"You'll need the diamond earrings with this," my mother continues, touching the bare lobe of my ear. "The ones your father had made for your twenty-first birthday. The teardrop settings will balance the neckline."
"They've already been selected for the ceremony," Isabella confirms, consulting her tablet. "Mr. Blackwood approved the full jewelry suite yesterday."
My mother nods, satisfied. "Violet will be devastated to miss your final fitting. She and Charles extended their honeymoon through next week."
Convenient timing. I wonder if that was her choice or a decision made by others.
"That's fine," I say. "She's seen the sketches."
The seamstress completes her pinning, making a final note about a minute adjustment to the hemline. "We'll have the finished gown delivered tomorrow evening. The veil is already complete."
I step carefully from the pedestal as they help me out of the dress, leaving me in the silk slip I wore underneath. My mother dismisses the tailors and Isabella with a practiced gesture, waiting until the door closes behind them before turning to me with a critical eye.
"You're still too thin," she observes without preamble. "The dress fits perfectly, but your collarbones are more prominent than they should be. Are you eating properly?"
"I eat," I reply, reaching for my robe. "The chef keeps precise records for Gage's review."
She frowns at my flat tone. "This detachment isn't becoming, Penelope. You're marrying one of Chicago's most influential men. Many women would consider that a victory."
"Many women aren't being traded to cover their father's crimes," I counter, tying the robe's sash with precise movements.
"We've discussed this already." She sighs, settling onto the small settee near the window. "The arrangement with the Blackwoods protected this family from catastrophe. Your cooperation ensures continued stability for all of us, including Violet."
"My cooperation was never in question," I remind her. "Only my enthusiasm."
"Enthusiasm can be cultivated," she says pragmatically. "I wasn't initially enthusiastic about your father, yet we've built a successful marriage."
I study her carefully, searching for signs of genuine belief in her words. "Is that what you call it? Successful?"
She looks stricken. "Success has many definitions, Penelope. Gage Blackwood offers significant advantages beyond what your father achieved. He's younger, more controlled, less prone to public indiscretion."
"High praise indeed," I murmur. "Less publicly humiliating than Father."
"He's also," she continues, ignoring my sarcasm, "more inclined toward building a genuine relationship with you."
"Partnership with limited agency isn't partnership at all."
She rises, smoothing her skirt with practiced precision. "All marriages have boundaries, Penelope. All partnerships involve compromise. Your inflexible idealism serves no purpose."
"Is that what you told yourself when Father came home drunk and raging? That your compromise served a purpose?"
Her hand strikes before I register her movement, the slap resounding in the quiet room. I don't flinch, don't raise my hand to the stinging cheek, simply meet her gaze steadily.
"I apologize," she says after a moment, her composure returning like a mask sliding back into place. "That was unwarranted. Wedding preparations create tension for everyone involved."
"Indeed," I reply, voice steady despite the burning in my eyes. "So many details to manage when transferring human property."
She sighs, retrieving her purse from the side table. "I had hoped to have a constructive conversation about your marriage. Clearly that's not possible today."
"Clearly."
"Your hair and makeup trial is scheduled for two o'clock," she reminds me as she moves toward the door. "Please be punctual. The team has limited availability."
When she's gone, I remain standing in the center of the room, mind strangely calm despite everything.
I dress methodically, selecting simple clothing for the hours before my next scheduled appointment. Three days until the wedding, each hour blocked and organized with meticulous precision by Isabella's team. Hair trials, makeup consultations, final fittings, seating arrangement reviews, menu confirmations—the machinery of the event grinding forward.
My suite has become wedding central, constantly invaded by various specialists and consultants. The only space that remains truly mine is the conservatory during early morning hours.
