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She knows damn well that we have a chauffer, too, but I love the way the remark lashes back at my mother. If anyone has the right to change the tone of the meeting, it’s Mrs. Daniels, and she’s not about to relinquish that control.
Before I can mentally gloat too much, I remember that I might be stuck at family dinners with her for the rest of my life. Maybe she’ll stay mad forever and I’ll never have to speak to her.
The doors to the studio open and a thin East Asian man dressed in all black calls “Daniels?”
Ashton’s mother leads the way, but my stomach sinks at the realization that this reservation was made under my married name. As free and hopeful as my transgressive meeting with Nathan made me, I still have to play the role of Ashton’s fiancé. I put on my peppiest smile and resolve to look every bit the excited mate-to-be. It might make my worst-case scenario future more tolerable if I can win Mrs. Daniels over now, instead of after-the-fact.
“I’m Stephen,” the man who leads us down the stark white hall says. “You must be the bride?”
“That’s me.” As we walk, I sneak glimpses at a few of the open doors we pass. Bolts of fabric, drafting tables, a mundane conference room, it’s all so normal. I don’t know what I was expecting, but thralls fascinate me; a society living symbiotically with ours, as removed from the human world as we are, and still totally secret? It seems like it should have a little more panache, a little more mystery.
“You’re going to be meeting with Melissa today,” Stephen explains, pausing outside a set of frosted glass double doors. “She’s one of our top designers.”
Mrs. Daniels is taken aback. “We were supposed to be with Alexis.”
“Sadly, Alexis has been called away on royal business,” Stephen says, and he doesn’t sound sad about it at all. “You’ll be meeting with Melissa. As I said, she’s one of our top designers.”
His no-nonsense delivery shuts Mrs. Daniels’s dropped jaw and I have to hold back a snort of laughter. Did Nathan do this on purpose? Maybe I’m giving him too much credit. Either way, it’s pretty funny to see my mating pact once again meddled with by the very existences of the new pack leader.
Stephen opens the doors to a bright, sun-flooded studio with light polished wood floors and trim and tidy workstations. A dressmaker’s form on a short circular platform wears an intricately beaded ceremonial robe of dusky pink silk that freezes the breath in my lungs.
“Just as you remember?” a voice asks, and I turn to face the source, a dark-skinned woman with slicked-back white hair and dramatic smoky makeup, who looks like she should be costuming superheroes in a movie instead of making wedding gowns for werewolves.
I nod, my whole body numb as I turn back to the robe. I do remember it. At least, I remember something like it. Rough, unfinished pieces of it basted together the first time I came to try it on. That had been just a month before I invoked the Right of Accord, when my mating ceremony had been only a few full moons away.
I walk around the garment slowly, feeling dizzy and faint. How could I have forgotten? The business changed locations while I’ve been away, but somehow, being fitted for my own wedding dress slipped my mind. Maybe that isn’t the right phrase; maybe it’s more like a repressed memory. It was truly traumatic, standing there as my Mother and Mrs. Daniels debated whether the sash should tie in the front or at the side, whether the color washed me out.
All those feelings crash over me again. I’ve only delayed the trap laid for me by destiny.
Meanwhile, Mother gasps and coos over the beadwork, the sweeping angel sleeves and tall, structured collar, while Mrs. Daniels eyes Melissa coolly.
“Alexis has done a wonderful job with it,” Mrs. Daniels says pointedly.
“It’s truly an exquisite piece,” Melissa agrees, not giving Mrs. Daniels anything to argue with. Then, Melissa turns to me. “But it was created with a much different bride in mind, I hear.”
Before I can answer, Mrs. Daniels cuts in. “The same bride. It’s the ceremony that’s been delayed. My son isn’t interested in paying for a new robe to match whatever new person this one has become.”
“This one?” Mother’s offense surprises me, considering she has much the same opinion of my leaving as Mrs. Daniels has.
“Shall we try it on?” Melissa suggests, and I nod, a pit in my stomach as she carefully undresses the mannequin and leads me to the curtained-off changing area.
The collar and shoulders of the robe are stiff, starched into unforgiving lines. Melissa frowns as she ties the sash. “You’ve gained some weight since the last time we measured you.”
