Chapter One
Iris
“Iris, stand up straighter and suck in.”
I do as my mother asks as she pulls on the zipper of my dress up. She tugs hard, and I hear her strain, but it doesn’t budge. She lets out an irritated huff and then narrows her eyes.
“Did you drink water all day yesterday?”
“Yes.” I always do as she asks, and even though I’ve never lied to her, she looks like she doesn’t believe me.
If she could control every bite of food that went into my mouth she would. She’s put me on a diet before, but then my dad found out and he went through the roof. Mom can get away with a lot of things, but on a rare moment when Dad pushes back, everyone falls into line, including Mom.
“We’ll have to get something else.” She tsks and shakes her head. “Such a waste of a beautiful dress.”
The passive aggressive dig is something I’m used to, so I ignore her. I wiggle out of the dress, and she turns around to shuffle through the rack of clothing her personal shopper brought over today. This is so over the top for a backyard tea party, but I keep my mouth shut.
I’d love to tell her if she wants the dress so badly she should wear it herself. Although it would hang off of her slender frame and look like a paper bag. Years ago I found pictures of when she modeled. She was gorgeous then, and she still is now. She’s all legs, with silky hair, and her skin is perfect too.
I’m constantly disappointed I didn’t get one of her traits out of the gene pool. I’m short, extra curvy, and my hair is impossible to control unless there is a professional nearby. Dark freckles spread across the tops of my cheeks and nose that even the best makeup can’t hide. She never comments on the differences in the two of us, but I can put it together when she does everything in her power to cover up all my flaws and puts me in shoes that are impossible to walk in.
While she can be hard about a lot of things, she can be sweet and supportive too. I’ve never understood how she can go from one extreme to the next, but everything with her is often one way or the other. There is no gray, it is only black and white, and it’s a constant struggle to keep up with her mood swings. Some days I think I hate her and others I love her. Maybe I get more from her than I realize.
“How about something that’s a little more girl next door. I should have started with that. You’ll look adorable with your dimples and a sundress, and you can even wear flats.” She’s talking more to herself than me, but I still respond.
“That sounds amazing.”
“Perfect.” She hands me a white dress that has dark blue eyelet lace at the bottom. When I hold it out, I realize there’s nothing at the top. “Strapless?”
“Yes, I’ll get you a bra to change into.”
At least I’m getting flats and a dress I can breathe in. I can’t complain too much, but my mom has no idea what it’s like to wear a strapless bra with boobs my size. Luckily when I put the dress on it’s actually snug at the top, which will help. It’s fitted through my chest and waist, then begins to flare at my hips. The material stops a few inches above my knee, with the dark lace just a little below that. It’s beautiful, and I’m surprised that I actually love how it fits me.
“Oh! You look perfect!” She comes rushing into the room with a bra and hands it to me to put on while she gets my shoes and any accessories she wants to add.
Sometimes I think I’m her dress-up doll more than her daughter. I used to love it when I was younger, but now I want to wear things that I pick out myself. Still, this is a small price to pay to make her happy, so I let her do her thing. Especially because the tea this afternoon is with her friends. Since I’ve gotten older, she’s been including me in more of her events. I think she might be grooming me to be a mini her and take over some of the responsibilities she has for the family.
“And we’re right on time.” Mom grabs my hand and leads me out of my bedroom.
We walk down the grand stairs that lead to the front entrance, and I realize I don’t even know what the tea this afternoon is for.
“You never told me who’s coming today,” I say as I’m careful to not wrinkle my dress.
“Just Molly Rineheart.” I stop walking. Now I know why she never told me. “What?” she asks innocently.