Page 106 of Cashmere Ruin

“To be fair, chainmail dresses aren’t thatuncommon,” 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.Ihad a bulletproof vest underneath.” She lets out a long, weary sigh. “It’s really a pity. Your Daphne dress—now,thatI 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’sit.”

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.”

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