completely empty, but any sense of privacy was long gone.
Tension tightened her shoulders.
