Page 77 of A Slipper in the Smoke
Pip stiffened.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It’s summoning all the nobles for croquet,” he said, easing back to rebutton his clothes. “I’m sorry—I thought we’d have more time.”
“Must you go?”
“I’ll be missed if I linger too long,” he said. “If I thought I could get away with it—gears, if there was any chance—” He paused to stare at Elena, her bodice hanging off, her bare chest still on full display. “I really do not want to leave you right now, believe me.”
Elena inched into a sitting position, helping him to straighten up his shirt. “You know, I rather do.” She kissed him briefly, careful not to linger too much on his lips. How easy it would be to fall into him again, to sink herself into that meadow.
Pip sighed against her. “Please, enjoy the food in my absence,” he insisted. “I’ll come back for the rest of it later.”
Elena’s stomach rumbled. “I would like to say something deeply romantic about not wanting to eat without you, but I am going to demolish that spread and I hope you find something else to eat.”
A more experienced girl might be able to make a joke about other things she’d rather eat, but she was not more experienced, and she was equally sure that no part of a human could actually taste as excellent as the cake she’d had earlier.
Pip laughed, kissing her once more, before vanishing into the rest of the maze.
Elena groaned, lying back briefly against the grass to collect herself, heart still thrashing in her chest. Her body hummed in memory of him. How close she’d gotten that time to willingly losing all reason—and out in the open, too.
I want him,her thoughts thumped.I need him.
She redressed herself and crawled towards the picnic, determined to experience some semblance of satisfaction. Itwasdelicious. It would have been more delicious if he could have stayed. Would anyone really have missed a servant?
Then again, it wasn’t hard to imagine people missing Pip…
Sighing, she packed up the leftovers and took them back to the workshop with her, determined to finish work as soon as possible. The sooner she could finish the slippers, the better.
That evening, Snowdrop came by to summon Elena back to the rebel’s garage.
“No dancing practice tonight,” she said. “I promise. Buttercup’s been hard at work on the dress. He needs you for alterations.”
Elena nodded, closing up shop and following her into the dark, smoky streets. They walked briskly, arriving at the garage in record time. Elena was dragged into the back and helped out of her clothes by Dandelion and Buttercup, Snowdrop and Clover politely turning their backs as she was wrestled into the undergarments and wrapped in a gown that looked composed of scraps of blue-green fabric. No one had helped her dress for years, least of all a burly mountain-bear and his quick-fingered, silver-haired husband.
Buttercup stood back to admire his creation. He let out a quiet gasp. “Twirl, my dear. Let me see it.”
Elena did so, feeling like a doll in a music box, pinned in place. The gown felt lovely—it had that soft heaviness she remembered well, and she could see now that it was on her that the ‘scraps’ were cut in the shape of petals, billowing over the caged skirt. The bodice hugged her curves, pushing her breasts up, and two short sleeves of midnight gossamer brushed across her shoulders.
She looked down at her hands, at the engine grease and old burns and calluses.
“We’ll get you gloves,” said Buttercup, registering her discomfort. “No one will be looking at your hands.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, rubbing her arms. “I still feel a little exposed. Aren’t my shoulders too broad? I don’t… I don’t look much like a princess.”
“What are you talking about?” said Snowdrop, as if Elena’s self-deprecation was some personal affront to her. “You arestunning. Your hair, your lips, your muscular arms and your glorious thighs…”
Elena stared at her.
“Sorry, I am very bisexual. But you’re clearly in love with this Pip chap, so please take any and all attempts to flirt with you to be nothing more than friendly banter.”
Elena’s heart thumped.In love. In love. She thinks I’m in love with Pip.
Aren’t you?
Buttercup came forward again with a plain, unfinished mask. He fit it over Elena’s face, marking out lines with a pencil before handing it to Dandelion. A set of pins appeared from nowhere, and he started to work his way down Elena’s gown, pinching it at the waist, turning it at the hem. He muttered things under his breath about snipping it here and there, adding embellishments to certain areas.
“I need some golden thread,” he declared, “or glitter. Sequins, maybe.”
