An elderly woman from a small Caribbean island trades her daughter to a wealthy man for riches.
The daughter, Isabella, is now forced to leave the Caribbean to Europe-betrothed to a cruel older man she refuses to spend the rest of her life with.
A...
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The next day there was nothing to do on the ship. The entire crew was leisuring around in town along with Catherine and I.
We're in a boutique looking at all the gowns. Luckily for us Catherine's uncle was the tailor and was willing to make price arrangements for the two of us.
"This would look rather ravishing on you darling, right Cathy?" Her uncle examines the dress chosen for me while flicking his wrist. "Stunning. Catherine come look!"
I let them use me as their personal doll. Putting on every dress he hands me. I know nothing of these peoples fashion and style, what to wear at a ball, so I take their judgement.
Why is it even called a ball? ¿Una bola? That's a toy, something you play with, not an event.
Still, I keep my judgment and criticism about their traditions to myself.
Catherine walks to my side of the dressing room and stops after takeing a full look at me. "I've never seen such beauty... other than myself." She winks.
"I love this one, I like this one better." Cathy continously nods her head and examine the dimond covered ivory gown. "You'd blow him away with this." She leans her head on my shoulder and whispers.
"Him? Who's him?"
"Oh you know who I'm talking about Isabella!"
"A certain someone?" Her uncle cheers from the clothing racks.
"Yes oncle!"
"No! Their is not."
"Isabella, the way he looks at you. The way you look at him! You can't be oblivious fille!"
I'm not oblivious to it, Angelo and I both knew very well what we're doing. Catherine points out the suble actions towards at each other throughout the days long journey, I'd hoped it wasn't so obvious but I guess being discreet isn't my strong suit.
"We're talking about the same man, si?"
"What other man is their? Hmm?" Her french accent swirls through her words.
"Ouu." Her uncle instigates as he leaves the room for us to change.
"You know the man I'm talking about. You're thinking of him. You both ran off out the bar last evening, I wouldn't dare to assume anything in particular happened..."
"Nothing happened Catherine."
"Not yet-" she slips out of her long lavender dress. "He's quite the charming man. Handsome, wealthy, consumed by wanderlust; you'd be foolish to- you're smiling."
"I'm not smiling."
"Vous souriez! You're smiling at the thought of him."
"I don't even know what that means." Catherine and I have a habit of slipping in small phrases from our home language while speaking to each other, although I don't think either of us know what the other says. "Just ayúdeme con el zipper!"
