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death.
    “Well, it will distract the guests from their plotting”, Helena said conspiratorially. Sofia’s ears rang with the echoes of her father. Of course, Helena hadn’t meant it in the same way, but to have the image her mother’s contorted body in the red gown thrust in front of her mind’s eye made Sofia queasy. Helena realized she hadn’t responded and looked up. “You’re white as a sheet dear. Come and sit down. What is the matter? You look awful.”
    Damn , Sofia thought. She had made a conscious effort to keep her expression neutral. “I’m sorry, it’s nothing. I just have a few negative memories associated with red dresses.” She offered a smile to cover the moment.
    “Don’t hand me that line my girl”, scolded Helena. “I’ve seen that look on others before. Whatever memories or associations you have are not merely ‘negative’. Also, Quint tells me you’re a strong woman and from what I’ve seen so far I believe him. So that means you’re not prone to swoon over nothing. Out with it.”
    Sofia didn’t want to share this information with a potential employer but what could she do? She couldn’t very well say “It’s none of your business, you busybody”.
    Helena radiated kindness, but she meant business and wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer. Sofia decided on the truth but offered the short version. “My mother died when I was fifteen. She was wearing a red gown on the night she died. I’ve never worn the color. As you can imagine, I have a bit of an aversion.”
    “I see, very understandable. And, forgive me for saying, but I gather it wasn’t expected like from an illness. Heart attack?”
    “Suicide.”
    Helena patted her arm and gathered the dress to return to the rack. Then casually said, “Quint mentioned that you don’t get on with your father.” Helena turned and gave Sofia a probing look. “You blame him.” It wasn’t a question and Helena didn’t pause for confirmation, but selected the same dress in a beautiful persimmon shade. Sofia went to the dressing room, grateful for a few moments of privacy.
    The night came back to her in a flood. Lorena Koury crumpled on the floor of her boudoir, eyes staring. Rayan Koury, standing stern-faced and shooing Sofia out of the room. Her father had never talked about what happened, not to her anyway. Nor did he even seem particularly upset about it. She sighed. Many would consider her former life to be “privileged”. ‘ What a perversion of the truth’ thought Sofia. Her family had money, yes. She had clothes and cars and status, but nothing else. Love, purpose, free will, none of those things came with a trust fund. The night her mother died, Sofia vowed to escape her golden shackles and never go back.
    Sofia pulled herself together and emerged from the dressing room to look in the mirror.
    “Stunning!” Helena raved. Sofia had to agree. While this was the type of dress she wore in her old life, she felt completely different. Looking at herself, she saw none of the old doubt or resentment. Her eyes sparkled and her skin glowed with the anticipation of adventure. It was an effect which was only highlighted by the vibrancy of the dress. Sofia saw other shoppers in the store admiring her. She realized that far from putting her on display, Helena sought to give her a helping hand at the party. It would be less work for Sofia if people noticed her and sought her out rather than if she had to break into cliquish conversations. And, this dress would certainly draw attention. The clothes she had brought with her were elegant, but none would have had this effect.
    “You look wonderful.” Helena said, beaming.
    “Thank you. You certainly have an eye for fashion.”
    “I admit it’s one of my weaknesses. I never had the opportunity to dress a young woman, so this is a treat.”
    “Not even yourself or your family?”
    Helena’s smile didn’t disappear but lessened somewhat. “No, we never had children. And I