Page 418 of Hell Hath No Fury
“Guests?” I question, keeping my voice as emotionless as possible to not draw attention to the true turmoil in my head.
“Yes, Colleen, guests. Did putting on that poor excuse of a dress decrease your IQ so much that you don’t even remember what the word guest means?” my mother states with a snide asshe pulls on her long white gloves, not even sparing me a second look.
I bite the inside of my cheek, blood pooling on the center of my tongue with how hard I bite down, just to keep me from answering her in kind. Sierra’s shoulders slump at my mother’s cruel remark, her crestfallen expression hurting my heart more than my mother’s words ever could.
My dear naïve, sweet sister.
She actually thought our mother would have words of praise for me when she saw me in this getup. But I knew from the start that I wouldn’t. In this dress and makeup, I represent all the things my mother despises. Vanity is for the weak of mind. Appreciation for beauty or anything remotely inclined to enjoyment, are for fickle souls who have no care or worry in the world. And for my mother, the world is filled with worry. Grave injustices that need to be stricken down with rapid speed and an iron fist. And to her, a woman can’t wield a hammer if she’s in a pretty dress now, can she?
My mother’s worldviews are so outdated that sometimes I want to scream in her face. A woman can be anything she wants to be. She can wear a flowing gown and still demand the respect of her peers. She can wear oil-covered overalls and still own her sexuality. We can be anything we want. Do whatever feels good to us and it’s no one’s goddamn business otherwise. We are majestic queens and it’s time the world regarded us as such.
But like Josephine Richfield, not everyone is of the same mindset.
It’s easier for them to push us into a box, label us with their own prejudicial opinions, pass their laws and zealot rules to control us and be done with it.
When I take my rightful throne, I vow I’ll do better than her.
I’ll show her what true feminism looks like.
One of inclusion, not accusation.
“I didn’t realize we would be entertaining tonight before we went to the gala, Momma. That’s all,” I explain, keeping my tone as cold as the glimmer in her eyes. “Forgive me for being confused.”
“It’s not your confusion that offends me, it’s that thing you’re wearing,” she sneers, staring at my dress. “But no matter. Most of the Northside is vacationing somewhere or another, which means we won’t have too many witnesses to see you in it. Count your blessings, Colleen, I’m letting you accompany me to this thing in the first place. Unfortunately for me, plans and promises have been made, which means your presence is mandatory. And I always keep my word,” she ends with a disgruntled glower. “Now come. We’ve wasted enough time as it is.”
And on that note, she picks up her small purse and leaves the room, her silent order that we follow her prickling the nape of my neck. Sierra rushes to my side, entwining her hand in mine and offering me an anxious look.
“I’m so sorry, Col. This is all my fault.”
I force a smile and squeeze her hand in mine.
“No, it’s not. I did this all on my own. Don’t worry, sis. I’m a big girl. I can take Josephine’s wrath. I’m used to it, after all.”
She chews on her bottom lip apprehensively before lifting her eyes to meet mine.
“I meant what I said, Col. You’re breathtaking. I’m kind of jealous.”
“Jealous? Of me?” I chuckle incredulously. “Don’t be, baby sister. Being me isn’t for the faint of heart. In fact, it sucks most days.”
Her tender gaze never wavers as she takes my other hand in hers.
“Not tonight, it won’t. Tonight, you’ll be the belle of the ball. No one will be able to take their eyes off you. You look absolutelystunning. You look like the woman I always knew was in there somewhere. Someone who is free.”
My forehead wrinkles at her statement, but all too soon does she start to pull me in the direction of where our mother has rushed off to. I follow her lead, hearing hushed voices coming from downstairs in our lobby. When we turn the corner to the top of our imperial staircase, I see who my mother was in such a rush to greet. Her best friend, Vera Price, and her grandson, Richard, and beside them, the Turners. But they aren’t the ones who have hooked their eyes on me. Owen Turner breaks free from their little gathering just to have a better view of me and Sierra walking down the stairs.
Against my orders, my knees suddenly feel too weak to take a step farther.
Damn it.
What is he doing here?
“Ladies, we don’t have all day,” Vera orders, clapping her hands for us to get a move on.
“Col?” Sierra whispers beside me, curious as to why my hand is gripping the rail, my feet unable to move.
Unashamedly, Owen runs his thumb over his lower lip in a sultry smile, his green eyes piercing my chest even from way up here. Everyone keeps staring at us, but it’s his eyes on me that has me pulling air into my lungs.
He looks…
