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Instead of leading her up the steps to the apartment above, Gideon led her through a door to the left and into the darkened tailor shop that once belonged to two of the most famous designers in fashion history. Her entire body hummed with anticipation.
Despite her friendship with Alex, she’d never been to the Sharpe’s home before. Nan forbade Rune from ever setting foot in the outer wards.They’re dangerous, dirty, and full of criminals,Nan would say whenever Rune protested.Not for the likes of us.
Inside the shop, boards covered every window, letting in thin cracks of sunlight. As her eyes adjusted to the diminished light, she tried not to gape at the fabrics, the sewing kits, the patterns …all of it lying about as if it were no big deal.
Gideon must have inherited it all from his parents.
But why did he keep it?
Clearly, no one had touched any of this in years.
Sun and Levi Sharpe once stood right where I’m standing,thought Rune, imagining the seamstress and the tailor hunched over the long worktable, sketching ideas late into the night, stitching fabrics until their tired eyes wouldn’t open anymore and they blew out their candles and went to bed.
“This,” said Gideon, standing at a worktable, “is my solution to your problem.”
She stepped up beside him, glancing down at the notebook lying open on the table. An oil lamp burned beside it, illuminating the pages. Her eyes widened, and she leaned in closer.
Someone had drawn her—Rune Winters—on the paper, clothing her in the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen. Tapered lace sleeves. Elegant scooping neckline. Fitted bodice with a subtle, embroidered pattern she couldn’t make out. An A-line skirt trailed several inches behind her.
Rune’s mouth opened. Then closed. Gideon reached down and turned the page, showing her more detailed sketches of each part: sleeves, bodice, lace-up back, even matching silk shoes.
“Is this …”
“What I’m going to make you. For the Luminaries Dinner.”
Still, it wouldn’t register.
This was a trick, right?
Her suitors had given her gifts in the past, but they were always flowers or jewelry or carriage rides. Nothing like …this. Not a dressdesignedfor her.
Something fluttered and swooped inside Rune, like a flock of birds taking flight. She tried to bite down on the enormous smile spreading across her face.
“Gideon. Are you sure?”
“Entirely. I only need one thing.”
She was prepared to give him anything he wanted for the garment splashed across the pages of that notebook.
“Your measurements.”
“Oh.” Her smile faltered. “Right. Of course.”
The only person who’d ever taken her measurements was her seamstress.
“If you’re not comfortable—”
“No! So comfortable!” She tried to smile, but it wobbled as she thought about what such a thing would entail: stripping down to her underwear in front of Gideon Sharpe. Rune swallowed, going hot all over. If she wanted the dress, she would have to allow this ruthless witch hunter to get close enough to see her every flaw; to measure the fleshy curves and dips she normally kept hidden—not because she had scars to hide, but because she was …well,shy.
Wait a minute,thought Rune, her eyes narrowing on the notebook’s pages.That’s what this is.
Not a kind gesture. Not a solution to her problem.
He wants to look for my casting scars.
She felt that dark gaze watching her. As her eyes lifted to his, she remembered who she was dealing with. This was no suitor—not really. And the dress design sitting in his sketchbook solvedhisproblem. Not hers.
Or so he thinks.
