Chapter 23
M y fingers traced the black bustier dress that hung on the rack like a hidden treasure, but my father’s disapproving voice echoed in my mind. He’d call it too sophisticated, too provocative.
“Okay, I think this is the one,” Yasmine’s voice echoed from the fitting room.
I perched on the velvet sofa, trying to erase that silly dress from my mind. Our shopping spree in the heart of the almost dead island’s town center had been exhaustive since Yasmine insisted on going early to ensure we had a myriad of options.
“Show me!” I called back to her.
I rose from that sofa and revisited the dress for the umpteenth time. The fabric felt like dark swan’s feathers from the tulle skirt, while the back structure resembles the spine’s skeletal bones in dark leather, with long ribbons for fastening the corset. Yas flung the heavy fitting room curtain open, and I jumped away from the rack like nothing happened.
I took sight of her in a stunning, fiery satin dress with a gold sequin neckline, and I gasped. “You look like a princess! I have a ribbon the same color; it’d be so beautiful for your hair.”
She held her hand over her heart. “You’d let me borrow one of your ribbons?”
“Of course,” I beamed.
“I’m touched.” She twirled around amid the faded floral patterns of the peeling boutique wallpapers. “Now, are you going to try that dress you’ve been eye-fucking since we arrived here?”
My pulse quickened. “What?” I faked a laugh. “I did not—”
She went through the rack and picked the dress herself. “You’ve hated every dress except this one. I’ll never go shopping with you ever again—you’re too picky.”
“How did you know?” I reluctantly groped the heavy dress. “I already have one. I don’t need a new one or—”
“It’s a ball, Dalia.” Yas crossed her arms over her chest. “A ball. Not a funeral.”
“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try it.” I smiled.
We returned to the fitting room decorated with porcelain plates on the walls and old theater posters of black cats and the cliff on the island. I slipped into the dress. It hugged my waist snugly, enhancing my modest curves with its corset-style bodice with black lace. It was far more feminine than anything I’d ever worn; I wore skirts and dresses, but they were childish. This one felt powerful and bold with the lookalike bones of a spine on the back. Womanly. Daring. Dark.
I stepped out of the fitting room and twirled in front of Yasmine, stirring up dust particles from the floor.
Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my god, this dress makes you look like a rich heiress—the black sheep of a family whom the villain has set his sights on as she dances with his archnemesis.”
“Imagine it with two silver ribbons and—” My phone chose that moment to ring. “Hold on, it’s my grandmother. I need to show her.” I answered the FaceTime call. “Hey, Grandma! Look at this dress!”
“You look like an apocalyptic landscape, a disaster. I love it!” She frowned at the camera. “And who’s this beautiful creature behind you?”
“That’s Yasmine, my roommate and best friend here.”
Yasmine waved at Grandma, who waved back.
“I did my first time with your grandfather at a ball. He had invited me to dance and picked me up with his motorbike when—”
“Is that Dalia?” My father’s voice interjected from behind as he entered the room.
My grandmother tried to resume her tale. “Yes, darling, but we’re in the middle of—”
Dad swiftly snatched the phone from Grandma’s grasp.
“Hi, Dad, how are—”
“Is this what you’re wearing to the ball?” he said, his tone dripping with disapproval. “Don’t you think you’re showing too much skin? It’s not proper.”
I offered a feeble defense. “Don’t you think I look beautiful in this?”
Dad had a radar, a strange sixth sense. Each time we called, it was at the wrong possible timing for me: after a party, or here, dress shopping. With every rule I was slightly bending, I was getting caught immediately. Story of my life.
“You’re always beautiful, my angel, but you can’t wear that. It’s… it’s not you. You’re only a substitute in the quartet, and even if you were brought in to play, it’s not… classy . No respectable musician would wear that,” he stated firmly, causing Yasmine to grimace, Grandma to roll her eyes, and me to feel a knot in my heart.
“But Dad…” My voice broke down as I tried to stand my ground. “I’m not a little girl anymore, and this is me .”
“Your mother was the most elegant woman I knew. She’d have never dressed—”
“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 shopping with 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 no cleavage 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 pronounce their name 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.
“But he’s hurting you,” Yasmine said. “This is not normal. He can’t decide for you.”
“This dress was too much for me anyway. My boobs don’t even fill the whole corset, and with my hair, it makes me look like a creepy doll. And feathers?” I snorted, stretching my smile as much as I could. “It’s too much like Cruella. It’s not me.”
“I can buy it for you. I saved money this summer,“ Yasmine offered.
“No.” I pinched my lips, tears threatening the corners of my eyes. “Please, don’t. I’ll feel terrible.”
“Then I won’t buy mine and—”
“Please, Yasmine, don’t make me feel like I’m holding you back,” I begged her. “It makes me happy to see you happy.”
“Fine, then.”
She headed to the register, and I felt like a capricious coward for crying over a silly dress, but it was so much more than a dress. It was my inability to talk to my dad or go against him. It was impossible.
I was growing further away from the man who used to be my hero, and I struggled more and more to pretend to be perfect to please him, but I didn’t want to lose him. He wouldn’t love the real me.
I glanced out the store window and noticed Levi and his friends strolling on the street—probably on a shopping spree too. His eyes briefly locked onto mine through the window, and a faint furrow creased his brow.
The tear I was holding on to streamed down my cheek, and he proceeded to ignore my presence.