Page 47 of Tipping Point

He gives me a wicked grin. “The dress for your hair tie.”

“I knew it was mine!”

* * *

FINN

She steps blinking onto the sidewalk, and I jerk my head towards the car parked down the block. It’s a black SUV and when I open the door for her, she hops inside and dumps her backpack on the back seat. We open the windows and don our sunglasses as we make the drive to Eleganz. It has a nondescript facade but when we step inside, I see Camille marvel at the polished marble floors and the soft lighting that bounces off the ornate gold-framed mirrors.

The floor is divided into fashion houses with rails of gowns and tuxedos lining the walls. Some of the more exquisite pieces are on display, with their own personal lighting, twinkling like precious jewels.

When a young saleswoman approaches us, I can see her eyes travel alarmingly over Camille’s jean shorts and tank top, but when she takes me in from the shoes up, it gives her pause. I’m in trainers, slacks, and a shirt, unbranded, but I can see her calculate the worth of everything I’m wearing.

I pass the test.

“Good day. My name is Brigitte. Welcome to Eleganz. How can I assist you today?” Her accent is mild and her tone is neutrally professional.

“The Viennese Charity Gala, le Masquerade.”

“Of course. And will both of you be looking for attire?”

I shake my head and hold up my palms.

She turns her full attention to Camille, taking in her curves. “Will you follow me?”

We make our way to a private dressing room, and she sits Camille down as they discuss what impression Camille wants to give, her preference in style and colour, and whether she would be dancing or not.

Brigitte pours us some champagne and disappears back towards the storefront.

Camille is giving me a curious look.

“What?”

“Is this how you shop?”

I shake my head. “I used to, many years ago, but I have a shopper now who buys on my behalf and sends it over to my house.”

“You have a house?”

I raise my eyebrows at her, and she blushes. “I just assumed that with all the traveling, you wouldn’t have bothered. I heard you are a conservative spender.”

I grin at her.

“Not so conservative as to not own a house.”

“Where is it?”

“It’s in Faenza.”

“Oh. Italy sounds wonderful.”

I nod.

Brigitte returns with a garment rack, various gowns hooked on neatly. She comes to a pause with a smile.

“Shall we start?” she asks happily.

Camille is still uncomfortable with the experience, I can tell. But she gamely gets up and takes the first dress from Brigitte and disappears behind a heavily embroidered privacy screen. I sit back and take in the gold leaf on the ceiling trim and the masterfully painted mural on the ceiling, reminiscent of castles throughout Europe.

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