CLIENT’S NEEDS: HIGH-END COUTURE, READY-TO-WEAR, CUSTOM, TRAVELING AND SEASONAL WARDROBES
MEASUREMENTS:
BUST: 35.5"
WAIST: 25"
HIPS: 37"
HOLLOW TO HEM: 56.5"
BEST COLORS: WINTERS—EARTHY BROWNS, DEEP GREENS, BURGUNDIES
Big, black letters covered the bottom.
CLIENT TERMINATED
There was no additional explanation. If the duchess lived anywhere else, such a thing wouldn’t matter as much. But she didn’t. She lived in Avon-upon-Kynt, and the Fashion House was the axis upon which the nation spun. Slowly, I tucked the card into my pocket and closed the drawer.
“What are you doing?”
I whirled around. There, standing behind me holding abroom in one hand and a rag in the other, was Tilda. My heart jumped straight up into my throat. I could feel the card in my pocket, its edges digging into my skin through my dress, proof of my theft. Had she seen me take it?
“I was going for a stroll.” Even to myself I sounded strange—too panicked, scared even.
“Down here by the fitting rooms?” Her beady eyes darted from me to the cabinet. “Is that drawer open?” She let the broom fall to the ground and jabbed a finger at the cabinet. I turned around to see theSdrawer standing open a fraction of an inch.
“Francesco must have left it open,” I said.
“I’ve been cleaning down here all morning. I didn’t see him.”
“Well, I don’t know anything about it.”
“I’ve been working here for three years now,” Tilda said, drawing herself up. “I know this isn’t right. I’m going to tell Madame Jolène I found you down by the client cabinet. I’m sure she’ll be able to tell if anything is missing.” Triumphantly, she turned for the stairs.
“No!” I lunged forward and managed to grab her wrist just in time, jerking her to a stop.
“Ow!” she yelped. “Let go of me!”
“Stay still!” Desperately, I spun her around to face me. “If you tell Madame Jolène you found me down here, I’ll tell her you’ve been stealing beads off the dressing room floors and selling them.” I didn’t even think of the lie ahead of time. It slipped right out of me, surprising me as much as her.
“What?” The triumph in her face wavered, and she stopped struggling. “She would never believe that!”
“I overheard Francesco talking to Madame Jolène.” Another lie. “He said he’s had his eye on you.”
“He did? Why?”
“Yes. He said you’ve been slacking—in fact, he asked me if I thought it was true, and I told him about how you keep leaving my room in disarray. Do you really want to get fired from the Fashion House? I don’t think anyone else would hire someone with that on their record.”
She yanked her wrist out of my grip, but she didn’t run away or try to leave. She rubbed it, staring at me with big eyes. Shaking free of my cold gaze, she bent down and picked up the broom.
“Fine. I won’t say anything.”
“Good.”
I sounded harsh. Cruel. I forced my face to remain rigid, but my stomach hurt—not just from the close call, but also from the awful way I’d treated her. Never in my life had I spoken to another person that way. Never had I grabbed them and stared into their eyes and threatened their livelihood.
Tilda stomped away without looking back. Once she was gone, I raced up to my chambers, as though someone was chasing me. Safe in my room, I leaned against the door and slowly slid down to the ground so I was sitting on the marble, my limbs limp.
