Trying To Heal

Chapter Fifty-Seven

April

The burnished, pastel-blue dress ponds my silver heels. A stylist fastens the zip, another sweeps the sun's dust off the fabrics.

The French fashion designer asked his stylists to leave. Once they do, I face him. My dress is an off-shoulder, bushing long-sleeves, the collar bulging the rounds of my breasts. Lashes inked in mascara, eyes outlined in gentle eyeliner, lips in a violent red, and cheeks, the tip of my nose, the middle of my brows, and my chin highlighted.

"Prepossessing," applauds Victor Bonheur. "Flawless, like a queen. Simple and elegant. I think you should do a photoshoot for my brand. You will undoubtedly skyrocket its economy if you are the face of it."

"I thought Tanner was the face of the company."

"I have several faces for my art. Think about it, Mademoiselle. As for jewellery —" Bonheur surveys a desk, tapping his chin in decisions.

Mademoiselle. Madame. Ma'am. Miss. Ever since I started dating Derek, people would throw these formal references, and I hate it. It feels so out of touch with my reality.

Bonheur queries, "What is it like to be a Matthews?"

"I'm not a Matthews."

"You're treated as one. That makes you rather resilient."

"It does?"

"This Family is not for the weak-hearted." He props on his small spectacles to efficiently criticise the glints. "I'm sure you know what I mean." He opens the lush, cushioned box that Derek wanted me to wear. "I see Mr. Matthews does have a good taste in fashion.."

I eye the chain of pure-white stones, reflecting a million rays. "Are those diamonds?"

"You have never seen a diamond before?"

"If that is a diamond, this is my first time."

"These are alexandrites, dear. One of the rarest and most extravagant gemstones." He carefully elevates the gorgeousness. "I'm you know who this belongs to?"

"His mother."

"Yes. She wore it when she 'crowned' herself as the chief of this dynasty. She had it made for her, hence this is the first Matthews heirloom." He picks up a white-velvety case, revealing two bracelets and a ring. "These are diamonds. They were one of Carlyle Everston's wedding gifts to Florence Everston."

"I can't wear them," I whispered.

Bonheur sighs, lowering the expensive necklace. "He told me you will react like this."

For some reason, that irritated me. "Did he?"

"You presume you do not deserve this," rationalises Bonheur. "But if you decided to be in a relationship with a Matthews, then you should have expected luxuries. Denying riches is never an option. Whatever is his, it is yours. A fool knows that."

"I'm not a Matthews."

"And as I mentioned, you're treated as one."

"That doesn't mean I should wear this. Besides, Derek is not really an Everston."

Bonheur knows the truth. "You should know well by now that, within this Family, blood is not a liquid. Blood is respect." He plucks off his glasses. "He knows what is happening in your personal life."

My breath hitches in my throat.

"In your workplace," he proceeds. "At the Azrael. People are mocking you, simply due to your relationship — that patriarchal prejudice. Assuming you slept your way to the top."

The irritation augments. "Did he think I could not handle it?"

Bonheur sighs again. "He told me you will react like this also. Madame, you can handle everything. You are a strong woman. Do you know the reason why he wanted you to wear this? There is a chance that the Everstons might attend this grand party. The Everstons are not friendly. They are racist, cruel —"

"I know what they can be like."

"Even if you declined these gifts, he put them under your name. If you don't want this, he's going to give it either way. It's yours now. Legally. It is a good thing he did, because these are made for you." He observes my appearance, flickering to the accessories. "Yes, these are definitely made for you. As your personal stylist, a beautiful woman such as yourself should wear beautiful things."

Alas, gathering my tightly-curled hair high, Bonheur clips the alexandrite necklace, clips the diamond bracelets.

He slides the diamond ring on my index finger, the respiration rigidifying in my lungs.

Marlene wears her Allmother ring on her index finger.

I raise my gaze. Bonheur is watching me, studying my rejoinder and astonishment. I was about to speak, to tell him it is foolish for such a thought. He presses a finger to my lips. "This city is yours. This is a good way to show it."

Alexandra Matthews, the first Allmother, the first Matthews female owner of Edgewater.

Florence Everston, the wife of the respected Carlyle, the turning point of an ancestral line, also an owner of Edgewater.

Actions speak louder than words, and these pieces of jewellery are an example. They belonged to women of change.