Page 82 of Her Dark Lies

“Good, because now, I have a surprise for you. Since your beautiful dress was ruined.”

Fatima disappears into the capacious closet and comes out with a yellowed garment bag. She hangs this on the hook and unzips it with a flourish.

Organza and silk spills out of the bag. The heady scent of camphor follows.

“Phew, that’s strong.”

“I can air it out. I believe it will fit.”

She shakes the fabric free and I realize this is a wedding gown.

An elegant, beautiful wedding gown.

49

Mermaids in the Closet

“I—I don’t know what to say.”

“Why don’t you try it on? If it fits, I thought it might do for the wedding,” Fatima says, and she smiles. It completely transforms her. She seems young again, shy. Girlish.

“Whose dress is this?”

“It belonged to my mother. When I heard about what happened to your dress, I went immediately and took it out of storage. Mrs. Compton loved the idea. Try it on. Let’s see if it will do.”

A dead woman’s dress? Great.

But I have to admit, I am touched. And Fatima watches me so hopefully, how can I say no?

“That’s awfully kind of you, Fatima.”

I let her pull the dress over my head and feel the heavy fabric glide down my body and settle. I slip my feet into my ivory heels and go to the full-length mirror.

The dress truly is beautiful, a modified mermaid with a delicate crystal and lace embroidered bodice and plunging pearl neckline. The close-fitting skirt has a layer of sheer organza that makes it feel more like an evening ball gown. It really isn’t my style, and the shape of the underskirt emphasizes my hips, but it fits like a dream. There would be no need to alter it. Amazing.

The woman I’m staring at looks elegant, grown-up. No more messy little girl. No more tattoos. No more piercings. I am a lady in satin and pearls now. I am ready to face the world as a Compton.

Oddly, though my hair is light instead of dark, I look a bit like Ana. I’ve never seen it before.

It’s the makeup, the dress. Spit and a polish. But still.

I turn to see the view from the rear. The backline sweeps down nearly to my waist.

“Can you see my scar?”

Fatima looks at me, concerned. “You have a scar? From what?”

“Yes, on my lower back. I was in an accident when I was younger.” I leave out the dreadful words,the accident that killed my father. Though Fatima confided her family’s deaths, something makes me hold back on the whole truth. It isn’t that I don’t trust Fatima, of course I do. I just don’t know her well enough to bring her into my confidences.

Fatima stares at my back, where the gown cuts low. “No, Signorina. Nothing shows. You are perfect. So young, and so sweet.”

Feeling suddenly vulnerable and nervous, I catch the older woman’s hand.

“Do you have any advice for me, Fatima? Marrying into the Comptons, I mean.”

Fatima’s face closes. “No. They are a lovely family, Signorina. You will fit in very nicely.”

I feel absurdly pleased by this benediction.