Page 68 of Among the Sins of my Father

I turn, not registering any emotion on my face. “Wonderful. I can’t wait.”

He smiles as though he’s made me happy. Maybe he thinks he has. Maybe he has no concept of the emotions of others. Maybe he doesn’t care.

chapter twenty-five

BERKLEY

Michael holds up the costume and honestly, it’s beautiful. At any other time, at any other place, gifted by any other person, I’d be in awe. The outfit looks as though it’s been made of feathers. They curl up the bodice and cup over the breasts, made to look like wings. The skirt is a classic bell tutu, the white feathers realistic and drooping with a hint of melancholy. Wilted roses have been stitched into the lower hanging layers of the tulle.

“What do you think?” He’s waiting expectantly, a look of anticipation hovering across his expression.

I know how he wants me to respond. With gratitude. With amazement. So I say the right words, even if there’s no emotion behind them.

“It’s truly beautiful. Thank you.”

“But that’s not all.” He opens the door to his bedroom. “Come in, come in,” he waves in the woman waiting in the doorway. She smiles brightly, a large toolbox grasped tightly in her hand. Her gaze immediately moves to the swan costume and her eyes widen.

“It’s amazing! Oh, Michael, it turned out so wonderful. Are you happy?” She walks straight past me and into the bathroom, placing her toolbox on the vanity.

“Come, come, hun. Take a seat.”

Michael nods, waving his hand as though to shoo me away. I sit down.

“You must be Everly. I’m Natasha. Michael thought that since this is a special occasion, he would hire me to do your hair and makeup.” She starts rifling through her toolbox. “Do you have any particular look in mind?”

She looks at me then. Actually, looks at me. Her eyes pop open a little in surprise. “Oh, hun.” Her expression softens to kindness. “What happened to you?”

She strokes the side of my face. Tears well uncontrollably at her gentle touch. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror and then dart to Michael. He steps forward, hands resting heavily on my shoulders.

“It wasn’t him,” is all I say at the same time as Michael makes a throwaway comment about how clumsy I am and laughs.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing a little makeup can’t fix,” she echoes the words of my father. I can tell the woman isn’t fooled, but she merely smiles tightly and gets to work. “So, Michael tells me it’s your birthday.” I nod and close my eyes as she starts to lather some sort of cream over my face. “You are very lucky. I’ve heard he’s got quite the party planned.”

She’s pulling my hair back tightly, getting it off my face when I look at her next. I don’t say a word. But she knows. She knows I’m unhappy. That this isn’t my choice. That something not right is going on. But she chooses to ignore it and instead starts prattling on about the looks she has in mind for me.

Simple, elegant, but dramatic, is how she explains it. Michael leans against the vanity, watching the whole time. He and the woman talk easily, as though they’ve known each other for years. I don’t care how or why. All I want is for this night to be over.

I keep my eyes closed until the woman pushes a band into my hair and announces she’s finished. Michael lets out a low whistle of appreciation as I blink, my eyes adjusting to the brightness of the lights around the mirror.

My skin is flawless. My lips are a pale shade of pink. The only thing dramatic about the makeup is my eyes. Thick lines of black curve above and below, accented by white. My cheeks are sprinkled in silver glitter. They look like tears. The headpiece sparkles like a crown dusted in diamonds, some of which hang in a triangular point over my forehead. The sides of the headpiece are covered in the same feathers as the dress.

“So beautiful,” Michael says reverently. He reaches out, a finger tilting my chin up to look at him. “Do you like it?”

He’s so eager for me to say yes. It’s as though he truly wants to please me. How he can be so blind is beyond me.

“It’s perfect,” I say, because there’s nothing else to say.

The woman starts collecting her things and placing them back inside her toolbox. She hovers for a while, as though hoping she might get to speak to me alone, but Michael ushers her out the door, promising to reward her well for her efforts.

As soon as the door shuts, Michael instructs me to get into the costume. He walks behind me as I stand in front of the mirror. I don’t even look at the costume because my hatred for him dominates the reflection. I keep my expression schooled to indifference as he paces behind me, hands clasped under his chin as though deep in thought.

“It’s perfect, is it not?” I nod and he rolls his eyes. “You could at least say something.”

“It’s perfect,” I mimic.

Michael frowns. He turns and collects a jacket from one of the shopping bags on his bed, rips the tag off and holds it out for me. “You’re going to be late for your own party.”

The jacket has been made to cover the costume. It’s black and ruffled. Michael does the buttons up, claiming he doesn’t want anyone to glimpse the final product until I’m on stage. He pulls a mask out of the shopping bag and I have to do up the tie at the back of his head. It’s a plain black mask. Nothing special. But it makes his blue eyes appear even more brilliant. And cold. Then I follow him out of the room.

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