Page 23 of A Dress for the Wicked
She headed toward Sophie’s mannequin. I sank back against my cutting table, dully feeling its edge dig into my back. I’d wanted to come out strong for the first challenge. Win it, even. Instead, I’d turned out a mediocre coat that I wouldn’t even want to wear. And why? Because I’d listened to Tilda. She’d made me doubt myself, much more so than any of the other competitors.
But even as I tried to blame Tilda, I couldn’t quite believe my own excuse. In the end, I was the one who’d picked out that basic navy wool, and I was the one who’d turned it into a boring coat that could hardly qualify as couture.
“This is beautiful, Sophie.” Madame Jolène’s cool voice cut through my thoughts. Numbly, I lifted my head. Sophie’s coat was a mix of knits and lace in the buttery hues I’d seen earlier. “Exceptional color choices.”
“Thank you,” Sophie said.
“This could work for Duchess Kent,” Madame Jolène mused, addressing one of her designers.
“Most definitely. It would be perfect,” the woman said. Instead of looking at the coat, she watched Madame Jolène’s face, searching for approval.
“Take the pattern and notes,” Madame Jolène said, and the designers scurried to gather up Sophie’s papers. I stared, feeling the bitter bite of jealousy.
A soft red settled across Sophie’s fair cheeks. At first, I thought she was blushing with pride. But then her fingers twitched agitatedly, and a furrow puckered her brow. She didn’t look happy. Or proud.
“I wasn’t quite finished with the pattern,” she said.
Madame Jolène turned to face Sophie. A smile pulled at her lips, but her gray eyes remained as cold as ever. The reds and gold of her attire suddenly seemed more vivid, as though flaring with her displeasure.
“Sophie,” she said, “your work is now Fashion House property. That is a critical component of being here.”
“Of course,” Sophie murmured. She didn’t meet Madame Jolène’s gaze. Instead, she stared at her pattern.
“And on a different note, you wear too much black.” Madame Jolène was stern. “You have white skin, black eyes, and black hair. Your appearance is much too dark for the Fashion House. I’ve included several burgundy dresses in your wardrobe. Wear them as well and accessorize with other colors.”
The pink in Sophie’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. But Madame Jolène didn’t seem to notice. Or if she did, she didn’t care. She simply swept on to Cordelia.
Everyone watched her, but I was transfixed by Sophie. With sharp, intentional motions—the assured kind that reminded me of my mother butchering a duck—she collected her few remaining notes into a neat stack and sheltered them against herchest. Then, seemingly out of nowhere and for no reason, she looked directly at me, those enigmatic black eyes latching on to mine. I nearly ducked my head, flustered, but she simply smiled a bit and gave a half shrug.
I was the first one to look away.
Chapter Six
THROUGHOUT THE NEXT WEEK,we had standard Fashion House duties. There wouldn’t be another challenge until the following Monday, and I looked forward to the change. I needed something to distract myself from the embarrassment of my boring navy coat. It was an unpleasant ache that followed me through the halls of the Fashion House.
Kitty kept reassuring me that the coat really wasn’t that bad and, to a certain degree, she was right. The coat wasn’t bad. But it wasn’t good, either.
I tried to reassure her as well. After the first challenge, the rankings had been posted outside the sewing room, and they showed that she also hadn’t done very well. We were judged in three categories: workmanship, creativity, and how well we’d followed the theme of the challenge. Our scores, which were out of ten, totaled to create our rank. Sophie was at the top, with Ky close behind her. The other girls filled out the middle, and then Kitty and I were squarely at the bottom.
As the first day of Fashion House duties began, I took solace in the fact that I’d registered a wakeup call—at least I’d figured that out. I would report to the fitting rooms with time to spare.I stepped down onto the landing just as Ky and Alice breezed by, coming down from their rooms on the floor above. They chatted, and I strained to hear. The biggest key to succeeding at the Fashion House Interview was to design beautiful couture. But I sensed there was more to it than just that. I needed to figure out how to fit in. How to belong, how to act like someone from the city. Ky and Alice were the epitome of city girls, and I could learn from them.
“By the way,” Ky said. “Sophie and I are having lunch together today. You should join.”
“Definitely,” Alice chirped. She linked her arm through Ky’s so they were walking side by side. “Also, I’ve been meaning to ask—do you have some sheepskin?”
Sheepskin?I inched closer.
“I have some in my room. Are your heels hurting?”
“Yes. They’re just the prettiest things ever, but they feel like they’re made of nails.” She paused midstep to lift her skirt and extend her ankle, showcasing the heeled boot on her foot.
“Well, we can go to my chamber after your first appointment. I have loads of sheepskin because Sophie gave me hers.”
At the mention of my roommate’s name, I craned my neck. I’d hardly seen her since our first night—she didn’t seem to come into our chambers until the sky was turning from black to inky blue. It was perplexing, but with everything else on my mind, I hardly had time to figure it out.
“How does she do it?” Alice asked. “She wears the highest heels all day long and she never seems to feel them.”
“It’s because she likes to be tall,” Ky said. “Even thoughheaven knows she’s already the tallest girl here. And she never wears sheepskin. Says she can’t handle the thought that it might peek up out of her shoes.”
