Madame Laurent sighs, stepping back to examine me with a critical eye. “You’re right. You look gorgeous in everything, Parker, but I’ve been fiddling with this for the past hour and your sister-in-law is correct. It’s not quite fitting for your debut back into society.” She taps her finger against her lips thoughtfully. “The midnight blue is lovely, but it’s too... safe. Too forgettable. We need something that makes a statement.”
“What kind of statement?” my mother asks, looking between Sienna and Madame Laurent with confusion.
“The kind that says Parker Carter isn’t someone to be overlooked or underestimated,” Sienna says smoothly. “The kind that reminds everyone in that ballroom exactly who she is.”
Madame Laurent’s eyes light up with understanding—or maybe just the thrill of a challenge. “I have something. Wait here.”
She disappears into the back room, her assistants scurrying after her. In the sudden quiet, I catch Sienna’s reflection in the mirror. She’s watching me with that same knowing expression, but now there’s something else there too—solidarity, maybe. Support.
She knows what I need, even if she can’t say it out loud in front of my mother and Aria.
“What’s wrong with the blue?” Mom asks, sounding genuinely baffled. “I thought it was perfect.”
“It’s pretty,” Sienna agrees. “But pretty isn’t what Parker needs right now. She needs commanding. She needs unforgettable.”
She needs to walk into that gala and make it crystal clear to every person in that room—especially Ryan Matthews—that she’s not available. That she belongs to someone else, even if they can’t see the claim written on her skin.
Madame Laurent returns with an armful of fabric in a color that makes my breath catch.
Deep crimson. Blood red. The exact shade of the wine Silas drinks, the color that bleeds into the edges of Cal’s code when he’s hacking something particularly difficult, the color of Jace’s favorite leather jacket that he never wears but keeps hung in his closet like a talisman.
But Madame Laurent shakes her head, setting the red fabric aside. “Non, non. Too obvious. Too expected for a woman trying to make a statement.” She taps her finger against her lips thoughtfully. “We need something more... complex. More layered.”
“What did you have in mind?” Sienna asks, and I catch the slight curve of her smile—like she knows exactly where this is going.
Madame Laurent disappears into the back room again, and when she returns, she’s carrying an armful of fabric that makes my breath catch.
Storm grey. Not the soft dove grey of morning mist, but the deep, rolling grey of clouds heavy with rain and electricity. The exact color of Silas’s eyes when he’s deciding whether someone lives or dies, when violence is riding his shoulders and I’m the only thing that can calm him down.
“This,” she says, holding it up to my face. The fabric seems to shift in the light, darker in the shadows, almost luminous where the sun hits it. “This is your base. But we don’t stop there.”
She gestures to her assistants, who bring out more fabric—silk in steel blue that catches the light like polished metal, like the blade Jace keeps strapped to his calf, like his eyes when they’re assessing a threat.
“And the accents,” Madame Laurent continues, producing swatches of fabric shot through with amber—not orange, not yellow, but the exact warm honey-gold of Cal’s eyes when he looks at me across a crowded room. “Like lightning in a storm. Like drops of whiskey in rain. Small touches, but impossible to miss.”
My mother frowns, examining the fabrics. “Grey?”
Aria huffs a sound, “We can’t wear the same color.”
“Exactly,” my mom nods in agreement, “For Aria it makes sense, but for Parker’s first event back? That seems rather... subdued.”
“It’s not subdued,” Sienna says quietly, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “It’s perfect besides,” she addresses Aria, “grey isn’t your color. Maybe stick with black since you’re still technically a widow grieving.”
“I agree,” Madame Laurant smiles softly before asking her assistant to bring in options for Aria in black to choose from.
I feel like I’m missing something but, I mean, she is Dominic’s widow and it’s not like she’ll be expected to wear a bathrobe. It’ll be classy, maybe even sexy since Charles is hoping she’ll attract someone to help her move forward with her life.
In the mirror, I finally see the vision Madame Laurant is going for. Storm grey silk that moves like clouds and shadows. Steel blue threading through it like lightning about to strike. Amber accents catching the light like sun breaking through after rain.
Silas’s eyes. Jace’s eyes. Cal’s eyes.
“The gown will be primarily this storm grey,” Madame Laurent explains. “Fitted bodice, sweetheart neckline, with the steel blue worked into the bodice in a pattern like Damascus steel. And amber beading along the neckline and hem—just enough to catch candlelight.”
Her assistant presents steel-blue heels, metallic and sharp-looking. Another opens a case of amber jewelry—topaz stones that glow like whiskey held up to firelight.
“The mask,” the second assistant says, holding up a creation of storm-grey silk with steel-blue metalwork swirling like wind patterns, punctuated with tiny amber crystals.
I stare at the collection, my throat tight. Anyone else will see an elegant woman in a beautiful gown. But three specific men will see their colors wrapped around me—a claim they can’t possibly miss.
