Aurora
My adrenaline was gone. I sat softly on my bed, waiting to be called downstairs, a sense of ache weaving into my throat and down to my chest.
Twenty-four hours was all it took for me to become law-abiding. It was stupid to feel sad now.
The maid was right; being stubborn won't change anything.
Can I still fight my way through this?
I was a slave about to be dressed up in money for an unruly man. The replayed conversations with my future husband left me nauseated.
I hated his arrogance, his rudeness, and the mocking name he gave me.
Buttercup.
I hated the way my heart raced at his touch, and I hated how he seemed larger than the universe.
Devin Moore was the devil with a handsome face.
Tears welled up in my eyes; I don't think I can accept my fate anymore.
I forced my lungs to expand to fight my tears. In and out. In and out.
What was I expecting; that he would sweep me off my feet the first time we met at dinner?
This is an arranged marriage, Aurora. The odds of falling in love are zero.
At least he's been honest in his words.
It will never happen.
Deep down, I wanted this to be another door to my freedom. But no. My future husband had locked the doors with his key of an attitude.
A tap on the door interrupted my wallowing.
" Who is it?" I asked, my voice shallow.
"Ma'am, it's Walker. Miss Veronica is waiting for you."
The robotic formalities had my brain in a hangover. No matter the questions I've asked about Devin or the Moore family. They only gave me scripted praise.
All the staff were way older than me, yet I was a queen to them. Devin and his mother were their gods.
I stood up from the bed; once my hormones returned to a normal level, I opened the door.
Time to get dolled up.
**********
I made my way into the drawing room, marking each footfall as I advanced towards the genesis of my transition.
There she was, seated with graceful posture, staring at me with a confident smile and holding direct eye contact.
Standing up, she said in a honeyed tone, "Good morning, Miss Aurora. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
She extended a hand for a handshake, revealing her milky stiletto nails.
"My pleasure." I responded, shaking her hands
Aching from the strain, my cheeks reacted to the smile forming on my lips.
"Sit. We have so much to talk about before we begin a little exercise."
She pushed her lush black hair behind her ear as we took our seats.
" Tea, please," she called out to Walker, leaving us alone." First, how old are you?"
" I'm twenty-four years old."
" You're young. Mr. Moore must have really charmed his way into your heart."
"He has a way with words," I remarked, feigning a smile.
"Could you tell me where you're from?"
" I grew up in Warsaw, a city that doesn't let you forget about the past."
My father's face resurfaced in my mind.
" Do you know why I chose this setting without a desk, my dear?"
" To make it more personal?"
" No. To deprive you of a shield," she replied softly. " A desk hides shaky knees and fidgeting hands. In those chairs, you're entirely on display. Tell me, what's your posture telling me right now?"
My body stiffened. What a backhanded compliment. Cheers to my nightlife back home.
" I'm so sorry," I said, pulling my shoulders back.
"No," Miss Veronica sighed. "Stop what you are doing. If you act poised, you're a mannequin. I don't train mannequins. I train women who command a room by their presence."
Mr. Walker entered the room, setting the teacups on the stool beside us.
" Now let's begin. Pick up the cup; not by the handle; show me how you'll acknowledge its presence."
" Excuse me, there is a way to acknowledge a cup?" My brows furrowed.
"There's a way to do everything," she said, a small smile cutting across her face.
" I'm not sure I understand. I'm to pick it up?"
I believe this is a psychiatry test.
"Engage with it," she corrected." Most people attack a teacup. They lunge at it as if they're afraid it might run away. Watch."
Miss Veronica reached out. Her hands didn't move in a rush; it moved slowly, like a predator about to attack its prey. Her fingers hovered just an inch above the saucer.
" First," she said," Confirm its position. Don't look at the cup. You glance at the person you're talking to, then spot the handle with your side vision. To look down at your hands is to admit you aren't the master of your own hands."
My palms became moist. It's my turn.
I stretched my hand out, holding Miss Veronica's gaze. My fingers brushed the rim of the saucer, almost slipping from my grasp. I jerked back.
" Easy," Miss Veronica murmured." Don't be quick to fumble. If you touch the wrong part, don't run away. Incorporate the mistake with an idea."
I reached for the cup again.
"The handle is a window, not a hook," she instructed. "Never loop your index finger through it like a regular mug. Your thumb and index finger should grip the top of the handle like a 'C', while your middle finger supports the bottom. The remaining two fingers follow the curve of the hand. They do not point out."
I adjusted my grip on the handle, doing as I was told.
It was easier said than done,but Miss Veronica was patient with me.
The cup felt heavy and extremely fragile.
"Now," she continued, "the most important part of the acknowledgment; the lift. You do not bring your face to the cup; the cup comes to you. Lift it three inches below your chin, let the steam settle, and only then bring it to your lips. Silence is your goal. If the cup clinks against the saucer when you lift it, you have failed to acknowledge the weight."
This is way harder than Pilates.
I lifted the cup gently.
Clink.
A tiny, sharp sound that felt like a grenade in the quiet room.
Miss Veronica didn't flinch, but her eyes darkened. "Again. Put it down. Acknowledge the saucer before anything else. Feel the center of gravity. Until you can lift that cup without the world hearing you do it, you can never enter a room without the world smelling your nerves."
A small drop of sweat traveled down my neck as I set the cup back down. My heart hammered against my ribcage.
I took in deep breaths. You can do this, Aurora.
I reached out again, taking my mind off the cup.
Its just an extension of your hand. Take it slowly, I lifted the cup.
Silence.
Miss Veronica's mouth thinned into a smile.
"Better. You've acknowledged the cup. Let's test if you can keep a conversation going and acknowledge it at the same time."
If I wanted to survive my new world, it would be through my classes with Miss Veronica.
I needed to take it seriously.