Chapter 19
T he rest of the weekend was a whirl.
I didn’t get to read any of the journal because I spent my time researching ballet, particularly its performance and etiquette when attending.
I didn’t want to come off as an ignorant hick—especially since I’d have to be in the presence of Augustus Whittier II, Sinclair’s father.
When I spoke to my dad over the weekend, once or twice I was tempted to tell him about what was coming, who I’d be meeting—but I didn’t want my father’s emotions to become dark or depressed, because I didn’t want his mood affecting his health.
If I were going to do anything to the eldest Whittier, I’d have to share that with my father after the fact.
For now, I needed to keep him optimistic about his appointment in October, now only weeks away.
After pondering it for most of the weekend, I decided it would be best to put off any thoughts of revenge.
I had never met Sinclair’s father—so this initial meeting would be like reconnaissance.
I had to observe my enemy and then come up with a strategy.
I had another thought as well.
When I’d first arrived in Sinclair’s mansion, he had been on the phone, telling his father about the Miller girl he’d brought home to serve him.
Did his father know I would be Sinclair’s date?
Would I be tormented by his entire family?
But, if that were the case, why go to the trouble of taking me to the ballet?
Sinclair didn’t seem to have any ulterior motives other than really wanting me to be his date—and the events of the week seemed to prove it.
Monday morning started off much like it usually did…
except Sinclair told Edna his plans.
He’d already informed her by the time I came downstairs, so I wasn’t sure exactly what he’d said—but when I poured a cup of coffee, Edna said, “The ballet, eh? I know you’ll enjoy it, dear.”
“Have you ever been?” I asked.
“Once or twice. The Whittiers sometimes give tickets as a gift. The Nutcracker is probably my favorite.”
It was good to know Edna might be able to give me answers I couldn’t find online—and if she suspected there was anything else going on between Sinclair and me, her face and tone of voice didn’t indicate it.
Still, when I sat down to breakfast, Sinclair winked at me—and I couldn’t do anything other than grin back.
Edna called me from the top of the stairs around two o’clock that afternoon, long after my eagerness had calmed, settling into the background of my brain so I could focus on work.
But I immediately perked up as I took the stairs heading to the main floor.
“He’s waiting for us in the great room.”
The great room ?
I couldn’t recall either Edna or Sinclair showing me such a room—and I didn’t believe I’d stumbled across it—before this.
But I simply nodded and followed her down the west rear hallway—past the kitchen on the left, the dining room and beverage nook on the right, as well as the small laundry and cleaning room.
On the left was a final door that was open, but I’d never looked inside.
Which I found odd, considering all the other snooping I’d done.
But both the east and west rear hallways ended with doors leading to different garages and I’d never thought about much in between.
After all, there was the kitchen and it had no windows except for a skylight in the ceiling.
I’d known then that the back half of the mansion was only one story—while the front, the part that was seen by people driving and walking by, was grand, majestic…
and so I’d never thought much about the back part, because there wasn’t as much to see.
Or so I’d thought.
The great room was breathtaking, with a huge skylight overhead that would have allowed sunlight to stream in and flood the room—but the skies today were gray, and it had been raining most of the day.
There was also a bank of glass at the top of the south wall to the ceiling—and I knew if I’d had a ladder to look out of them that I would have seen the roof to the garages.
Even with all the windows, the skies were dark, not giving much light.
But that didn’t stop this room from shining in its own brilliance.
On both the left and right side of the skylight hung two beautiful chandeliers, but my eyes were drawn to everything in the room, accented in white and gold.
In the middle was an arrangement of furniture around a large square coffee table.
In here on the walls there were several pieces of art, but I noticed that they hung on the south wall where they’d be guarded against sunlight.
On the north wall there was a television and sound system, bookshelves, and the biggest fireplace I’d ever seen—but it was obvious this room was never used.
Not just because I’d never seen it but there was a feeling of stillness here, of the pillows on the sofa never being used to lie or rest on.
Like the second floor of the east wing, this room felt forgotten.
Even the two large books artfully positioned on the coffee table felt neglected and old.
One was a book about the Titanic while the other was about trees.
I didn’t have much more time to take things in as a thin man with a thinner black mustache entered the room, several gowns draped over one of his arms. For just a moment, he had a confused expression and quickly said, “You’re not Natasha.”
As if this whole thing hadn’t felt weird and foreign enough.
“No, I’m Lise.”
He nodded.
“Marco. Edna has told me that I need to find a gown you like for an upcoming event. Don’t worry if something doesn’t fit. If you like it, I’ll alter it so that it’s perfect for you.”
Meanwhile, I was wondering who Natasha was.
Marco removed a long dress from underneath a cloth cover—and I nearly lost my breath.
It was pure black—long, sleek, and sleeveless, but I wouldn’t be able to tell much simply looking at it, other than it looked elegant.
Marco said, his dark brown eyes lit up in amusement, “Try this on.”
I took the dress and decided I’d go to the nearest bathroom on the west side of the main hallway before Edna touched my elbow.
“There, dear.” With her other outstretched hand, she indicated a screen in the northeast corner of the room that I hadn’t noticed because of everything else in the space.
So I nodded and walked across the room, also noticing for the first time that there was another door on the east side which no doubt led into the rear hallway on that side.
Quickly, I removed my jeans and blouse, trying to decide the best way to get the dress on.
I decided that it would be logical to step into it.
It wasn’t until I put my feet inside the skirt and pulled it up that I realized there were no zippers.
Instead, it was form-fitting.
Fortunately, it wasn’t too snug but it did fit like a glove.
Down the back was a ruffle and a bow on top while my back was completely bare.
My gray tennis shoes didn’t show under the bottom of the dress or I would have taken them off—and, before I stepped out, I removed my bra so it wouldn’t ruin the illusion.
Considering I usually wore a bra…
I felt weird without it.
But I stepped out from behind the screen and Edna gasped.
“That dress looks like it was made for you.”
Thank goodness for Edna.
Instantly, I relaxed.
“Thank you.”
Marco, however, was all business.
“Please turn around.” As I did, he asked, “How does it feel?”
“Okay.”
He continued standing back, evaluating the dress on me.
“If you like it, we’ll find you some strappy open-toe heels to go with it.” Then he turned to Edna.
“Are we choosing jewelry as well today?”
“No.” Yet another reminder that Edna was Sinclair’s right-hand woman.
She knew exactly what his wishes were.
Marco waved me toward him and this time he evaluated the dress up close.
“Is it tight or pinching anywhere?”
“No.” Snug, but I believed that was the point of the dress—to show off my curves without blatantly doing so.
After all, it was black, and I imagined, in the darkness of an auditorium, it wouldn’t stand out.
I was okay with that.
But this dress—the feel of the fine fabric against my skin, the way it almost seemed to have been made for me—was amazing and beautiful.
Marco asked, “Do you like it?”
“I do. I love it.”
“Let’s have you look in the mirror.” Just behind Marco was a large full-length mirror that I’d seen somewhere in the mansion before…
I just couldn’t remember where.
At least now I didn’t have to try to picture myself in it.
Although the dress didn’t look like something I’d ever have picked out for myself—I couldn’t deny it made me look beautiful.
All I could do was smile.
“Well, let’s see what you think about these others.”
This time, he handed me a chiffon satin dress that felt sumptuous against my hands.
It was a soft pink with a top that was like a corset with spaghetti straps, meaning I’d have to continue going braless.
The skirt was layered with ruffles, and I wondered how it would look on me.
This dress was a little more complicated to get on.
I stepped into the skirt but had to zip it up the back from my waist to the top.
It, too, fit well, although it was a little loose.
It revealed my cleavage, something the other dress hadn’t done.
Regardless, I’d have to find a way to feel comfortable in whatever dress we settled on.
Like before, I stepped out from behind the screen.
Edna smiled widely, no doubt enjoying the break from her routine, and Marco asked me the same questions as before.
But when I saw myself in the mirror, much as I loved the dress and the slit at the front where I could show a little leg, I felt like this was a dress that would look best at a high school prom.
A few years earlier, I might not have minded the chance, but I didn’t want anything reminding me of my high-school days in Winchester to sully what I hoped would be an unforgettable event.
Although I didn’t say it out loud, I decided that one was not the dress I’d wear.
Maybe had it been in a different color, but I’d never know for certain.
I wound up trying on more than ten dresses.
One was a gown with a light green skirt embroidered with metallic threads so it sparkled.
If I chose it, the skirt would have to be shortened so I wouldn’t trip on it.
Although it was snug, it had a slit at the back.
The top was plain light green with sleeves that ended at my elbows with a big lapel and plunging neckline, but what made this gown fun was a cape-like effect in the same plain fabric surrounding the skirt.
But when I saw myself in the mirror, I didn’t care for how it looked.
I tried on a couple of little black dresses too, but I knew I didn’t want something that barely covered anything—and one of those fit that particular bill.
I tried on a teal gown that was plain but pretty, a ruffled burgundy dress, and then the dress I knew I wanted.
I didn’t think so at first until I put it on.
It was red and fitted as well—and exposing more skin than I thought I’d be comfortable showing off…
but something about it spoke to me, and I thought Sinclair would love it.
It had short sleeves that didn’t go up to my shoulders, instead only hugging my arms, and the neckline showed off just a hint of cleavage.
But the back wasn’t exposed—just my shoulders—and the skirt flowed to the floor in a few layers.
When I saw myself in the mirror, I knew this was the one—but I wanted to hear what the others thought.
Marco, of course, simply asked the same old questions.
Edna, however, said, “You are stunning, Lise. I’m afraid you’ll put all the other women at the ballet to shame.”
I smiled, looking at my reflection.
For probably the first time in my life, I truly felt beautiful…
almost like Cinderella going to the ball.
Was I an imposter?
Before I could ponder it further, Marco said, “What do you think?” When I didn’t answer right away, he added, “If you don’t like any of these, I can come back with more.”
“No. I think I can pick one.”
“Do you want my opinion?” I didn’t know if I did, but I nodded anyway—and he didn’t hesitate.
“Your eyes look like they’re on fire in this dress. It’s something about the way the green in your eyes reacts to the red. The green dress also reacted with your eyes, but it was subtle. You’ll make a statement in this one.”
Was that good or bad?
Did I want to make a statement?
He must have seen the doubt on my face.
“You look stunning in red. My recommendation is this dress.”
“I agree.” Edna’s vote was vehement.
“If you’d rather look at other gowns, I can bring more in red.”
“No, I do like this one.” They did as well.
I loved the dress and how it made me feel—and, with their agreement, I was certain.
“Perfect.” We spent the next few minutes with Marco tugging here and there, making sure he knew exactly how it fit on my body.
He promised to make a couple of alterations and he’d return the next week with it, as well as a pair of shoes and a wrap of some kind.
“The next time you put this on, you’ll believe it had always been made especially for you.”
While Edna showed Marco out, I got back in my clothes.
When I stepped back out from behind the screen, I was looking around the room until Edna returned.
She said, “I guess I’ll leave the mirror here until then in case he wants you to try on a variety of shoes.”
Which opened the door so I could ask the huge question I’d had earlier.
“I love this room. Why isn’t it ever used?”
“Mr. Whittier never said it explicitly, but I think it’s because it’s kind of a family room. The eldest Mr. Whittier one time told me about watching football games in here with friends they’d invited for Thanksgiving one year. When the boys were younger, we would sometimes give them an hour of television time in here.”
I stopped myself before I referred to the man of the house as Sinclair rather than as Mr. Whittier —which might have tipped Edna off.
Strange enough that the new girl was chosen to go to the ballet…
but now she’s getting familiar with the boss too?
Edna was a smart woman.
I suspected it wouldn’t take much to tip the scales to make her suspicious.
When I finally spoke, I felt a little nervous, realizing just how close I’d come to giving it all away.
“Mr. Whittier showed me the television room one day.”
Nodding, Edna began walking toward the door to the west hall.
“The one in the main hallway. So think about it. If it was you all by your lonesome, would you rather watch TV in this giant room or over there in a more intimate space?”
I almost laughed, because no space in this mansion was intimate, not even the closets, and especially not the television room—and, knowing she probably lived in a place not unlike my father’s house in Winchester, she would no doubt agree if we’d had a rational conversation about it.
But her perspective was relative: and here, in this mansion, the television room on the first floor of the east wing—a room that was larger than the living room back home—was far cozier than the overwhelming, large great room.
However, that giant space was cozy in its own way, thanks to the way it had been decorated.
The designer had an eye for how to create small spaces inside a large one, so that, even when watching television on a huge sectional, a person might feel comfortable.
Hardly thinking about it, I answered, “I guess so.” But I was pondering Sinclair again.
Did he avoid this room for the same reason he avoided the second floor of the east wing?
I wondered.
As we walked back down the west rear hall, Edna said, “Next Friday, you’ll have someone here to do your hair and makeup for the ballet.”
“What?”
As if it were an everyday occurrence, she said, “Yes. That afternoon. So you’ll probably only work a half day that day. I’ll stick around to make sure the woman gets here, so maybe we’ll eat a quick lunch together. Then you can shower if you want and, when she gets here, I’ll leave the two of you to it.”
“So…what will happen exactly?”
“Probably just what you think,” Edna said, pausing when we arrived at the main hallway.
“She’ll make you look like a princess.”
“I should probably paint my nails.”
“Or,” Edna said, her eyes lighting up with mischief, “we can get mani-pedis Friday morning.”
I giggled.
“Both of us?”
“Why not? I’ll ask Mr. Whittier later. He’s been in such a good mood lately, I can’t imagine him saying no.”
I couldn’t help growing more excited.
The polish on my toenails had begun to chip worse and, even though Sinclair hadn’t said a word about them, I was sure he noticed when we were intimate together.
He didn’t miss much.
And I suspected I knew why he’d been in such a good mood lately—because I had been as well.
“I guess I better get back to work,” I said, turning to walk toward the door leading downstairs.
“Wait. I needed to ask you if you have any allergies.”
“Allergies?”
“Yes. Like…gluten sensitivity or latex or anything like that. The makeup/hair woman wanted to know.”
“Oh.” I smiled again, feeling quite spoiled.
“Not that I know of.”
“I’ll let her know.”
In just a few moments, I was back downstairs, trying to pick up where I’d left off, looking through a box of small objects, some which looked like mere trinkets and some that appeared to be worth a fortune.
Unfortunately, now that I felt like Cinderella being wooed by the prince, I couldn’t concentrate.
If I’d been working a real job, I would have taken the afternoon off.