Scented Lies

Alana’s POV

 ‘Your scent still lingers, cruel and sweet, like promises you never kept.’

I turn the worn-out note over, half expecting some dramatic signature that might explain the sender or the receiver. But it's blank on the other side. No signature. Nothing.

I probably shouldn’t even be reading it, but how can I not?

Initially, I went to the attic to look for an old journal of mine and then I got distracted with many other things here. I was in the mood for nostalgia.

I found some of my things that I had totally forgotten about: my mom’s charm bracelet, my baby shoes and then a velvet box. A deep burgundy velvet box with a golden clasp. It looked like a mini treasure chest.

Inside, were the letters.

Not one. Dozens. Maybe more.

All written on quality cream paper, now faded at the edges. Some lines were smudged like someone had cried when writing or reading them.

I’ve read five so far, and I still couldn’t understand it. They were all written in a poetic way with perfume references. 

‘When you said I was your favorite scent, was that also a lie?’

‘You said I reminded you of blooming lilies and daisies during spring . You said you found me intoxicatingly beautiful. You said a lot of things. You promised.’ 

This one was lengthier, but it also had no signature or initials.

It felt like I was intruding on a private moment between old lovers. My cheeks instantly turn red at the thought. Did grandmother have an old lover? Were they letters from my grandfather?

Or is there a totally different explanation?

My mind runs wild with thoughts of the different possibilities.

My legs feel numb, and I realize I have been sitting in the same cross legged position for over an hour.

I gently set the letters aside, about to reach for another when I hear the unmistakable click of heels on the stairs.

Slow and confident.

There’s only one person I know that walks in such a calculated manner.

Lucia. My grandmother.

I scramble to close the velvet box and tuck it back in the trunk just as the door creaks open.

“There you are.” She says, her voice smooth, regal with the faintest hint of a French accent.

I brush my hands on my jeans as I stand. “Sorry, I got distracted . I was just-’’

“Looking for something that belonged to you.” She finishes for me, her eyes scanning over the attic. “It’s easy to lose yourself in the past.”

She steps inside, her eyes scanning over everything like a hawk. For a woman who recently turned sixty five, my grandmother still looked very beautiful. I often wondered how she must have looked in her youth.  

Dressed in a pastel colored chiffon blouse and black slacks, her silver hair twisted in a bun, she looked like royalty. And this is her ‘staying at home’ look.

She gives off a cold, calm and collected aura. Sometimes I wonder if it’s all just a façade. The last time I saw her true raw emotions was at my parents’ funeral, when she broke down on their graves and screamed. It’s an old memory I have tried so hard to erase. I jolt back into reality and finally respond.

“I was looking for my journal.” I mumble, trying to sound casual.

She doesn’t press any further, instead she gives me her usual tight-lipped smile. “Come down. Get dressed. We have dinner tonight.”

 My brows furrow. “Dinner?” 

“With the D’Angelo family.” She says, like that should explain everything. “It’s important.”

I blink. “What kind of dinner?” 

“The kind where alliances are sealed.” She replies, turning to leave.

“Wait, what does that mean?” 

Lucia pauses at the top of the stairs. “You’ll wear the red dress, the one I got for you.” 

And with that, she turns and disappears down the stairs, her heels clicking in a way that sounds like finality.

I stare after her, heart thudding.

D’Angelo.

The name rings a bell. I’m sure it’s one of those old money families in the luxury business scene, but I can’t seem to place the exact business. They must be important, Lucia doesn’t invite just anyone for dinner.

Heck, we haven’t had dinner with anyone since I was five, before it all changed…

I head down to my room. The dress Lucia mentioned is hanging by the mirror. She must have told the maid to put it there, because I was sure I tucked it in my closet.

The dress is a floor length, deep red dress with a slit that’s high enough to tease but still appropriate. Personally I thought it was rather too much for dinner, but what Lucia wants, Lucia gets.

 I run my fingers over the fabric. It’s soft and delicate, giving a feminine aura and power.

Nothing Lucia ever does is accidental. I wonder what my grandmother is plotting this time.

As I slip into this dress, I catch my reflection. I look older. Fiercer. I even feel very confident. My grandmother - annoying as she may be - sure has good taste.

Deciding to go for a sedate makeup look since the dress is statement enough, I apply  glossy nude lipstick as a final touch.

I use a simple gold jewelry set and spray some perfume, one from our spring collection. Just as I slip into a pair of low heels, I hear a knock on the door and my grandmother steps inside.

She glances at me from head to toe wordlessly and then her gaze stops at my necklace.

She brings out a two-tiered diamond necklace that I didn’t notice she was holding, gestures for me to remove the one of my neck, and clasps hers gently against my skin.

She steps back and stares at me through the mirror with a silent approval.

“Tonight, your legacy begins.” She says and steps out.

I slide my hands across my hair that’s in a low bun and I feel a sudden wave of nausea.

Breathe, Lana, breathe.

I feel as though my life is about to change. There’s a deep feeling in my stomach. I’m not sure why my grandmother suddenly needs me to dress for a dinner like I’m going to collect an award but I have a feeling I won’t like it.

I remember a phrase my grandmother once said to me, ‘Beauty is a weapon, never be afraid to use it.’

I intend to do just that tonight.

Breathing out deeply, I drop my nervousness in the bin and stand upright.

I am Alana Voss and I don’t cower.

I hear the sound of a car pull up and the front door bell after it.

It’s time to go and meet our guests.