with that, they ended the call. Matías felt a sense of triumph, in many ways, as he was certainly transcending the roadblocks that had been set out before him. He was not going to allow Diego to win. But at the same time, there was an element of manipulation he was having to capitulate to, and that, he would never find acceptable.
But he had work to do. A stylist to hire, a ring to procure, and he was not going to linger on anything unpleasant in view of that. There was far too much to be done.
And he would do what he always did. He would see it done.
WHEN CAMILLA WOKE UP, she was immediately yanked out of bed and into some kind of alternative reality.
She was sent straight into a lavish bedroom much different than the one she had been staying in when she had been Cam, the stable boy. This one was sumptuous, frilly and quite a bit more feminine than the one she had existed in back at home. It didn’t take long for her to realize that she had been installed in Liliana’s old room.
That she was being used as a direct replacement, even down to being sent to the same lacy surroundings full of flowing curtains and billowing canopies.
If the housekeeper found it strange that she was making this transition, she didn’t say anything. If she found it strange when a rack filled with clothing was brought in, and a basket of lush toiletries was provided, she said nothing to that, either.
“You are to bathe,” the woman said, her tone brisk. “Use the bath salts, and all of the scented washes. And then there is an appointment with a stylist later.”
“Oh,” Camilla said, feeling slightly dizzy. Reeling over how quickly things were changing.
“You want to know why I’m not surprised,” the woman said. “It is because I knew the moment that I first saw you, that you were not a boy.”
“But Matías...”
“If he truly did not see,” the housekeeper said, “it is because he rarely pauses to look around him, not at the things he considers beneath his notice. It is why he hires people, you see. To deal with matters he finds unimportant.”
“I see,” she said.
“I’m not sure you do,” she responded. “But I think you will.”
After the other woman left, Camilla padded into the bathroom and took stock of all the finery there. The body washes, salts, soaps and scrubs. She opened the tops and smelled a few, setting aside some in lavender and some scented like warm brown sugar and honey.
Camilla stripped her clothes off slowly, relishing the lack of binding on her breasts. Enjoying the thought that she wouldn’t be binding them again today, or ever.
The tub itself was pale blue with gold claw feet, deep enough to submerge in, she thought. She turned on the golden tap and poured some bath salts beneath the churning water, scent blooming upward, wrapping itself around her.
Then when it was full, she stepped inside. She sighed. She could be free to linger in the warmth, to sink in to the bottom of her chin and lie back, letting the lavender-scented water carry her to another moment in time altogether.
Letting it take the weight from her shoulders, if only for a moment. The months of grief and stress, the heavy cloak of sadness.
When she went back to reality she would have to face the fact her father was still gone. But at least her own fate was secure.
At least there was that.
When she finally got out, she wrapped herself in the softest towel she had ever felt in her life and padded out into the bedroom where there was silk underwear laid across the bed and a simple summer dress. She felt so strange putting them on. Stranger still, when she looked in the mirror and saw that billowing fabric resting gently over her curves.
She felt... Well, even there in the isolation of her bedroom she felt hideously self-conscious.
If Matías imagined that she was going to have some great transformation where she became even half the beauty that Liliana was with a little bit of polish and a pretty dress, he was going to be sorely disappointed.
Her hair was still short, and her face was still...well, her face.
Angles and hard lines much more suited to a man than a young woman, and no hair to disguise or soften it.
She didn’t have time to ruminate on this, however, because shortly after, breakfast was brought to her room.
Coffee and homemade jam on fresh bread. Huevos rancheros and bacon.
Now, that made her feel spoiled beyond anything. She had been existing on much more meager offerings and it was wonderful to fill herself completely.
As soon as she had finished the last sip of her coffee, her room was invaded again by three different women all talking at once. There was much clucking over her hair, and discussion about color palettes and various other things.
One of the women took out a pair of scissors and Camilla was appalled when she approached her and began to run her fingers through her hair.
“There’s not enough hair left to cut off!” Camilla protested.
“Trust me,” the woman said, “you will want me to smooth out this hatchet job, and once I do it will look like there’s more there.”
She began snipping, shaping what remained of Camilla’s dark hair. She left the top slightly longer, clipping the sides and the back shorter, and teasing it a little bit so that it looked much more like an artful, purposeful pixie cut then exactly what it was—exactly what the stylist had called it—a hatchet job. Something that Camilla had done to herself in a panicked rush with a pair of dull scissors.
Then the second woman began to get out various pots of makeup. An array of different colors that reminded Camilla of summer, sunsets and somehow, of candy.
Warm tones, golds and oranges were swept over her eyelids, her cheekbones, the hollows of her face, adding a sculpted look to her that she hadn’t known was possible to achieve. By the time her eyes had been lined and mascara added to her lashes, she felt that even her mother would be hard-pressed to say she had a masculine appearance.
It was strong, certainly, quite a bit more angular, perhaps, than many women would consider ideal. But she was shocked to discover that she found the woman looking back at her in the mirror to be beautiful.
“The short hair is quite nice on you,” the hairstylist said.
Camilla nodded, looking at herself, leaning in to try to get a better idea of everything. She was shocked.
“I didn’t know I could look like this.”
“It’s all about finding what works for you,” the woman said.
“I just... I was always told I wasn’t...”
“What?” the makeup artist asked.
“I
