Sophie, who had been leaning against a mountain of tasseled pillows, half propped herself up on her forearms. She lifted one hand to her dark hair and her fingers started twisting through it. Even though her gaze was fixed on me, her eyes dimmed in a distant way, as though the thoughts in her head were much more forceful and consuming than I was.
“Don’t worry.” I moved closer to her and sat on the edge of her bed. “I didn’t tell him anything about you.”
Wherever she’d gone in her head, my words reached her and she came back to herself, blinking and focusing once again.
“You didn’t?”
“No.”
“You—what did you say instead?”
“That I’d met you but hadn’t spoken much with you.”
My response seemed to startle her and for once she seemed unsure.
“You lied for me?”
“Well, yes. He seemed... a bit intense. I wasn’t sure of the best thing to say.”
Her brows drew together, and her fingers swirled through her hair. She seemed to be puzzling something out, something she couldn’t quite grasp. Finally, she said, “That—that was very kind of you.”
Now it was my turn to be startled. “Oh, of course.”
Her frown deepened, and her lips opened a few seconds before she said, “Thank you.” The pleasantry sounded odd coming from her, as though it was a phrase in a different language, something she could repeat but didn’t quite understand. “I wouldn’t have expected any of the other contestants to do such a thing.”
She sat completely up on the bed, crossing her legs and straightening her back. She stopped fidgeting with her hair, and a pink hue warmed her cheeks, as though she was embarrassed by her frankness.
“That’s a shame,” I said.
“Well.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder and her usual coolness descended on her in the same way that cold, gray clouds descend on the sun during Shy’s bitter winters, obscuring any brightness. “I don’t mind. They’re threatened by me.”
She spoke without any hint of boastfulness. I nodded. It was true. She was impressive—both beautiful and talented. I couldn’t speak for anyone else, but I knew I was intimidated by her.
“Who is Mr. Taylor? Is he one of your suitors?” I realized she hadn’t told me anything else about him.
“Yes, just another suitor.” She spoke quickly and so assuredlyI found myself nodding even though I didn’t quite believe her. “He’s a supporter of the Reformists Party, so Madame Jolène doesn’t let him visit. But he tries to send me messages any way he can.”
“How did you meet him?”
She gave an impatient sigh and only shrugged in response. Whoever he was and whatever he was to her, she wasn’t going to tell me. And maybe that was better. I shouldn’t get involved with her and her volatile lovers, especially one like Mr. Taylor.
“By the way, while you were gone, Madame Jolène announced the next challenge.” Sophie spoke a bit too eagerly, as though anxious to put our previous conversation aside.
“She did?She didn’t even wait for me to get back?” I couldn’t keep the note of frustrated panic out of my voice. The Fashion House Interview was happening without me—and no one noticed.
“Calm down. I told her I would tell you what it was.”
“Did Madame Jolène care that I wasn’t there?”
“Well”—Sophie smirked—“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. But she did mention that you were away on press duties. Anyway, the new challenge is quite interesting. It begins tomorrow morning and concludes tomorrow evening. It’s a bit of a scavenger hunt. We need to find three fashion elements around the Fashion House—like a gown or a hat or a handbag—and sketch out how we would change them.”
“How we would change them?”
“Yes. Make them better. Make them our own while still honoring their past.”
Make them our own.I certainly hadn’t done that with the last challenge. Anxiety rose from the pit of my stomach. So much rode on this new challenge. I needed to redeem myself since I’d failed so colossally before, and prove to Madame Jolène that I was more than her press puppet. For a moment, I teetered on the brink of falling apart.
Stop. Stay calm.