32. April

32

APRIL

Forty-eight hours. That's how long I have to come up with a new dress. No, not just "come up with": sketch, sew, and submit a new dress.

For the Daphne gown, it took weeks.

Now, I have two days.

"Unbelievable," Petra mutters under her breath, pacing up and down the room like an angry lioness. "Un-fucking-believable. The nerve of those suki . And you didn't shoot them?"

"I was asked not to," Matvey replies laconically.

"Well, I wasn't. Where do they live?"

"Guys," I call over, "I appreciate the sentiment, I really do. But can we think about this dress first?"

"Sorry," Petra sighs. "It's just so unfair. I saw how hard you worked on that other dress. Can you really make something else so soon?"

And if that isn't the million-dollar question… "I don't know. But I have to."

Matvey gives a grunt of approval. In his lap, May coos in what could be encouragement or a polite request for food. On the floor, Buttons chases a stolen ball of yarn.

I grab my fabrics off the floor and sigh. Petra isn't wrong. Make a high-concept piece in two days? Not even dear old Vivienne could have swung that. And I'm no Westwood girl. More than that, I'm a working girl. One who's been pushing off deadlines to this specific weekend.

"Goddammit," I curse.

I take another look at my sketches. There's lots of decent ideas there, but "decent" doesn't win contests. There's this one mermaid-inspired concept that I really like, but it would also involve hand-gluing about a trillion mother of pearl scales, something I have neither the budget nor the time nor the finger dexterity for.

Time and money. God, why does it all have to boil down to that?

Negative spiral. I shake my head and force myself to snap out of it. Dr. Knox has been very clear with me: when I get trapped in my own thoughts, I need to anchor myself to the present. The here and now, in the world outside my mind.

It doesn't come easy, but it comes easier than most days today. And honestly? I think I know why.

Because I'm pissed.

Anne stole my work. Nora helped her. They stole my future once, but they couldn't be happy with that. They had to do it again.

But I'll be damned if I let them.

I'm not seventeen anymore. I'm not a scared little girl with nowhere to go and no one to help. I'm a grown woman now. I'm a mom.

And I have a family.

If there's a silver lining to this entire situation, it's how good Matvey's been to me. He's been handling it so well. Letting Elias watch our daughter, keeping his cool in front of my wicked stepmother and stepsister, letting me fight my own battles. Listening to me. Trusting me.

With this Matvey by my side, I feel like I can take on the world.

Speaking of… "Any thoughts from the peanut gallery?" I ask hopefully.

…

…

…

Crickets.

"Come on!" I pout. "We're brainstorming. There's no such thing as a bad idea here."

I can practically feel Matvey's skepticism fill the air. "You want us to give you advice?"

"Why not? You both dress snazzy."

Matvey's eyebrow rises. "‘Snazzy,'" he echoes.

"Yeah. You know, fancy. Sharp."

I detect a hint of amusement on his lips. "Well, in case it slipped your mind, I'll remind you I have tailors for that."

How could I ever forget? I give a discreet cough and quickly change the subject. "Petra, save me. I know you have a fashion sense somewhere."

"Sure." She shrugs. "How about steel?"

"See? That's exactly—sorry, what?"

"I don't know. It's durable. Interesting. It's—What are you laughing at?"

Behind us, Matvey gives an equally discreet cough. "Nothing. Why not chainmail?"

"Ha-ha. Very funny."

"With a nice helm to match. Thin eye slot so it can prevent arrows and spears from penetrating."

"Still think there's no such thing as bad ideas?" Petra deadpans.

"To be fair, chainmail dresses aren't that uncommon," I point out. "Some brides even wear them to their weddings. It's all about personality."

"Huh," she remarks. "Can't really see that. Much too restrictive. If you're attacked, you're gonna want to move fast."

"No sane person is expecting to be attacked at their wedding, Petra."

"Speak for yourself. I had a bulletproof vest underneath." She lets out a long, weary sigh. "It's really a pity. Your Daphne dress—now, that I could see as a wedding gown."

"I guess…" I frown. "I didn't really consider that. But it kind of works, doesn't it? It's full-ivory with a trumpet shape, and the corset's decorations are elaborate enough, so it wouldn't really look out of pl…" I trail off.

Petra looks at me funny. "April?"

"… place…"

"Matvey, I think your girlfriend's having a stroke."

Suddenly, I bolt upright. "That's it," I whisper to myself. "That's it."

I make my way to my work closet and start yanking out pieces. Commissioned ones, half-finished ones, and among them…

There.

"I can't make something else from scratch. But maybe…"

Then I pick up the phone.

"April?" Petra rounds up on me. "Are you going to let us in on?—"

"Hush."

From the other side of the room, I catch Matvey mouthing, "Let her work."

Again, I'm moved by it: Matvey's faith in me. His willingness to trust me, despite and because of all we went through. Together and apart.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Pierce?" I pipe up. "This is April, from Third Chance. I was hoping we could talk about your dress."

It's a long shot. If it goes wrong, I'll be sacked on the spot. Not even Elias could make excuses for me stealing a dress from a client.

Especially not a wedding dress.

"Another model?" she murmurs. "I don't know, April. I really liked what we settled on. Besides, I'm kind of on a budget, so I can't really splurge on a more expensive type…"

"I know, I know. I promise this won't affect the price. I just ask that you take a look."

"But…"

"Please, Ms. Pierce," I plead. "I'm sending you the picture right now. If you don't like it, you can pretend this conversation never happened. But I think this piece might be the answer."

It's not a lie: Ms. Pierce was looking for exactly this kind of model before the issue of budget came into play.

I wait on the phone, tense as a violin. With every second that ticks by, my anxiety grows. God, this was so unprofessional of me. What was I thinking? I need to apologize. Right now, before the client slams the phone in my face. "Actually, I'm so sorr?—"

"I can… really have that?"

I blink. "What?"

"The dress. Can I really have that for the same price? It looks… I mean… Wow."

I can't believe my ears. "I—Yes. Yes, absolutely. And it's already in your size, so we would only have to make minor adjustments…"

The rest of the conversation flows easily. I can't get over how excited Ms. Pierce is about this dress. A dress that I made.

Whatever bitterness Anne's stunt had left in my mouth, it turns instantly sweet. By the time we get off the phone, my anxiety has melted. All I can feel is excitement.

"I take it you know what you're gonna do?" Matvey asks in my ear, coming up behind me.

I smile. For the first time since this whole thing began, I give a big, genuine smile. "Yeah. I do."

Then I unveil the dress.

Petra's eyes widen. "That's…"

Huge. Princess-y. A pure white bonbon. "My piece."

It's only half-done, but that's okay. For once, this is a good thing. I'm not going to make a princess dress anyway.

I'm going to make something new.

"Wanna put this on?"

Petra looks horrified. "Do I have a choice?"

I grin. "Not really."

Then I rip the skirt in half.