I hated it.
“Did you hear me, Maxine?”Dad-not-Dad asked.
“I harbor a death wish for you.It is fervent.I haveembraced it with all that is me.But sadly, this does not mean I can no longerhear your bleating.Ow!”
He kicked me in the shin.
Hard.
It hurt.
A lot.
I glared at him.
“You respect your father,” he bit out.
“You’re not my father,” I returned.
He moved his feet like he was going to kick me again.
I shifted mine and snapped, “Fine.Right.You do know, Ihaven’t forgotten my mother is in that hellhole taking care ofyourdaughter.”
He settled back and watched the pink house get closer.“Don’t forget it.And don’t forget our deal.”
I wound a hand in a circle in front of me.Incidentally, itwas a hand covered in a baby-blue kid leather glove with baby-blue-coveredbuttons on the inside at the wrist and intricate seam-work on the outside ofthe hand with delicate scalloping around the edges.They were lovely, and theyfelt like butter.I loathed them.
“Make him fall in love with me.Get him to knock me up.Produce a son.Get pat on the head.Be reunited with my mother and let out ofthis nightmare.Yeah, I didn’t forget our deal.”
He turned back to me.“We sayyesin this world.”
I didn’t reply.
“Remember my teachings,” he ordered.“I haven’t spent hourafter hour for three weeks molding you into a fine lady ofHawkvale,a woman fit to be called Countess of Derryman,which you are, for youto fall at this first hurdle.”
You guessed it.
After that trip where he took me, blindfolded, to see whereMom and the other me were holed up, a whole lot of unfun Eliza Doolittlegarbage had been going on for three weeks.
Which was apropos, considering a number of things, includingmy current outfit (baby blue, form fitting down tokickpleatsthat started at my knees, a smart, knife-edged bow at the back of said knees, aone-foot train trailing from it, a long-sleeved bolero jacket up top thatbuttoned over my breasts up to my neck, the dress under had short, cap sleevesand a square neckline that exposed cleavage, all of this made in silk wool—itwas simple, but fabulous, however the large hat with enormous rosettes that satat a tilt on my head was not simple, it was extraordinary, and I detested it…allof it).
I again didn’t reply.
“You perform well,” he stated, “your mother gets thereward.”
“And your daughter,” I prompted.
He rolled his eyes and scoffed, “She’ll be fine.She doesn’teven know where she is.”
“She might have some issues,” I said quietly.“But she’s notstupid.”
His gaze skewered me.“Speak not of what you know nothingabout.”
“I know that woman has no idea where she is, but she doesknow she’s not home.”
“She’s home for the first time since she was six,” he spat.
Six?
