“No. No, it’s not, Finn. You’re having dinner with a Little Sister tonight. I’ve made a list of five that I think are suitable. You should just?—”
“Move on?” I raise one eyebrow at him.
“Fuck one. I was gonna say fuck one. Just… to make things easier until… time heals the wound, ya know?”
Time is not gonna heal my wound. But it’s pointless to argue with him. Besides, this dinner might actually be my answer to the current melancholy. “Who’s on the list?”
Mitch smiles like this is me agreeing to his ‘fuck one’ plan. Then he pulls out a slip of paper and hands it over.
I scan it, but Jasina’s name is not on the list. Still, Mitch isn’t the one in charge here. I am. So I hand it back and look him in the eyes. “I want Jasina Bell. She’s my choice.”
“What?” His face is so scrunched up in confusion, I almost laugh. “I mean, she’s fuckable, for sure. And that display at the opening gala was pretty cool. But…down-city, Finn.” He shakes his head. “She’s got a really bad rep as a whore.”
“I don’t care. I like her and I want to spend time with her tonight. If I can’t have Clara, I at least want someone interesting. Throw in a spa day and new dress, as well. Tell the cooks I want the dining room set for dinner at seven.”
I turn to leave, so ready for a shower, but Mitch grabs my arm. “Wait. Finn. Come on, man. You can’t… I mean. OK, fine. I’ll get you Jasina. But there’s no spa or new dress included in this day.”
I shrug off his grip on my arm and look him in the eyes. “There is now. Get it done. I’m taking a shower. Tell the cooks I’ll be down for breakfast in twenty minutes.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
In the morningI am jolted awake by a Matron yelling my name.
I lift my head up, eyes barely open, trying to make out what she’s saying.
“Jasina Bell! Where are you? The Extraction Master has chosen you as the winner of tonight’s private dinner! Get up! Get up! He has also included a spa day and a new dress!”
I sit completely up now, mouth open. What?
“Jasina Bell!” the Matron yells again. “Show yourself right now!”
I push the covers aside, get out of bed, and quickly make my way through the maze of hallways and spaces. When I pass my friends, they each shoot me the dirtiest look I’ve ever seen them give anyone. Even Lucindy, which almost breaks my heart.
But I ignore them. I do not take their bait. Instead I lift up my chin, square my shoulders, and walk out into the main dorm until I am standing in the middle of the cyan-blue canal that runs down the center of the beachy carpet.
“Here I am.” My voice is loud and strong. “I’m Jasina Bell.”
If I have to stand alone, I will do so with grace.
The Matron, who is not one I recognize, waves me forward. “Hurry up, then. There’s a lot to do. First, you must stand for the couturier.”
As I walk up the fake canal the other Little Sisters start whispering. Probably wondering why Finn Scott would choose me, of all people. There’s a little part of me that realizes that it is dangerous to arouse suspicion among them. There will be gossip. They will hate me.
But they already hate me. And anyway, once I leave the dorm and arrive at the Maiden District couturier’s boutique, I’ve forgotten all about them. Because this room is filled with the most extravagant fabrics, and intricate lace, and opulent silk I’ve ever laid my eyes on.
This, I decide, is why we volunteer. Because this is the height of luxury.
And I get the distinct feeling that, as a Little Sister, I am not supposed to be here.
The dressmaker is quite tall so when she looks me over, she’s literally sneering down her nose. “You are pretty, but your body has curves. Too many curves. You should mind the weight. It creeps on and never comes off. As it stands, you’re at least a size eight with that ass.”
Icouldbe offended. But why bother? I am a size eight. And anyway, my ass is definitely one of my best assets. Pun intended. And this bitch has to make me a dress.Has to. As in has no choice. So why should I let her bad attitude ruin my day?
I shake my head and raise my chin. Then I start demanding things. I am a rather good dressmaker, and while I am not up to her standards, I have opinions.
She balks at my demand for a sweetheart neckline ball gown. But after I demonstrate that I am not a completely uneducated dressmaker-in-training, she gives me off-the-shoulder sleeves, adropped-v waistline, and a bare back. Sensing I might challenge her about the waistline, she adds, “I don’t have time for glass beads, even if I commandeer every seamstress in the district. But… it will be entirely made of silk.” Then she winks. “And I won’t make it blue.”
I leave the couturier’s boutique feeling happier than I have all week. Then it’s spa time. And I get the full Spark Maiden treatment. Steam sauna, massage, body scrub, bubble bath, facial, manicure, pedicure, haircut, hairstyle, and makeup.
