AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Arms up,” she orders, voice neutral, as Mrs. Summerland watches with an appraising eye that makes me feel like a beetle pinned to a card. The world disappears in a froth of tulle and silky fabric, passing over my vision as a dress is pulled down over my body.
“Hmmm, excellent,” Mrs. Summerland says to herself as she watches me, the assistant moving behind me, to fasten the dress up my spine. I glance down and try not to gasp. From my breasts to the floor, I’m a swirl of lavender, crystals racing down toward the hem, throwing little rainbows of light off in every direction. “That, my dear, is the best color for you. I think we’ll start here and move through the other choices.”
She steps back and the assistant, her name a distant echo in my mind, as if from another lifetime, pushes me out in front of the large three-paneled mirrors.
“Well?” Mrs. Summerland’s voice is expectant, and I can’t stop staring.
“It’s... beautiful,” I murmur. Now that I can see it properly in the full-length mirror, there is a carpet of flowers embroidered along my sides, and the slight train of the back of the dress, making it look like I’m spring incarnate.
Behind me, the assistant apologizes quietly and then twists my braid up into a bun, sticking a number of pins into it. IT’s not as sleek as it could be, but it’s the rough approximation of an updo, crowning the top of my head.
“Pearls, and more florals, and I think you’ll do excellently to put every city beauty in their place tonight,” Mrs. Summerland says, a mischievous glint in her eyes that I’m not sure I like. “Now, to see if Mr. Mortaine agrees.” Before I can even say anything, she pulls on a satin rope hanging next to one pillar, and the curtains part, exposing me to a rush of cool air from the store, and to Hadrion where he sits on one of the linen couches, waiting.
He stiffens, his gaze lifting to meet mine, and for a moment, I think he’s displeased. He takes it all in, from my head to where the dress brushes over the soft rug below my feet, and then he leans forward.
An intense look crosses his face, like he’s trying to figure out some immensely difficult puzzle.
“Well done,” he says, clearing his throat, looking like he isn’t sure what else to say. “Very, very well done.”
My cheeks flush, my stomach fluttering, and when I glance over at Mrs. Summerland, she is as close to beaming as a woman as elegant as she could be.
12
Katy
Hadrion is quiet for the rest of the shopping trip, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. I catch him glancing at me as Mrs. Summerland takes me around her store, piling her assistant, who trails behind us, high with clothing items and accessories. I’m measured for shoes. A “varied assortment will be arriving later today for every possible engagement, my dear,” she assures me, and it’s only when we get to the jewelry counter that Hadrion speaks up.
“She’s fine as she is, some earrings to match, perhaps,” his voice is smooth, his gaze focused on the pendant that hangs below my collarbones. I don’t have to look down. I can feel how heavy it is, the cool gold of it resting against the tops of my breasts.
“As you say,” Mrs. Summerland demurs, and then her voice becomes business-like, crisp and precise, “makeup next? I’ve never seen one of your girls so poorly outfitted, Mr. Mortaine,” she chastises him. “You should have brought her to me immediately. Next time, perhaps--“
He clears his throat, and without a single glance at me, smiles, the emotion not quite reaching his eyes.
“A mistake I will not make again with her, but there will be no next time.” They exchange a few more pleasantries, Mrs. Summerland promises me that someone will be arriving at Underworld to take care of my hair and makeup for tonight so that my entrance is complete, and then she waves us off, with nothing to show for our trip except a silky scarf she tied gently around my shoulders before we leave.
The crisp air outside washes over me as we step out, the rain having stopped, and I turn to Hadrion.
“So um...” I don’t want to ask about the clothes or what’s happening to them.
“They’re already on their way to the club,” he says, glancing down at me properly for the first time since I appeared in that confection of fabric flowers that was my evening dress. “They’ll beat us there, I’m sure. Are you hungry?” His eyes search my face, a softness there that takes me by surprise, another light buzzy feeling in my stomach that warms me.
Surprisingly, I’m not. I shake my head. He says nothing, but takes my hand, leading me to the car as it pulls up. A valet opens the door, but Hadrion doesn’t let him touch me, putting his body in between us, as he helps me into the car itself.
The ride back to the club feels anxiously long and short at the same time, and when we walk inside, he ushers me upstairs, telling me Elenora will see to all my needs until he’s ready for me to come down again. Livvie waves at me from behind the bar, where she’s arguing with a delivery man over some bottles of alcohol, and I see no reason to stop to talk. I’m not even sure what I’d say.
The whole club looks different to me now, and I’m not sure why. Maybe because the lights are dimmed, and the place looks different before opening, but I feel a shiver down my spine. The air seems to tremble with purpose, with the promise of something unbelievable to come.
Hadrion doesn’t see me upstairs, and Elenora takes me in hand, pulling me into my bedroom, where a whirlwind of beauty products are sitting. A make-up artist comes in, and before long, my hair is pulled up into a variety of soft curls pinned at the back of my head, with the promised pearls and flowers nestled in amongst them.
“I didn’t realize they’d be real,” I murmur as I look in the mirror, a dusting of gold eyeshadow along my lids bringing out the blue of my iris, making it look less washed-out and more vibrant.
“Anything less would be a shame,” says the stylist, and she helps me into my dress. Elenora brings me a protein shake, disappearing again, and before I know it, there’s a knock at the door. The stylist turns, opening it, and Elenora beckons to me. It can be after nine already. Time seems to have warped and twisted while I’ve been in my bedroom, the explosion of clothing all over the bed, and piles of bags unopened with treasures still to be looked at, scattered everywhere.
“It’s time, miss,” she says to me, and I’m surprised. The whole morning feels like it took no time at all, but the rest of the day disappeared in a flurry of activity. I can’t even hear the bass of the DJ spinning music down below, but when I walk out onto the landing, with the clear line of sight to the downstairs interior windows that show the club below, it’s filled with people. Lights flicker along the dancefloor, and I see the shimmer of sequins, the glow of crystal-encrusted dresses.
It’s not just a VIP night.
This is the normal clientele, the members, but dressed in their finest, and there’s a four-piece quartet on a raised dais in the corner of the main room, playing their instruments, although it’s silent in here. I can see their movements, and imaging the swell of the classical music, as dancers swirl across the floor. Their faces look weird though, flat, some furred, some feathered, and I realize they’re wearing masks. It’s a masked ball.
