Page 37 of A Midnight Kiss on Ever After Street
He sighs and spins the chair again, his fingers rolling and unrolling my dressmaker’s tape. ‘What if I promised not to say anything? If she wasn’t supposed to be there, if she thought she’d be in trouble or if she has something to protect, her secret would be safe with me, always.’
Maybe if I told him the truth… explained about the way this fell into my lap on the morning after Ebony told me I had to prove I knew something about marketing. Maybe he’d understand that I never realised it would turn into something this big. I never intended there to be contact forms and TikTok videos. I was just angry and annoyed – at Ebony, and at him for not recognising me, and I said the thing about putting the dress in the window, and then it all spiralled out of control…
‘What if it’s not that simple?’ I trust him, but no matter how much you trust someone, the road to secrets getting out is always paved with good intentions. I can’t risk it, not when Ebony’s trust in me and The Cinderella Shop is at stake.
‘Maybe it’s because I kissed her. I didn’t mean to kiss her, it just… happened. It felt right that night, like kissing someone I’d known my whole life, someone who was already mine to kiss. I got swept away, lost in the magic of the night…’
‘I’m sure it’s not that.’ I meet his eyes. ‘Maybe she just had to go home.’
‘Then why not tell me that?’ It’s a gentle but pleading question, as though he’s desperate for someone, anyone, to answer it.
‘Maybe she didn’t want you to know. Maybe she was playing a part and she didn’t want to break the illusion. She was beautiful and glamorous and she didn’t want Prince Charming to know she was really a scullery maid.’
‘A literal Cinderella?’ He considers it for a moment. ‘But I’m not Prince Charming. I’m a clumsy oaf who’s too big for my own skin and can barely string a sentence together most days. I want to see her again because of her words, because of how she made me feel when she was talking about the castle. Maybe she could help me understand what happened there.’
I cling onto the ‘how she made me feel’ comment. Webothfelt something that night, something magical, something that shouldn’t exist outside of fairy tales, and now I’ve ruined it, haven’t I? I’ve spent too much time with him. I’ve got to know who hereallyis under the standoffish exterior, and I like him too much to take the rejection when he finds out. Or when he goes back to Scotland. I’ve already got too close to him, and it won’t be worth the heartbreak when he leaves.
At least Prince Charming and Cinderella lived in the same kingdom.
He’s watching me, as though he’s waiting, andnowis the perfect moment to spit it out, and…
I can’t do it.
‘Don’t give up on her,’ I say instead, disappointed in myself for not being braver. ‘Maybe one day she’ll find the strength she needs to take that risk.’
He nods slowly. ‘I can wait.’
I don’t know if he gets the hidden meaning or not, and I wish I was fearless enough to throw it all out there, but I’m not. The fact is, that no matter how well I get on with him, this isnota fairy tale. He doesn’t live here. One day very soon, he’s going to finish his work at the castle and he’ll be gone, and so will the castle and The Cinderella Shop, and I can’t let that happen without doingeverythingI can to save it.
Instead of going back to the computer, his body brushes against mine as he gets up and starts wandering around the shop, his fingers trailing over the silky ivory satin of a wedding dress on a mannequin and the glittery teal tulle of a fit-and-flare prom dress on the rails.
‘Why don’t you sign your sketches?’ Witt’s looking at the sketches of memorable Disney dresses that hang around the walls in elegant silver frames.
‘How do you know they’re mine?’
‘I recognise your work from the order book the other day.’
I find that hard to believe. My work is unmemorable and there’s no way he could really recognise it that easily. He’s just taking a punt, thinking I’ll laugh and correct him.
I should deny all knowledge, but he makes it too easy to tell him things I had no intention of telling him. ‘Ebony wouldn’t display them if she knew they were mine. I made Scarlett tell her she’d commissioned them from an in-demand artist on Etsy, and she was happy with that.’
‘Sade, these are so beautiful. Creative. Clever. Special. Ebony should beproudto have these. You could sell these as a side-line to sewing. Any Disney-loving childoradult would love something like this on their bedroom walls.’
‘Don’t be daft, they’re just… doodling. They fit the Ever After Street theme. I’m a seamstress, not an artist.’
‘Have youseenthat dress in the window? If that isn’t art, I don’t know what is. So are those that you’re trying to hide over there.’ He nods towards the pile of papers I’ve left on the edge of the counter to take upstairs when I next go up to the flat.
‘They’re just dreams, Witt. Dresses I’d make if I had the time, material, and ability to sell them at a price that evennon-millionaires could afford.’ I look at him across the shop. He’s got a unique ability in his beautiful eyes to see underneath my words. I felt it at the ball too – straight away. From the moment I met him, I didn’t want to be anything but honest.
‘It hasn’t always been like this with Ebony.’ I don’t realise I’m going to speak until I do. ‘She hasn’t had it easy. Her husband walked out on her when Scarlett was ten, and less than three months after that, my parents died, leaving her a single mother oftwochildren. She never once complained. Never once made me feel like Iwasn’ther own daughter. Ebony ran this place as it should be run once. She had never threaded a needle before, but because of how much this place meant to my mum and dad, she learned to sew from scratch so shecouldtake over and do it justice. And she did, she really did. She hired another seamstress and there were shop staff here when Scarlett and I were still too young. A few years ago, we hit a rough patch. Dresses weren’t selling and customers weren’t coming in. The staff and the other seamstress had to go. It was a tough time and everything had to be cut back – until it was just us, back to basics. And then some movie star’s wife wore one of our dresses to a film premiere, and it reallydidturn things around. We had orders again, the elite and their friends travelling down for fittings, endless enquiries and celebrity assistants sending measurements over the phone, and that little burst of attention got the finances back into the black and the shop thriving again, but as with all things celebrity, it’s a fickle business and the orders soon dried up. And ever since, Ebony’s been chasing that again, convinced that we just need one big star to name-drop us or one influencer to influence people our way. She’s certain that we need to operate like a big London fashion house – with almost nothing on display and prices so high they make people think we must besuperexclusive haute couture, to reflect the kind of clientele wewantappeal to…’
He’s stopped wandering and is listening as though I’m the only person in the universe. I’ve never known anyone who listens like Witt does. Someone’s undivided attention would usually make me nervous, but with him, it makes me feel empowered – like I’mworthlistening to.
‘You can’t undervalue your work though. It must take you days, even weeks, to create a dress like that.’ He lifts a hand towards the Cinderella dress in the window. ‘People can’t expect to buy something like that for a few quid.’
‘It’s not about that. There has to be a happy medium between charging something that regular people can afford and not feeling like I’m working for nothing. I don’t want to dress celebrities, Witt. I want to make normal people feel special when they put my dresses on. My mum did this because she loved making people happy. I used tolovedoing this. Now, I sew dresses I love when I can’t sleep at night, and I spend my days making hideous creations that a gaudy axolotl wouldn’t be seen dead in. Our actual sewing space in the back is full to bursting with returned dresses that no one knows what to do with.’ I’m short of breath by the time I stop myself talking. I hadn’t intended to spill out quite that much.
‘All those old dresses in there… returned because people didn’t “find love” while wearing them…’ He points to the open doorway to the back room although his tone says exactly how he feels about the concept of love. ‘It’s ridiculous that they’re just sitting there… Besides, second-hand items and buying sustainable is cool these days…’
