Chapter 463
Chapter 463:
Skye laughed. It was a light, airy sound.
“Trash?” Skye ran her hand down the soft tulle. “This is Italian silk, hand-woven. But I suppose you wouldn’t know quality if it hit you in the face p>
Sienna’s face turned red. “I want it! I want a dress that makes me look like a queen! This looks… flimsy. Cheap p>
Skye’s eyes narrowed slightly. The trap was set.
“Flimsy?” Skye repeated. “It allows movement. It allows you to walk, to dance. But I suppose if you want to look like a statue p>
“I want structure!” Sienna declared, taking the bait, hook, line, and sinker. “I want to look snatched. I want a dress that holds me in so tight I don’t even have to breathe p>
Skye caught Madame Claire’s eye and gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod.
“Well,” Skye said, stepping down from the pedestal, “if you want structure, you shouldn’t be looking at silk. You need something… substantial p>
She turned to Alistair. “Darling, remember that fabric we saw in the back? The Imperial Brocade? I told you it was too stiff, too heavy. Impossible to walk in p>
Sienna’s ears perked up. “Imperial Brocade p>
“Oh, yes,” Skye said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s reserved for royalty, usually. Very expensive. Very rigid. I didn’t think I could pull it off. It takes a certain… stature p>
Sienna puffed out her chest. “I have stature p>
She turned to the designer. “Show me the brocade p>
Madame Claire hesitated. She looked at Skye, then at the credit card on the table.
“Show her,” Skye said sweetly. “The customer is always right p>
Alistair picked up his magazine again, hiding his face. His shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter.
Madame Claire signaled to an assistant, who disappeared into the back room. Moments later, two struggling employees emerged, carrying a heavy bolt of fabric between them.
It was magnificent, in a gaudy, old-world way. The fabric was a thick, ivory brocade woven with silver threads that formed stiff, raised patterns of vines and flowers. It looked less like dress material and more like upholstery for a throne-room chair.
It had absolutely zero give. No stretch. No elasticity. It was armor.
“Here it is,” Madame Claire said, panting slightly from the effort of unrolling a yard of it. “The Imperial Brocade p>
𝗢𝗉𝗍𝘪m𝖺𝘭 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱i𝘯𝘨 𝘦x𝘱e𝘳іеո𝗰e 𝗈ո 𝗯𝗲.𝖼𝘰𝗆
Sienna ran her hand over it. It was rough, textured.
“This,” Sienna breathed. “This is what a queen wears p>
She imagined herself in it, rigid and imposing, commanding respect. No one would dare call her a thief if she looked like royalty.
Skye was now in the waiting area, pretending to browse a selection of veils. She spoke loudly enough for her voice to carry.
“It’s beautiful,” Skye said to Alistair. “But imagine trying to sit down in that. Or walk upstairs. You’d need a forklift p>
Sienna’s head snapped up. “I don’t need a forklift! I have poise!” She turned to the designer. “I’ll take it. And I want a mermaid cut p>
The room went silent.
A mermaid cut was tight—skin-tight—down to the knees, where it flared out. To make a mermaid dress out of zero-stretch brocade was physically reckless. It would essentially bind the legs together like a single, rigid pillar.
“Mademoiselle,” Madame Claire warned, her professional conscience forcing her to speak, “a mermaid cut with this fabric… it will restrict your stride. You will not be able to take steps larger than a few inches. Perhaps an A-line p>
“Are you saying my daughter is too fat for a mermaid cut?” Beatrice interjected, her voice shrill. She was watching the price estimate climb on the register and taking her stress out on the staff.
“No, Madame! I am speaking of physics p>