"Yes, Mr. Lawson."
The attendant's smile widens, becoming more genuine.
Ah.
Money talks.
And apparently Kai speaks the language fluently.
"If you'll follow me, miss?"
She gestures toward the back of the boutique, where I can see fitting rooms and mirrors and the general setup of a dressing area.
I hesitate.
Look at Kai.
He nods once—go—and settles himself into one of the plush chairs near the entrance. Crossing one ankle over his knee. Pulling out his phone. Looking for all the world like a man who's prepared to wait as long as it takes.
He's staying.
He's going to sit there and wait while I try on clothes.
Why does that feel significant?
"Miss?"
The attendant's voice is gentle but prompting.
I shake off my hesitation and follow her.
Three hours.
Threehoursof fabric and fittings and questions I never expected.
"What's your vision for the performance?"
The attendant—whose name, I've learned, is Marguerite—sits across from me in one of the fitting rooms, a tablet in her lap and genuine interest in her expression. Two other assistants hover nearby, ready to fetch whatever pieces we decide to try.
My vision.
What IS my vision?
"I want to tell a story," I say slowly, working through thoughts I've never actually articulated before. "About transformation. About being broken and putting yourself back together. About finding strength in the places where you were weakest."
Marguerite's stylus moves across her tablet.
Notes.
She's taking notes.
"Colors?"
"Dark to start. Black, maybe. Deep burgundy. Something that reads as contained, controlled, closed off." My fingers twist in my lap—one-two-three-four—as I work through the imagery. "But then it changes. Opens up. Reveals something underneath. Something softer. More vulnerable."
"Layers," Marguerite murmurs. "Transformation revealed through costume as well as movement."
"Yes." The word comes out with more certainty than I expected. "Exactly."
