Page 18 of Cillian

“Make the dress pink,” I commanded, before offering a hello or missed you yesterday.

“Good to hear from you too, Cilly.”

“You would never know it considering you stood me up. What gives, anyway? Don't you love me anymore?”

As much as I loved my mum, emotionally, she checked out long before her untimely death. Órfhlaith’s the only mother I’ve really known. It’s why it hurt that she didn’t come yesterday.

“And what's this with you having a baby on me? Who's the father and when do I get to kill him?” I asked, and I could feel her rolling her eyes across the phone line.

“Lucky for you, the energy’s no longer needed. He bled to death in a bar fight. Cheeky bastard couldn't keep his mouth shut even if it could save his life. Wasn't much of a father, so I’m truly better off,” she admitted. Deafening silence had us both assuming the line had clicked but it was obvious we just didn't know what to say.

“I'm sorry, I didn't come. I wanted my boy to see you. But looking decent. I didn’t want his first memory of you to be getting out of prison.” Understandable. Órfhlaith’s the one we protected from this life, even though she was aware of the empire that paid all of her bills.

Bellamy filled me in that she mostly did legit stuff, nothing that came through her shop was dirty, so she’d never get implicated if we ever got caught up.

“So, what does she look like?” Wasting no time asking about Elizabeth. “Bellamy tells me she's pretty but you know his type.”

“She's nice looking. Dark. Not like Irish, dark. Black dark. Kind of shaped like you but you know, better looking.”

“Fuck off,” she laughed over the phone. “I imagine she’s going to need makeup too. What's her skin color like?”

“I just told you!”

“But dark is so vague. Does she favor more of a Lena Horne? Or more of an Ethel Waters?”

“I don't know, whichever’s the darker one,” I argued, unaware of all that woman stuff. I finally settled on that I wasn't used to seeing women as dark as her in pictures, as Órfhlaith claimed she could make that work. When she was done, she’d send Bellamy off with a package.

If I were being honest, I didn't care what Elizabeth wore or put on our face. I wanted the night to be over with, just so I could go back to ignoring she existed.

Eight

Queenie

Having spent the last half hour getting ready, I realized how little I'd been allowed to do things in my lifetime. Small things like making an effort to look pretty. Some people would consider me a natural beauty, but I wasn’t sure that was a compliment or just way of not allowing me do the things other girls did. Outside of my wedding, I had never been allowed to look glamorous before.

I'd never even wore red lipstick before tonight. My mother never taught me to do makeup, but I’m sure it had more to do with how much harder it was to find my shade than hers. Papa always told me only fast women wore red lips or nail polish, so alas, I never wore it. I just had to imagine what I would look like all dolled up like a movie star.

Even the dress I wore looked like nothing I had ever worn before. It was something out of a Rita Hayworth or Lauren Bacall movie. A gown worthy of a red carpet. Dresses like this you really had to look in the mirror and twirl in them just to get the full display.

I know Cillian didn't care for me, so it surprised me how nice the dress had been. Only way I would have owned something this nice is if I had made it myself.

A hard knock came at the door, knocking me out of my fantasy world. “Time to go,” was all I would get. Grabbing my accessories, I joined my husband in the hallway, along with two other men and in an uncomfortable silence, rode the elevator to the lobby.

A part of me felt I should say something, even if I didn't have the words to say the right thing. I wasn't sure he deserved an apology, especially given that I had done the right thing. But that hadn't meant that he had done the wrong thing.

In the eyes of the law, absolutely. But in the eyes of your own. Had someone done that for me? I wouldn't know how to feel because no one ever has. No one stood up for me and maybe there was no need to. Even if I ever told anybody, they’d argue it wasn’t that bad.

It wasn’t that bad, but I could barely touch my body without shame. It wasn’t that bad, but the thought of someone touching me made me want to vomit. I want to blame my father, but even if Mama had stood up to Papa, what was done could have stopped long before I started to hate my own body. I was never going to be normal. But I guess it didn’t matter because that kind of thing was supposed to be for men anyway.

We made it outside and Cillian obligatorily opened my door for me. Ducking inside, I was met with a face I’d seen before but still barely knew. “Elizabeth Stanton. Or should I say Elizabeth Sullivan?” the dark haired, dark eyed men engaged.

We’d been in each other’s company before. Even had a conversation. When the subject of an arranged marriage was on the table, everyone advocated for him. But when I asked him his age, I wasn’t comfortable, as he was so much older than me.

He was nice about it. Didn’t make me feel stupid or shame for not wanting to be with a man in his thirties. But thinking back now, I should’ve considered his offer. He kept insisting he knew what a good woman was and if I changed my mind, he’d do right by me.

Leaving out my hand to shake, he pulled it to his mouth and kissed the back of it. He was either a lady’s man or gentleman. Maybe both. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” I gushed.

“The pleasure is all mine.” It was a strange thing to notice now, but this brother was really handsome. Maybe I just liked how dark his features were, but he was a different kind of handsome than his brother was. Did I find Cillian handsome? Or were his looks becoming less frightening?

---