Page 73 of The Kiss Of Death
“Well, she’s not here anymore,” I pointed out, hard and loud. “I’m becoming an adult, but she’s not here to see it. She’ll never teach me how to put makeup on. I’ll never go dress shoppingwith my mom like all the girls. I can’t call her or confide in her because she’s not here, Dad. She’ll never be part of my life, so you can’t speak for her!”
Mama would never meet my first boyfriend. She’d never give me dating advice. She’d never hug me if my heart got broken. I missed her every day, but I was exhausted from Dad comparing me to Mom. I wanted him to see me for me and not a substitute for her. I’d never be enough for him because of how much he loved her.
His face closed up, and the realization hit me—I’d never stood up to my dad before.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
He cut me off. “I knew her better than you did, and she’d be disappointed in you, Dalia.”
He crushed my heart.
It’s not true. Mom would never be disappointed in me.
She loved me.
I was doing nothing wrong.It’s just a dress.She’d find me beautiful, wouldn’t she? She would take me in her arms because she’d want me to be myself, right? Even if I’d never be as perfect, tender, kind, and loving as she was.
“I’m blocking your credit card since you’re going through some late teenage rebellion and can’t think clearly. If you want this ridiculous dress, you’ll have to earn your own money.”
My grandmother attempted to intervene. “Don’t worry, dear—”
“She’s my daughter, not yours! Stop interfering. You’re a bad influence on her,” Dad snapped.
I remained silent, my emotions buried deep within, unable to find a way out.
“You have a dress we bought together online last year,” Dad insisted, his tone firm. He referred to my funeral dress with nocleavage and frills—church appropriate. “It cost me a fortune. You never cared about any of those things before.”
My fingers curled into the tulle of my dress, crumpling it.
“Fine, I’ll forget the dress,” I responded mechanically, my voice devoid of any emotion, not wanting to sound like an ungrateful brat.
“Good, it’s for the best. Are you going with someone?”
I remained mute.
“Did Sylas ask you?” His face lightened, his lips tilting into a light smile for the first time since the beginning of our call. “Was this dress for him?”
I crossed my fingers behind my back.
“Yes, Dad, I’m going with Sylas,” I lied, knowing if I told him the truth, it would only lead to another fight.
I spent half of my childhood hiding things from him—from the ungodly music I was listening to, to my research about sex, to the glossy pink lipstick I brought and hid under my mattress. And now, I was lying right to his face, and it didn’t even pain me.
He smiled. “Sylas is a nice young man, but you don’t need any artifice to impress him. I’m sure he’s already charmed by my princess. I need to go, Dalia.” He interrupted, a hint of frustration in his voice. “I have a work call to attend to, but I’ll still see you at the parents’ day at the university in two weeks. We’ll go see your mom’s plaque, and you’ll show me the opera?”
“Yes.” I faked a smile. A part of me didn’t want him to come to the place I’d made my home, but the other part acknowledged that he was trying to get to know me. He’d never shown interest in the opera and Mom’s plaque before. I wasn’t even allowed to pronouncetheirname and had to pretend it didn’t happen.
“I love you, okay?”
“Right,” I replied, though the skepticism in my voice was hard to miss.
I hung up the phone and turned to Yasmine. “You just met my father.”
“He’s quite controlling…”
“I’m the only thing he loves in this world. Since my mother’s death, he’s been afraid to lose me. I don’t want to hurt him or worry him, but—”
I drew in a deep breath, placing a hand over my aching chest. Dad would never understand how I felt. He just wasn’t the type of person you could talk to. He was too stubborn and too proud for it.
