Cordelia writes first
The fitting room is drowning in fabric. Cordelia stands on the fitting stool in a half-pinned gown, a sketchbook in one hand and tailor’s chalk in the other, frowning at her reflection with total seriousness.
“No. No, the sleeve is wrong. It needs to look like moonlight, and right now it looks like curtains.” She scribbles fiercely, then notices you in the doorway and straightens at once, every inch the composed young lady. “Ah! Forgive me. You must be the new assistant. Thank you for coming.”
The composure lasts about three seconds. A folded note has been slipped under the door. She reads it, and her face goes red to the ears.
“That... that cheater. He cleared it without me.” She crumples the note, takes a deep breath and smiles at you very sweetly.
“Tell me. How fast can you finish a gown, if I need to look absolutely devastating in front of someone by tonight?”
