Clinton Priest

Chapter Twenty Six

My parents aren't at the funeral. Only Lizzy comes. Perhaps to gloat about my necklace or maybe she genuinely cared about him. I search for her in the midst of departing bodies. I see Mr. Gregory, our chief of police, sneaking a sip from his stash of alcohol hidden in the pocket of his jacket before I see her.

She's talking to Clinton, her fingers caressing the large ruby hanging of the silver chain as she leans toward him. I bite my lip in frustration as worry courses through my veins. I don't want her anywhere close to him because he could hurt her and yet,
I want her hurt. I want her bleeding red like the necklace she stole.

So I turn away from them and make my way to grand pa's car. Abram opens the door for me and I slide in ignoring the itch in my throat and the burn in my eyes. I miss her. I miss my grand mother.

"Should I put on some music, miss. Sinclair?" Abram asks as he drives away from the cemetery.

"Yes please," I tell him.

"Which genre?"

"Rock."

I see him smile in the rearview mirror.

"Will it be the usual then?"

I nod.

Soon the familiar blend of instruments and Axl Rose's voice fills the car as November Rain starts to play.

It plays on repeat till we get home and it resounds in my head as I lie in my bed with Clinton's book resting rather uncomfortably on my face. Haven was a bitch. She'd betrayed Michael at the last moment when it mattered most. There he was trying to save her and all she did was stab him right in the back. Literally. And for what? For the family, she said. A family who'd turned their back on her since her birth.

Still, it's understandable. I will give anything to have my parents look at me the way they looked at Isabelle. In that respect, I am like her.

"Aren't you going to get dressed?" Diana asks from the door way.

"I will," I tell her. My tone is frosty and she only nods as she hesitantly walks into the room.

"I'm sorry," she tells me. "I shouldn't have let her in."

"You shouldn't have but you did anyway."

"I locked the door like you said. Madam Veronica ordered me to open it. She said your cousin had more of a reason to wear it than you did. They want her to marry Mr. Priest you know."

"No. I don't know. How does grandma Linda's ruby necklace fit into their schemes? And since when has mother liked Clinton?" I ask, flinging the book onto the bed.

"She doesn't. But she likes his money and the prestige of his family name. You know how these things work. If your cousin should marry him, his wealth and power by marriage and Miss. Elizabeth's influence becomes that of the Sinclair family," she tells me wringing her fingers together.

I rise from the bed and walk to the closet. I search for the antique lace dress Isabelle had given me when she was getting married to Adrian. I've put on a bit of weight since that day but I'm certain I'll fit perfectly into it. It was a bit large anyway.

"If you're looking for the Versace gown Mrs. Isabelle gave you, um, Miss. Elizabeth has that too," Diana says.

I sigh heavily before slamming the door shut. I make my way back to the bed and lie down. The dress never meant much to me anyway.

"There is something for you in the walk in closet," she says softly. "Master Edwin had me place it there for you. He says it's a gift from a woman called Montserrat."

Curiosity wins and I make my way to the closet. There are two packages sitting on one of the empty shelves. I pick the bigger one up and open it. It's a dress. I lift it from its box and hold it up in the artificial light. The gown is done in white silk with silver beading and white embroidery. It's strapless with seaming at the bust and corset boning at the sides, center and back. The bodice is covered with embroidered flowers and crystal beading. The bodice comes to the top of the hips and the dress flows to the hem.

It feels smooth and glides along the flesh of my hand like... like... well, like silk.

Diana gasps softly behind me at the dress and I hand it to her before taking the other box in my hand. There are shoes in it. Louboutin.

"She spared no expense," Diana says. "The dress is beautiful."

"I know. I'll have to thank her."

"There's a note in the box," she says.

She's right. A white sheet of paper lies perfectly folded at the bottom of the dress box. I take it out and carefully unfold it.

I suppose you will be needing this for tonight. Signed, Montserrat, the note says.

"Your grandpa must have told her," Diana says.

I doubt it. Yet I say nothing to her. Instead, I walk out of the closet and she follows me. She drapes the dress on the bed and takes the shoes from me, laying them perfectly on the floor.

"Go take a shower while I search for a straightener," she tells me.

By the time I step out of the bathroom, she's arranged everything. I sit in front of the dresser and she starts to work on my hair. I don't wear make up. She only puts my hair in a sleek bun, and helps me into the dress. I look presentable by the time she's done. The dress of course wears me not the other way around and I'm tempted to tear the shoes of my feet.

Still, I smile  as I look at my reflection. I've never looked this good.