I stare at her for a minute before bowing my head. This has been the rule in my family ever since I can remember. We all bow our heads to her, regardless of her age. I have seen my grandfather doing it, so it doesn't take me any motivation to do that. I bow my head as a habitual act.
She claps her hands over her face and pulls a surprised expression. "How beautiful have you become, my child." Her eyes trail down my body from my face. I wince internally. Her eyes scan me carefully, before pulling another smile.
I mumble a small thank you and glance around. Suddenly the kitchen feels cold and empty.
"Listen, Francesca, you are going out with me tonight. Wear the dress I bought for you. It will highlight your features. And don't worry about the dinner, we'll have it there."
"There?" I ask reluctantly. Asking any question would mean starting a conversation. However, Aunt Josette looks equally reluctant to give me a proper response.
"Yes, we'll have it where we're going."
I go to my room. Today the house seems to be quieter than usual. My house is usually quiet, almost to the point of the gothic castles of Edgar Allan Poe novels. The mansion was built more than a century ago. Most of the places are cold, dark and musty. To add to the ambience, each room of this house is soundproof. Not even the slightest sound of laughter or muffled voices can be heard from outside.
I cross each set of closed doors in the corridor and take the grand staircase to the first floor. My room is in the left wing, the last one. This wing has the most beautiful and spacious rooms, and they are handed down to the daughters of this family. My room belonged to Aunt Giselle, my father's older sister. Before that it belonged to Aunt Della, and before that, Aunt Josette.
I open the doors to my room and gasp at the scene in front of me. My body starts shaking in fear. I am not good with strangers. Hell, I am not good with people, strangers or otherwise. I hate making small talk or being subjected to attention. I hate going out even. But right now, the sight of the strangers in my room does not invoke hatred in me. What I feel right now is fear. Pure, unadulterated fear. It is irrational, I think, I can't even see their faces.
I stare wide-eyed. The men, three of them, are looking at the window. I don't get it. What is there to look at? There is a garden, a fountain, and a brick wall. The men don't look at me, yet they whisper something. All three of them are tall, dressed in black, and somehow all the colours in the room have faded around them. The room is cold, chilling almost. What am I watching? This looks like a funeral, but whose?
"Franny, please get ready soon. Our ride is already here."
Aunt Josette's voice breaks the vision in front of me like a shattered mirror. Right in front of my eyes, the image blurs away. I sense her presence behind me.
"Why do you look so pale, my dear? Are you feeling cold?" She takes my hand in hers and smiles, a little too sweetly. "Or are you scared of me?"
I shake myself off of my trance and say, "I am fine. I will meet you downstairs."
Aunt Josette stays inside my room with me. Completely ignoring my refusal to change in front of her she continues watching me. Her presence brings back the colour to my skin.
With great courage, I bring myself to ask her, "Are you worried that I am going to run away?"
"Are you speaking up nowadays?" She asks me back. With a sly smirk on her lips as she eyes me. "I want to help you get ready. I am your aunt after all. It's my job to make you look presentable."
That makes no sense, I think. She smiles again, as though she heard my mind.
The dress she bought for me is a peach, satin dress. It is not too revealing, to my relief. I strip off my clothes, keep my undergarments on, and pick up the dress. I am about to put it on when she speaks again, "Take off the bra. You'd look better without it."
"What?" I am sure my eyes have given away my thoughts. She raises her brows and pulls another smile.
"This dress will look better without that extra piece of garment. Trust me."
"I don't think I am comfortable," I mumble and put the dress on.
Suddenly a hand clasps around my wrists. "I said, take off the bra." The assertive tone makes me shiver. There is something in her eyes. Something I don't recognise but am forced to surrender to. She unhooks my bra and whispers, "There, now you look better."
The dress fits me perfectly. I hate to admit it to myself, but Aunt Josette has good eyes. I feel a little uncomfortable about the way my breasts look. The material does hide my body but it highlights the ups and downs, and the few small curves of my body. My nipples stand erect like punctuation marks questioning Aunt Josette's intentions.
She does not stop there. She makes me sit in front of the dressing table and starts putting on makeup. "You don't need makeup at all, but tonight is special. Don't worry, I will make you look prettier."
She picks primer and foundation applies a light layer on my face, and then proceeds on to bring more colours to my face. She focuses on peach and light pink shades. She combs my hair and fixes a couple of pearls on my hair. "This looks better," she says.
I look at myself in the mirror for one last time.
At the porch, a black, vintage Rolls Royce waits for us. Aunt Josette guides me to the car.
"Has somebody informed Mom and Dad?"