Page 74 of A Dress for the Wicked
I found a pair of heels beneath my vanity and slipped them on, even though the red flowers painted onto their toes clashed with my gown.
I peered into the mirror, trying to straighten my hair. I almost didn’t recognize my reflection. Dark circles were forming underneath my eyes. My skin was ashy and thin, pulled tight over the bones underneath. I sighed and followed Sophie out of our chamber and down the stairs.
Later on today, we were scheduled to present our wedding gowns to Lady Harrison. We both had barely managed to finish our dresses. Before, I would’ve agonized over every decision, falling into a tizzy of stress about whether Lady Harrison would like it. But now I was consumed by my own collection and Cynthia’s gown. Lady Harrison’s dress was just a far-off thought, something I only saw in terms of maintaining the appearance of normality. The challenges that had held such power over me no longer did.
“I love it, don’t you?” Sophie’s voice was low in my ear as we joined the other contestants heading down the hallway.
“What?”
“All of this. Designing. Even the secrets.” Her smile looked severe against her bloodshot eyes and pale skin. I almost grimaced at the sight.
“Well...” I trailed off. We’d been sewing so much. Everything was a blur: the fabric pieces I’d handled, the needles I’d threaded, and the sketches I’d redone over and over and over again. Every other part of my life seemed like a distant dream—even Tristan.
But my designs weren’t just paper and plans anymore. They were real.I’dmade them real. And, like a real established fashion line, we would have a famous client wear one of our looks, and the press would review our collection.
“I do.” I couldn’t lie. “I love it, too.”
We walked the rest of the way down to the fitting rooms with heavy, fatigued steps. I passed by the schedule posted on the hallway, hardly bothering to glance at it. Francesco had told me yesterday that I had just the one final fitting, so I only gave it a cursory glance.
But as my eyes passed over it, my name leaped out at me. Usually my name was toward the end, alphabetized by my surname. This time it was at the top.
MADAMEJOLÈNE:
6:00 A.M. APPOINTMENT:HRHAMELIA/WINTER COAT PREVIEW—NO ASSISTANCE NEEDED
7:30 A.M. APPOINTMENT: PRIVATE CLIENT—ATTENDING CONTESTANTS:SOPHIESTERLING ANDEMMALINEWATKINS
I blinked at the list. Just a week or so ago, seeing my name at the top of the schedule would have thrilled me. Now, my heart sank all the way down to those horrid red heels. Maybe I hadmade a huge mistake. Madame Jolène was giving me a chance after all.
“Well, let’s go. We don’t want to be late.” Sophie was standing behind me, looking over my shoulder. She gestured toward the stairs at the opposite end of the hallway. They weren’t the ones we’d just come down. Instead, they led to Madame Jolène’s private fitting rooms.
The blue-and-green carpeted steps leading up to Madame Jolène’s rooms stifled our footsteps. If it wasn’t for the dread in my stomach, I would’ve felt like I was floating. “Sophie?”
“What?”
“Do you think what we are doing is... wrong?”
I could only see part of her profile. She started to climb the stairs a little faster, her hand gliding up the banister.
“Of course.” She spoke without hesitation.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, itiswrong.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“Have you ever seen one of those hedge mazes, Emmaline?” Sophie asked. “The really tall ones?”
“No. But I know what they are...”
“Well, some of those mazes are cut in such a way that no matter which turn you take, you will always end up in the middle. You can turn right. You can turn left. It doesn’t change anything.” She stopped on the stairs and turned to face me. A few steps above me, she towered over my head. Somehow, she no longer looked tired. “That’s me, Emmaline. It doesn’t matter which way I turn. I’ll always be like this.”
Our rector at church had always said that nothing was predetermined. It was up to us, he said, to choose who we wanted to be. Grace was just as accessible to us as evil. Yet I understood Sophie. There was a strange streak in her... and it seemed like there was one in me, too, one I’d never known existed until now. I gripped the banister, suddenly wanting to undo everything I had done. Sophie held out a hand to me, seeming to sense my uneasiness.
“Come,” she said. “Madame Jolène is waiting.”
I took her hand. As always, it was icy cold.
