Betrayal (Infidelity Book 1) - Aleatha Romig Page 0,11
was saying.
Alton wasn’t the one who cut my hair, and the cut wasn’t a trim. He and the rest of the staff watched as two other members of the grounds crew held me down and the other man cut. By the time he was done, my tears and fright had faded to whimpers and the room of eyes had disappeared, evaporated away. I was left alone with my stepfather in the grand hall in a chair surrounded by chunks of red hair.
“You will not tell your mother about this.” It was the first time he told me that, but not the last.
I wondered how he thought she wouldn’t know. After all, the entire staff had witnessed what had happened and with one glance she’d see that my once-long hair had been butchered. But my lesson in Fitzgerald / Montague living wasn’t complete.
After Alton made me sweep the lengths of hair from the floor, he handed me off to Jane, both my nanny and friend. She was the one who read me my bedtime stories when I was little and tucked me into bed. As I aged, her role in the household morphed. Her responsibilities grew, but always she was there for me.
That evening, as she held me, she promised to make it better. She wouldn’t let me look in the mirror, but I could feel it. It was almost my bedtime when Jane brought a woman to my room and explained that the woman would do the best she could to make my hair pretty. I was only ten, but I was certain that pretty wasn’t possible.
With delicate scissors, the woman snipped and clipped. When she was done, it was the smile on Jane’s face that gave me the courage to look at myself in the mirror. The cut was even and maybe even stylish, but it was short and I felt like a boy. It wasn’t until Jane tucked me in that I finally understood: my hair wasn’t the only thing that was gone. So was any hope of escape.
Jane explained that I’d thrown a temper tantrum about the salon. In my own rage I’d taken scissors to my long hair. I cut some places so short that the only way to fix it was to cut it all off. Though she told me the story with determination in her voice, I saw the sadness in her eyes and knew that she was telling me the story my mother would hear. And it was.
I straightened my neck, my long ponytail sliding across my back, and resumed my walk toward my room. The memory reminded my why I’d successfully avoided this house and room for nearly four years. Though my stomach turned, I was now an adult. I could make it for one night.
“Oh!” I exclaimed as I entered my room. It wasn’t the sight of my canopy bed or flowered wallpaper that excited me. My heart leapt at the sight of the woman standing beside my bed. Her smooth, dark skin had a few wrinkles and her brown eyes were older, but they’d been my anchor. I’d assumed that after I left Savannah, her job would no longer exist, or Alton would find a way to get rid of her. “Jane! You’re still here.”
She wrapped me in the warmest hug I’d had since I arrived. “Child, of course I’m still here. Where did you think I’d go?”
When I was little, Jane seemed so old, but now I saw her as closer to my mother’s age, actually younger. Memories spun through my mind like a carousel. It was everything: the bedroom, the house, and the grounds. It was the sense of imprisonment and the love of the woman squeezing my shoulders.
“I don’t know.” I squeezed her too. “You’re the best surprise I’ve had since I arrived.”
Her cheeks rose and a dimple appeared. “Look at you! You’re all grown up.” She tapped the top drawer of my bedside stand and let out a low whistle. “I’m glad I was the one who unpacked your things.”
My cheeks filled with crimson. “I guess I am. Grown up and also glad it was you.”
She spun me around. “And look at you! So pretty! You’re going to be a big, fancy lawyer.”
I nodded. “That’s the plan.”
“I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” It was the sincerest statement I’d made since I returned.
She walked into the closet and came out with a pink sundress. “Your momma’s been real excited about your visit. She’s been shopping.”