Kindest regards,
Gemma Bellefleur
I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning. It’s no surprise Gemma wasn’t fooled by Mrs. Coleman’s scheme, for I can’t imagine even the smartest person outwitting the bold Miss Bellefleur.
My stepmother stomps her foot. “What does it say?”
With as much neutral calm as I can manage, I hand her the letter. “You can read it for yourself if you wish.”
She takes it from me, and again her daughters huddle close. I can’t bring myself to watch their horrified expressions as they read, for it will only set me off laughing. Instead, I stand still, my unopened parcel clutched to my chest.
“The nerve,” Mrs. Coleman says, balling the letter in her fist.
“She was quite rude,” Clara says. “And why should Ember go to the ball, anyway?”
My stepmother ignores the question. “Show me the dress.”
As much as I’d prefer to open the parcel in private, it’s folly to think I’d be allowed the luxury. So I do as I’m told, placing the box on the floor and lifting off the cover. An unexpected lump rises in my throat as I peel back the layers of tissue. It’s been so long since I’ve received a gift; it reminds me of cheerful birthdays, solstice, and Yule celebrations I had as a child.
With the tissue out of the way, I get my first glimpse of the box’s contents—folded pale blue taffeta with a silver domino mask resting upon it. The mask is lightly decorated with floral filigree but is otherwise unadorned. Setting the mask aside, I lift the dress and rise to my feet. I suppress a gasp as I examine the pleats and layers of the flowing blue skirt, the elegant yet modest neckline. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever—
“It’s so boring!” Clara says with a snicker. She stoops down to pick up the mask. “And is this supposed to take the place of a glamour?”
Mrs. Coleman joins her daughter’s teasing laughter. “You’re quite right, dear. Is that not the most insignificant dress you’ve ever seen? Miss Bellefleur may fancy herself a clever girl, but she clearly has questionable taste in fashion. Your friend made a poor choice, Ember.”
At first, I’m stunned. How can anyone look at this dress and not see its understated elegance? I open my mouth to argue the dress’ finer points and defend Gemma’s taste but stop myself. It occurs to me that Gemma’s choice in dress was far more calculated than my stepfamily will ever know. While the gown is finely made, it is neither as daring as current fae fashions nor as impressive as the most coveted human ballgowns. It’s modest enough not to spark envy but lovely enough to allow me to fit in at a ball without drawing much undue attention.
A lump rises in my throat again, and with it comes a hefty dose of shame and regret. This gift shows just how well Gemma knows me, even after all these months apart. Why did I insist on not keeping in touch with her? Why did I ever think we hadn’t truly been friends?
“I wouldn’t be caught dead in that,” Clara says. “What about you, Imogen?”
My elder stepsister is strangely quiet, but a glance at her face tells me she’s fuming. Finally, she rounds on her mother. “You wrote to Gemma? You asked a favor of the one person I despise more than any other?”
Mrs. Coleman meets her daughter’s glare with a flippant shrug. “Of course I didn’t. Did you not read the letter? Ember wrote to her.”
“Mother—”
“Do you want to go to the ball or not?”
Imogen snaps her mouth shut, then slowly turns her gaze to me. “Not if we have to depend onher.”
“Honestly, Imogen.” Mrs. Coleman releases a heavy sigh and rubs her brow. “Do you think I like this any more than you do? I will do whatever it takes to get you and Clara introduced to Lunar high society, and this is our best chance.”
Imogen continues to hold my gaze. “She’s only going to show off and you know it.”
“In that plain dress? Please. She doesn’t even have a glamour to wear. She might as well be invisible.”
The way they speak about me as if I’m not standing a mere two feet away sets my teeth on edge. I fold the dress over my arm and lift my chin in defiance. “Fret not. I don’t want to go.”
Silence settles over the room as the three women stare at me as if I have two heads. My stepmother takes a step closer. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t want to go,” I repeat, slowly this time. As grateful as I am for Gemma’s heartfelt gift, and as exciting as it would be to attend my very first ball as a guest, I can’t allow my stepfamily to use Miss Bellefleur’s generosity for their schemes.
Clara gasps, cheeks flushed. “But if she doesn’t go, none of us can!”
Mrs. Coleman scoffs. “You’ll go, Ember. I demand it. Youwillobey me.”
A sharp pain clenches my stomach, and I nearly double over. Squeezing my fingers into fists, I force myself to remain upright, to keep the pain from reflecting on my face.
