by Debra Kayn
Mrs. Stevenson walked into the closet and ran her hands over several outfits. She lifted one dress off the bar and held it up for Celina's inspection. Celina's brows drew together, and she bit down on her bottom lip. Mr. Randall couldn't expect her to wear something so sheer. The light fabric would show every outline of her body. And, the sleeves! They were much too short.
"This will look lovely on you. It will accent those green eyes of yours."
"I couldn't...it would show too much."
"But dear, everyone dresses this way. Look at me, an old woman, and my arms and legs are showing." Mrs. Stevenson flapped her arms and stuck out her leg. "In this kind of heat, you need something light and airy."
Celina bit the side of her cheek. She let her eyes wander from Mrs. Stevenson to the dress she held. She'd never seen such pretty material.
"Okay, I'll wear your dress."
Mrs. Stevenson's hand flew to her chest, and she giggled, appearing younger than her age. The older woman's laughter filled the room with good cheer and sounded wonderful to Celina. A grin popped out on Celina's face, and she relaxed.
"Not my dress. I'm afraid we could fit two of you in this old thing." Mrs. Stevenson pulled at the material at her waist. "All these clothes in the closet are yours, and every day you can pick something new to wear."
"All mine?" Celina frowned.
"Yes, dear. Mr. Randall is quite generous."
"Yes, I would say so. I wondered if I had to wear the dress I arrived here in the whole time I'm in America." Celina laughed at herself. She realized now why Papa removed her clothes.
She ran the fabric between her fingers, marveling at the silkiness. Not finding a zipper, Celina held it over her head and let it fall onto her body. She looked down and inspected herself. "Oh...!"
"I think I see the problem." Mrs. Stevenson fought back another giggle. She turned back into the closet and came back holding a bag. "Here you go. You wear these to cover your breasts. That way they don't poke through the dress for everyone and their dog to see."
"Their dog?"
"Just a figure of speech, dear. Let me see what sizes we have," Mrs. Stevenson said, sorting through each garment.
"Now, you put this upside down under your breasts, like this." Mrs. Stevenson held an odd shaped cloth bag up against her ribs. "Then you reach back here and slide the clips together."
Trained in Kama Sutra—which she did along with her sisters every evening—did nothing to help Celina coordinate her arms into latching the two metal clips behind her back. She groaned with effort, and Mrs. Stevenson reached over to help her. Ack, it was so tight.
"What kind of torture is this?"
"It won't be torture after you are used to it, dear. The companies who designed the bra stress that wearing one every day will keep your breasts firmly uplifted for the rest of your life."
Celina cocked an eyebrow and looked down at her chest.
Mrs. Stevenson snorted. "You are right not to believe it. Gravity and age does take effect with or without wearing one, but at least you will be decently covered around other people, right?"
Celina nodded. She wasn't totally convinced, but so far, Mr. Randall's older wife seemed sincere in her actions. The contraption pinched her skin, restricting her breathing.
"There, just what I thought. You wear a 34C. Remember those numbers, and we'll pick you up more bras."
"Bras?"
"Yes, they are called bras. These are panties." She held up another garment. "You wear them here, under your clothes."
The panties went on without struggle, and she heaved a sigh. Walking over to the mirror, she posed and admired her new clothes. Her body looked odd, her breasts higher than usual, and the bra squished them closer together. The area between her breasts fascinated her, and she stuck a finger down in the valley.
Mrs. Stevenson cleared her throat. "Let's get this dress on now and see if you feel better about wearing it."
The lightweight lavender dress fell to her knees, fitting every curve on her body and floated around her without having the heaviness of her everyday dresses. She rubbed her arms. She never experienced the sunshine on her arms, and the idea appealed to her.
"Where do you wear a dress like this?"
"You can wear this dress anywhere. When you go shopping, to a friend's house, a dinner date, or around the house."
Mrs. Stevenson picked up the hairbrush on the dresser, motioned for Celina to sit on the bed, and began to brush Celina's hair. She started to relax. The gentle tug of the brush released the tension in her shoulders, and she found herself more tired than before her nap. Danika often helped brush her thigh-long hair, and she did Danika's in return.
"All the clothes in your closet can be worn wherever you go. There will be times when there is a party, and you might wear something fancier...just a second." Mrs. Stevenson stopped brushing and disappeared back into the closet. "Something like this."
Longer than Celina's dress, this one might reach the tops of her feet, and appeared sleek and silky. Celina drew in a breath, and her eyes widened. Where did one find such beautiful, rich material?
The fabric, the color of the ocean, displayed little sewn-on sparkling circles that shimmered in the light of the room. Her hand automatically reached out toward the material, but she caught herself.
"I'll go to parties?" She cocked her head.
"Yes, Mr. Randall attends a lot of parties."
Celina sat back on the bed. There were so many things to think about, too many changes to understand. She shook her head. She belonged in Antaka. No matter the appeal of such luxury in America, she'd promised her sisters she would return to them.
"There. All dressed. Now let's find you some shoes. Then we can go down and join Mr. Randall for dinner."
Celina nodded. She slipped on the beige flats Mrs. Stevenson handed her. Her insides growled, and she pressed her palms onto her stomach. She followed the kind woman out of the room, worried over what Mr. Randall would do when he viewed her bare arms.
Chapter Three
The table in the dining room only sat eight people. She walked in and waited at the end of the table. His other wives must not eat with him. When did he spend time with them?
At the head of the table, Mr. Randall sat alone with his head bent, reading a page of the newspaper. Mrs. Stevenson pushed Celina forward and cleared her throat.
Mr. Randall looked up. "Princess ... Celina, you look lovely. Sit. Sit."
Mrs. Stevenson motioned to a chair to the left of Mr. Randall. Celina took her seat and watched to learn where Mrs. Stevenson would sit, but she left the room.
"Thank you, Mr. Randall..."
Charles wagged his finger at her, and she nodded. "Thank you, Charles."
He smiled at her. "It will get easier and easier for you to get used to our customs, and before you know it—"
A slamming door drew Charles' attention. He frowned, and Celina turned her head. At dinner time even her papa—damn him—hated interruptions. Whoever arrived had upset Charles.
A whirlwind of motion sailed into the room, resembling the breeze coming off the ocean. He laughed and halted to a stop upon noticing Celina beside Charles at the table. He cocked his head and lifted an eyebrow at her. She turned her head and peeked to the side, ashamed he caught her staring. His beauty outshone anything she'd ever seen.
The man's hair was a tad darker than hers, but had so many sunstreaks throughout, it appeared to glow against his tanned skin. She bit her bottom lip. Tall and strong, he appeared confident and comfortable barging into the room where Charles was master.
"What's this, Father? I wasn't told we were going to have such lovely company tonight." The man stared at Celina with eyes bluer than the Indian Ocean back home.
She bowed her head, keeping her gaze off the man. Mrs. Stevenson had said nothing about a dinner guest. Her stomach tightened, and she prayed Charles might forgive her for showing up at the dinner table with her arms bared.
"Drake, this is Pr
incess Celina, who I told you would be staying with us. Her father, Prince Joqua, would like her to be treated with the utmost respect."
Celina detected an underlying warning in the way Charles introduced her, but his face remained cheerful.
"Celina, this is my son, Drake. He's a likeable creature, but is often too busy having fun to make it home on time to have dinner."
His son? She willed her heart to slow down. Trouble would certainly come if Charles sensed how wildly it beat. Like the wings of a hummingbird, her heart rushed the blood to her face in a millisecond.
Despite father and son sharing the same friendly smile, the resemblance ended there. She picked nervously at the fabric covering her lap. Drake stood much taller and relaxed than Charles, who came across more formal and proper. This...man, Drake, with his unguarded gaze, was no doubt dangerous to females.
"Princess Celina." Drake's feet appeared beside her chair, and she glanced up to find his hand extended in greeting.
What kind of man asked to touch her, especially with his father beside her in plain view? Celina brought her eyes up to Charles, afraid to move a muscle in case she did something terribly wrong and displeased him.
"It's okay, Celina. There's nothing wrong with shaking hands between the sexes here." Charles smiled.
Celina glanced up at Drake and offered her hand. Like a puppet, he controlled her strings. His hand held hers, and he brought his other hand up to enclose her hand completely. She ducked her face and yanked her hand back to her lap. Tiny tingles erupted in her lower stomach. Charles' son dared too much, especially in front of his father.
No wonder the men did not touch the women on Antaka. If the touch of another's hands launched a magical swirl of bubbles in the Antakian woman's body, the people might usurp the prince. Although it couldn't possibly happen to everyone, the times Charles touched her, it reminded her of Papa...fatherly.
Would the same thing happen if Drake touched her again? She squeezed her legs together and sat straighter in her chair, head up. No. She would not touch him.
"Here is our food. What are we having tonight, Mrs. Stevenson?" Charles rubbed his hands together.
"Your favorite, of course." Mrs. Stevenson winked, her smile lighting up her face.
Drake sat down to the right of his father and directly across from Celina. Drake laughed, and Charles joined him.
"Every kind of food is Father's favorite. I don't think Mrs. Stevenson has found a food he hasn't liked." Drake grinned over at Celina.
Charles patted his stomach; a small pouch hung over his waistband. Celina bowed her head again and pressed her lips together. Her stomach fluttered in the most puzzling way.
Dinner consisted of meat, potatoes, and corn. She wasn't sure what kind of animal the meat came from, but it looked delicious. The appetite she lost when she left home returned in full force. She dug into the food that sat in the middle of the table.
"Gravy?" Drake held out a cup for her.
She cast another look at Charles, and he nodded for her to accept the gravy if she wanted some. She wasn't sure what to do with it and held it above her plate.
"Is it a soup?" she asked.
Drake set down his fork and held out a roll. "Here, pour a bit of gravy over the roll and try it. You can add it to your potatoes, or over your meat. I like it best on rolls."
Picking up the ladle, Celina dribbled the gravy on her pastry without letting it run over the sides.
Her tongue came out to lick her lips, and being careful to keep the roll over her plate in case she spilled, took a nibble.
"You like?"
Celina bobbed her head. She filled the ladle with more gravy and drizzled it over her potatoes and meat. "It's very good, thank you."
The men held up the conversation at the table, and Celina concentrated on eating. The talk turned to business, and she dug into her food again. It tasted wonderful and helped settle her upset stomach.
"I'm going to throw a party, welcoming Celina to our house." Charles cleared his throat. "It'll be a good way to introduce her to our friends and widen her social circle here.
Celina set her fork down. A party? For her? A wave of discomfort rode across her stomach.
"But—"
"No buts. You'll be fine, and I have a plan." Charles stabbed another bite of meat.
It laid in her best interest to go along with Charles' decisions, and not question her future husband. It perplexed her why strangers would throw a celebration for her.
"I think it would be nice if Drake spent some time with you. You are both around the same age, and he could show you the places he likes to go. You could meet his friends..."
"I would love to help her, but you have me running twenty-four hours a day at the company."
Charles chewed his food and waved his fork in Drake's direction. "I know. That's why I'm giving you a couple of weeks off. You can pal around with Celina. You deserve to have time off for covering for me while I went to Antaka anyway."
"Excellent. How about it, Celina? You want to be my partner in crime? Tear up the town? Set the streets on fire?" Drake asked, setting his napkin down on top of his plate.
"No. I mean, thank you, but I couldn't possibly—"
"He's teasing you, Celina. Everything you do will be legal and fun. Trust me." Charles shook his finger at his son.
"This is okay with you?" she asked Charles. "You think it is fine for me to be around your son? Alone?"
She wanted him to understand her perfectly clear. She'd never heard of someone allowing another man around his woman. Even his own son.
"Of course I do. You have to remember it is not going against the prince when you are in our country. This is what the prince wanted for you, remember?"
Celina bowed her head and nodded. She would try to do as the Americans, if only to please Charles.
"I don't get it. What is forbidden in Celina's country?" Drake asked.
She lifted her head and found him directing his question to Charles.
Charles wiped his mouth with his napkin, and Celina paused to catch if he chose to answer Drake's question. For some unexplainable reason, she wanted to tell Drake the laws of her people. She knew them best. She was an Antakian.
"Celina can probably explain it better than me. Go ahead, Celina. It will help Drake to understand what you are going through."
She swallowed and forced herself to look across the table. "The men and women in Antaka do not socialize together. I'm not to be touched by any male, unless it is my husband."
Unsure of her boldness, she bit her lower lip and shot a quick glance at Charles. He nodded, and her chest expanded.
"This dress is not decent in Antaka. I'm usually clustered with the females in the family, and to be seen like this..." Heat came to her cheeks and she dropped her gaze.
"Her father wishes her to learn to be comfortable doing the things American women do, including fitting in and dressing the way we all dress." Charles winked at Celina.
Drake had kept his eyes on Celina during his conversation with Charles. Something deep inside her soul wanted to break out, but she held her place at Charles' table. For some reason, she needed this other man to understand, wanted him to view her as an Antakian. Not a freak.
"How old are you?" Drake pushed his plate back and leaned on the table.
"I'm twenty years old." She ducked her head. Past the age of marriage in Antaka, her sister, Nari, might have announced.
He softened his voice. "Here it is okay to talk with me, or any male. Everything we do, women do also. You do not have to worry about not talking to certain people and are free to talk to a stranger on the street if you wish."
"Drake is right, Celina. After a while, you will get used to how things work here, and I think you will like it. Even if it is different than how you were raised. This is what the prince wanted, you must remember that."
"He shouldn't call himself the prince, with the laws he makes up," Drake muttered.
Celina gasped and
covered her mouth with her hands. How dare he...blaspheme Prince Joqua!
"Drake." Charles shot his son a look to stop.
"What? It's a horrible injustice to raise someone, anyone, to fear life. Twenty..." Drake snorted. "Yet, there are fourteen year olds who are more socially inclined than her. Her father should be whipped."
"Enough." Charles frowned at Drake. "Celina, I would like to apologize for my son's lack of manners."
An unnerving silence moved its way around the dining room. Celina kept her gaze on her plate. Her eyes burned, and she refused to look at Charles' son. She was mature! Just because she did not act like an American woman, didn't mean she was...stunted.
"Celina, I'm sorry." Drake rested his elbows on the table. "I should not have spoken so rudely. When I think of all the women who have fought for years, here in the States, to gain freedom...To be treated an equal..." He reached over and lifted her chin. "You're obviously a smart woman, a beautiful woman. You deserve to have everything you desire."
Tears balanced on Celina's eyelids, and Charles cleared his throat. Drake let go of her, and she blinked to clear her vision.
"Ah, here is Mrs. Stevenson with dessert." Charles pushed his plate back to make room on the table.
Mrs. Stevenson carried in a tray with three bowls of ice cream drizzled with hot fudge. Celina's eyes widened. She loved hot fudge sundaes.
"Your papa told me this was your favorite, and by the look on your face, I have a feeling he was right."
She nodded and awarded Charles with a smile. With no hesitation, she reached for the bowl of ice cream Mrs. Stevenson offered.
When the three of them sat back in their chairs, relaxed, Charles turned his attention to Drake. "Son, why don't you and Celina get to know each other. I need to take care of some business I got behind on while I was gone."
Celina stood up and walked out of the room without waiting for Drake. She struggled to walk, her legs weak and shaky. The last couple of days had caught up with her, and the plush bed and pillows up in her new bedroom called her name.
"Celina, wait...I know you are probably tired from your trip, but would you like to sit out on the patio for a few minutes? I feel bad for upsetting you at the table. Sometimes I have no control over what comes out of my mouth."