“It pains you, doesn’t it?” the man asked. I could hear him clearly—Mr. Taylor. His shadow stretched up the wall and onto the ceiling. Sophie’s shadow was much smaller, hovering close to her body, diminutive beside his.
“Doesn’t it?” His voice dropped an octave, and he leaned forward, his shadow merging with hers. He wastall, much taller than Sophie. My skin was suddenly crawling, something stirring deep down, far under the surface.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sophie said.
“You need me. No need to be coy about it.” He brushed her cheek with his finger while his other hand grasped her arm, his fingers wrapping around her sleeve. “You’re cursed, Sophie, just like your mother was. And I am, too, because I love you.”
Mr. Taylor’s hand constricted on her arm, tighter and tighter. Then, with a frustrated murmur, he released her with a shove.Despite her high heels, Sophie kept her balance.
“Everything I do, Sophie, I do for you. Those protestors out there—I orchestrated them. They are just the beginning. Someday, you can have a fashion house of your own with the power of Parliament and the Crown behind you. After the elections, the Reformists Party will have the majority vote in parliament. Together, we will rule Avon-upon-Kynt as leaders—in fashionandpolitics.”
My knees went weak, their strength obliterated. Sophie was in league with Mr. Taylor. She wasn’t going to help me. In fact, she’d probably thought it ridiculous that I’d come to her. And now she knew about my plan. Feebly, I grabbed the doorjamb.
Sophie shut her eyes for a brief second, as though willing him to disappear, then reopened them. When she spoke, her voice wavered, but her eyes burned in the darkness.
“I am not yours to will.” She lifted her chin, raising her face to his, her lips nearly brushing his chin. Mr. Taylor stared down at her, fixated by her sudden strength. He placed a hand on the skin of her chest, just above her bodice. His fingers extended upward until they closed around her neck. They didn’t tighten, but they remained there.
“My love, you misunderstand. I do not ‘will’ you.Youwillme.”
Juxtaposed with the scene—with the way that he loomed over her, the way his hand rested on her chest, the way he stared down at her—his words rang empty.
“You don’t understand.” She placed her hand on top of his. Her hand spread out over his, her fingers lining up with his. “I don’t need you.”
“Why? Because you’ve had success at the Fashion House Interview? You know as well as I do that you don’t belong there. You were made to be envied, to be followed—not to be one of Madame Jolène’s mindless designers.”
“I know. I know that.”
“Then come home with me. We can leave right now, together.”
“No.”
No?
“No?” Mr. Taylor echoed my question. “You can’t be happy there.”
Sophie lifted her fingers from his and circled both hands around his wrist. She didn’t try to pull his hand away, but she held it, as though she might at any moment.
“I’m not going to stay at the Fashion House.”
“Then where will you go? What will you do?”
“I have a plan.”
A plan. Did she mean with me? I listened, torn between wanting to hear her say that her plan wasmyplan and wanting to pull her away from Mr. Taylor.
“And what would that be?”
“The girl from the country. We are doing something that will change everything.”
Surprised relief overcame me, restoring strength to my knees.
“The girl from the...” He didn’t finish the sentence. His fingers started constricting around her long, thin neck. She tried to pull him off, but he was strong, much stronger than she. Sophie didn’t make a sound as his grip became tighter and tighter.
“Stop!” I ran into the room. He wheeled around in surprise. Jigsaw shadows hollowed out his eyes and the sides of his nose. I threw my whole body against his, dropping my clutch in the process. Caught off guard, he took a few steps, but he didn’t let go, dragging Sophie along. Her eyes started to flutter shut.
“Let go!” I grabbed onto his arm.
An inarticulate sound rose from his throat—something between a growl and laugh—and he released Sophie to face me. I tried to turn away, but a crawling fear immobilized me. It spread through my limbs like dye through muslin. But when he looked at me, he only made the same half-laughing sound.
