Sins of Mine - Mary E. Twomey Page 0,19

put in today. Little do they know they’re about to get much more than that.

I flit into the bathroom and put on the bra that started it all—the Under Me. The gold lace with blush satin underneath pushed me and the bra past the point of stardom and into the stratosphere. A white blouse slides over my head, paired with red slacks I’m not ashamed to be photographed wearing.

Stilettos. Crimson stilettos that I bought, and weren’t a gift from King Regis. This plan definitely calls for stilettos.

I’ve been in work boots for far too long. It’s time I reclaimed my height and the world’s attention. I have something to say, and they’re all going to hear it.

When I strut back out into the bedroom, Sloan helps me throw all my Natalia’s Secret clothing into a garbage bag, which is just about perfect. I heft the thing over my shoulder and stalk down the stairs.

I ignore Sloan as he calls down to me, “You just got a text. The first of the mobile homes are here and ready to be installed.”

“Excellent timing. I’ll meet them at the gate. Grab me some matches and the vodka.”

“I don’t like where this is heading. People aren’t going to want to see this.”

“Then you can tell them to close their eyes while they bury their heads in the sand!” I shout, though I regret the venom immediately, as it’s not Sloan with whom I’m cross.

Though it’s a bit of a walk from my house to the entrance, I’m fueled with fire and ready to set the world ablaze. Sloan offers to carry the giant sack several times, but this is my burden. This is my mission.

This is my statement.

I expected the four news stations to have their reporters at the gate, but when I get there, I find at least forty people all recording my every move, just waiting to be let into our commune.

But they know the rules. This is our safe space. There are no photographers allowed in our hallowed grounds. We’ve been through enough.

Still, the photographers and journalists take their share of pictures of the mobile homes as they’re driven in through the gates, and then of me as I dump my garbage bag out on the grass.

When the last mobile home enters, I know the floor is mine. “Is everyone ready for their big scoop?” I usually don’t wait for their attention, but I want to make sure no one misses a thing. “I want the world to see this.”

Sloan swears under his breath. He hates it when I do something big that he has no knowledge of beforehand. It’s not control of me he wants; it’s that he doesn’t know how best to protect me when he doesn’t know who exactly I’ll be angering.

When I pull the crumpled offer out of my back pocket, he groans.

“I have a message for Natalia’s Secret, regarding the new modeling contract they sent me. After forcing the innocent convicts at Prigham’s to sew their clothes for pennies an hour and profiting off our hard labor, they now want to pay me to model their clothes and endorse their company.” I choose the camera from the topmost ranked station, sending a direct message with true death in my eyes. “Natalia’s Secret, I will never buy another thing from you, nor will I endorse it. Corruption isn’t fashion. Cruelty isn’t couture. You’ve profited off the backs of innocents for too long. I shut down your source of free labor, and now I’m coming after your public image. Enjoy your last days at the top.”

I don’t need words to tell Sloan what to do with the vodka. He takes off the top and hands me the bottle, standing behind me because he’s caught on to my next step.

The alcohol splashes over the pile of expensive lingerie and clothing. The reporters gasp, though it’s more with glee than with fear. They love a good protest.

The fabric lights easily, and doesn’t take long to make a flame that’s worthy of front-page placement. The contract drops from my fist into the fire, and finally, the calm I lost when Sloan read me my mail creeps back into my soul.

The fact that a corrupt company dared ask me to endorse them doesn’t sit right with me. People should know better than to ask me to be less than I am.

And if they didn’t know, now they do.

“Princess!” One of the reporters calls above the others. Everyone is shouting out their questions