Page 42 of The Mourning Throne
They ended up in Mayfair.Poshas hell.
Surrounded by window displays of mannequins that stared too hard, lifeless and judgmental in tailored suits and waxy expressions. Dark glass and brushed metal storefronts, expensive as shit. The streets were quiet—no horns, no crowds. Only the low murmur of refined money exchanging hands behind tinted doors.
Inside the first shop, all cool marble floors and whispered jazz, Lex made a beeline for the rack of jackets. He skimmed his fingers over the fabrics—wool, silk, something buttery-soft.
He stopped at a green velvet blazer with gold trim. “This one?” he asked, already sliding into the sleeves before Morgan could so much as blink.
Spinning once in the floor-length mirror, the fabric swished around his hips. “What do you think?”
Morgan glanced up, chuckled. “You look like someone’s rich uncle that’s dressed inappropriately for a funeral.All you need is a pipe.”
“Like,I killedthemrich uncle, or like,my daughter did it for me?”
“Take it off. You look ridiculous.”
“I kinda like it.”
Morgan stepped close and slipped his hands into the jacket, the movement so smooth Lex barely registered the chill of his fingers against his neck as the blazer peeled away.
“It’s the wrong color for you,” Morgan said, adjusting it on the hanger. “Greens make you look sickly. Pick something warmer toned.”
“Yeah… gonna be honest with you, Morgan. I have no clue what that means. Warmer like red?”
Looking around, Morgan grabbed a lightweight jacket—thin and crinkly, with a texture that looked like it belonged to a couch in his grandparent’s rec room. He held it under Lex’s chin.
Orange.
It was fuckingorange.
“This one,” Morgan said, nodding.
Lex snorted, louder than he meant to. “Should I be disco dancing?”
“Are you going to continue complaining or are you going to trust me? I’m more than happy to sit in the car and let you flounder on your own.”
Well, that would’ve taken all the fun out of the experience.
Lex bit back a sigh and pulled on the bright, goddamn monstrosity. He was going to look like a traffic cone withhair.
Maybe Morgan didn’t have the fashion sense Lex thought he did. Maybe Morgan had his clothes picked out—
Alright. Fine.
In the mirror, it wasn’t nearlyas god-awful-ugly as Lex first thought. The orange wasn’t metallic, more copper than clown. Very autumnal.
He turned to one side, then the other.
“You like it, don’t you?” Morgan asked.
Admitting Morgan was right felt like swallowing nails.
They moved from one boutique to another, Lex grabbing everything that lookedfun—but functional. Something he could wear out at night and to meetings.
Every time, he held it up first.
“What about this one?”
Morgan's answer was always the same.
