Eva's Expedition

Chapter 2: Damien

I sat watching the mirror as a maid styled my hair. Another perfected my makeup, even though I could always do it myself.

Why did I need fake eyelashes? Mine weren't long enough, evidently. They irritated my eyes.

Everything seemed to be so fake in my mothers world. I couldn't wait to peel off the false lashes and toss them into the trash can.

Already, my feet ached in the heels my mother had picked out for me. She was making me wear a glittering red dress that was incredibly tight and reached my knees.

I wished it had been shorter so mom wouldn't have picked it.

The cream colored bedazzled six inch heels matched, of course, but they were killing me and the night hadn't even begun.

I closed one eye as the maid dabbed a shimmering color on my eyelid and winced as the other plucked a stray eyebrow hair.

I wondered what it'd be like to do my own hair every single day. That sounded fun, I could learn how to do so many things.

The maids gathered their things and nodded to me. They must be done. I watched them leave and stood up. Even though the heels killed me, I could walk perfectly in them, thanks to Madame Tweé. My etiquette teacher. Ugh.

I studied my reflection. I looked good.

The dress hugged my minimal curves, which mom was trying to get me to fix. Figures, I couldn't ever get a tattoo but I need a boob job. No thanks.

My hair was in more luxurious, billowing curls than usual. My makeup was spot on, and I frowned. They'd covered up my freckles.

My entire image was perfect. I hated it. I wanted nothing more than my dress to rip, my heels to snap, my eyeliner to smudge and my hair to muss.

Maybe I could spill something on myself on purpose for an excuse to leave early.

"Evangeline!" My father yelled from downstairs. I cringed and sighed.

"Coming!" I replied loudly and grabbed my clutch with the gold chain. I hurried downstairs and met my parents by the French doors.

"You look ravishing," my mother grinned.

I smiled a little, "Thank you."

"The press will love it, now come on," she curled her finger beckoningly as she went out the door, her floor length royal blue dress fluttering behind her.

My smile disappeared. Right, the press. That's who I was dressed for. Sure.

My father stood to the side, a phone pressed to his ear. He might as well glue it there.

"Right, I'll have the contract to you by Monday morning," he grinned and hung up. Another good sale, I could tell.

I studied his features. A strong jawline, always cleanly shaven. Styled black hair with distinguished streaks of grey lining it. If it didn't make him look wise and authoritative, mother probably would've made him dye it.

Brown, confident eyes that crinkled at the sides when he smiled. Rarely was it at me.

"We mustn't be late Evangeline," he said sternly, shooing me out the door. We were an hour early as it was. I climbed into the hired limo next to my mother and dad sat on the other side of me.