“Do not judge my story by the chapter you walked in on.”
—Unknown
One bronze, oval button. One push. Oneding, onedong.
And it will all be real.
I suck in a breath, my chest straining against the skin-tight uniform. A cold rush of unease flits down my spine as I tug at the mid-thigh hem of the little black dress. A dress I received on my doorstep. A dress that’s worth more than Mama’s entire trailer home. A dress that had a one-way plane ticket to New York and five crisp hundred-dollar bills stuffed inside its inseam pocket when it arrived.
Before yesterday, I’d only ever heard of designerOscar de la Rentaon reality television. Today, I’m not only wearing his clothes but also matching four-inch pumps.
Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I adjust the black, rectangular-rimmed glasses sitting on the bridge of my nose and shake my head at myself.Stop being a coward and get it over with already.
If Frankie were here, she’d smirk and shove my shoulder to edge me toward the door. But she isn’t here, is she?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I press one chewed fingernail to the doorbell and wait for the ring.
Anticipation builds with each second, gnawing at me until my palms are sweaty.Ugh. As though I don’t already have enough personal issues to deal with without adding this whole scenario to the mix.
I can hardly believe I’m really here. Not that I know where in the hellhereis, exactly.
Angling my head, I try to inconspicuously scope out my surroundings. The black limo that dropped me off a few minutes ago is now a distant speck, disappearing down the endless driveway. Each side of the smooth, narrow path is lined with perfectly trimmed hedges tall enough to resemble a maze. A maze that threatens to swallow me whole if I dare venture back the way we came.
It’s impossible to see far enough, but I know the limo had to pass through a gate to get here.
Blacked-out windows blocked any clues as to where I was headed from the second I was picked up at the airport and escorted into the shady vehicle. Tinted glass hid even the driver’s seat from view, but they couldn’t mute the occasional sounds. After what felt like hours of driving with only tire noise, my ears had perked at the subtle rumble of a gate opening.
My heart thumps a little harder against my ribcage as I gaze into the clear blue sky above my head. As far as I can tell, there’s nothing to reveal my location. The plane may have delivered me to New York, but for all I know, we’ve veered all the way into Jersey or Massachusetts.
I turn back to the door, taking in the actual property, and shit ... the place is massive. I’m a tiny speck of dirt standing before the house. No—mansion. The building is all high arches, intricate engravings, fancy terraces, and polish and shine, stretched out enough it could consume our entire trailer park.
Deep breaths.
After a soft click, the mahogany door swings open and a stunning woman stands before me. She probably has fifteen years on my twenty and looks like she just stepped off a runway. Sleek blond hair is pulled into a complex twist at the top of her head. Her high cheekbones are rosy. Her tanned skin is smooth and flawless.
“Emmy Highland?” she purrs, glossy red lips curving as she extends her hand. “Stella Larsson. So pleased to finally meet you.”
I shake her hand and try to force my shoulders to relax as I latch onto the familiar name. “Nice to meet you, too. In person, I mean.”
Her smile widens, and it only emphasizes her beauty. Stepping gracefully to the side, she releases my hand. “Please, come in.”
It’s not until she turns and I follow her into a long corridor that I notice her outfit: a little black dress ending mid-thigh, with matching four-inch pumps. Almost identical to mine, except when she shifts I see that hers has a steep V-neckline while the one I was provided has a modest sweetheart cut. She also wears a thin gold scarf curled around her neck like a choker, but the way it’s tied neatly on one side somehow makes the entire look radiate class.
My footsteps halt on their own when the corridor ends, which leads to an enormous living room. A breathtaking sea of gardens lay outside the grand windows that eat up the entire far wall. Rays of sunlight pour over the seating area, creating a glow that casts a shimmer against my skin. When I look up, I notice most of the light’s coming from a glass ceiling.
The dazzling warmth feels deceiving when I know what really goes on here. What role I’m expected to play. I take a few steps to the right until the shimmer vanishes and I’m standing in a shadowed corner.
My arm brushes a canvas on the wall. It’s a stiff, traditional landscape of a century-old mansion. Bronze and regal looking, the piece is all kinds of wrong. Definitely not how I would have done it. The building’s paint should be chipping, the garden full of weeds, reminiscent of the days come and gone. Long shadows would stretch across the cracked steps, teasing the house with ghosts of its past. A thick streak of red would mar the windowsill, an abandoned bucket of paint knocked sideways and spilling its heart.
Even states away from the sketchpad tucked so carefully in my corner of the trailer, where Mama won’t find it, my fingers itch to get lost in the brushstrokes they always crave. Each stuffy painting calls me closer with its pleas for sharp strokes of red and black, making me wish I hadn’t been instructed to leave all my belongings behind.
Of course, I never had proper materials to work with, but Frankie did what she could to get me supplies, even when I was little. Paints and sketch pads from second hand stores were easier to come by than new items. Otherwise, pencils and scraps of paper would do. No matter what, she made sure I was stocked with something, and whenever Mama caught me and threw it all away, Frankie would go out and find more.
Frankie used to say when you feel the urge to do something, it’s your soul’s way of leading you to where you’re supposed to be.Never ignore your impulses, Emmy. We’d all be lost without them.
I swallow, shoving the thoughts down and flicking my gaze from one painting to the next.
“Would you like some tea before we begin?” Stella’s smile wavers as she gazes into the dark corner I’ve chosen.
