Wicked Like a Wildfire (Hibiscus Daughter #1)(9)
“Nevena, sweet, please go see to the storefront, would you?” she said, her tone meticulously even. “I’d like to speak with Iris for a moment.”
Nev lingered briefly, raising her eyebrows at me over Mama’s shoulder. I gave her a tiny nod. She wasn’t going to help me now, no matter how much Mama liked her.
Mama cocked her head to the side, tendons cording down the slender but sturdy bow of her neck. Her eyes were glittering, bright and dangerous. They were palest gray, like mine; near transparent, with a darker line around the iris. Wolf eyes. “Tell me, is it gutter-trash whore today?” she mused. “It’s hard to discern your fashion nuances, sometimes. Might be they’re beyond me.”
My stomach knotted. I always yearned for the battle, because it was so much better than nothing, but still it hurt every time she picked up the gauntlet.
“‘Whore’?” I echoed softly. “I’m not sure what you mean, Jasmina, unless you’re talking about getting knocked up by a sailor at nineteen. In which case, astonishment, Mother does know best! The gutter-trash element is still up for debate, though. I’ll check back in when I’m old enough to breed my own bastards.”
The gas-leak hiss of her gasp should have tipped me off, but she didn’t hit me often and hadn’t for a long time, long enough that I wasn’t prepared for the meaty smack of her palm against my cheek. My head snapped back and my sinuses buzzed with an electric zing. Tears sprang to my eyes. The urge to sob was so strong it nearly doubled me over.
Every time, I hoped it would be different. That instead of rising to the challenge she would understand what I was doing and meet me halfway, on some neutral ground.
But she never did.
Instead she stepped close to me and gripped me by the chin, angling my face up to hers. Neither Malina nor I were quite as tall as she was. Her fingertips were rough from cooking, and smelled like lavender and spring onions. The scent reminded me of long-ago times when she’d touched me more, and I bit my lip as I met her gaze.
“One day you’ll understand,” she whispered, “what it’s like to see your eyes in someone else’s face. To see yourself reflected back, and simply not know how to tame it.” She shuddered, lips tightening. “Or maybe you won’t ever have to see that. And if you’re lucky enough, you’ll never have to do the things I do for you.”
“And what things are those?” I shot back, my voice breaking as the tears ran hot down my cheeks. “Ignoring me? Making me feel dirty? Keeping me from the one thing I’m good at, the one thing that’s best in this stupid, tiny fishbowl life? Thanks so much for all that care, Jasmina, but I could really do without.”
She dropped my chin and stepped away from me, swiping a hand over her mouth. Her back straightened as if the stays had been drawn tight on some invisible corset.
“Pull yourself together, and then get back out there,” she ordered. “We have a customer waiting outside. And send Nevena back in on your way out.” She elbowed me away from the eggs and almond flour, not roughly but none too gently either, adding, “I hope you enjoy putting yourself on display like that. Certainly the men who see you will have a treasure trove of thoughts to tide them over once they’re home tonight. Seems unfair that they should have all the fun.”
“That’s a bit rich, coming from you,” I said, my voice still wavering. “You flirt with everyone.”
Her shoulders twitched, but she didn’t turn. “It’s not the same. None of them could ever have me, and they know it. They wouldn’t dare touch me. Unlike you.”
“Are you telling me to go home and change?” I hated myself as soon as the words were out. I didn’t want to do it—didn’t want to pander to her—but now I actually felt as good as naked.
“Oh, no,” she replied. The fire had been tamped down, and we were back to our usual purgatory. Just cold and ashes, with only the lingering tang of smoke to show that there’d ever been a spark at all. “Don’t go to the trouble on my account. Who knows? Maybe you’ll even draw us a bigger crowd today. Dessert and a show—it could be our new calling card. Now go see what they want. And at least try not to walk like you belong in those clothes.”
FOUR
IT DOESN’T MATTER.
You hate her, too.
She only hurts you if you let her.
I looped the mantra in my mind like a prayer wheel. If I told myself these things enough, they all might become true. Still, fresh tears welled in my eyes, and I blinked furiously as I edged by Mama to go see to the customer outside. I found myself locking my knees as I walked, trying to suppress the slight, natural sway of my hips. As soon as I noticed it, I forced myself to stop. I wasn’t going to let her change the way I walked, on top of everything else.
Nev caught my hand as I pressed by her, pulling me back. She made a little moue of sadness at how cold it was, and clasped it against her chest. The wealth of sympathy in her eyes, much warmer than blue eyes had any right to be, made me feel like I’d swallowed a mouthful of glass. I nearly pitched myself into her arms just for a second, to steal that one breath of comfort. To let someone else hold me, for once.
But that would have been weak. And moments of weakness grew into habit too quickly.
“Are you okay?” she whispered. “That was . . . even for her . . . I just don’t understand it.”