“Good morning,” said Zada.
“Hey.” Daphne blinked up at her. “What do you want for breakfast?”
“Anything’s fine.”
“Great. A mug of lukewarm mustard-water garnished with a single floating grape—coming right up!”
“Soup for breakfast?” said Zada, and then, when that failed to earn a laugh, added, “Anyway, grapes don’t float.”
She’d seated herself one chair away from Daphne before remembering that she no longer needed to keep a careful distance from other debutantes. Not only that, she and Daphne were coconspirators now.
She moved to sit beside Daphne.
“Oh, fine. I’m ordering you black tea and a portobello omelet,” Daphne said, tapping an interface embedded into the surface of the table.
That had been Zada’s favorite breakfast at school.
“Thanks,” Zada said. Before Daphne could go back to her myriad of floating screens, Zada added, “We should strategize.”
She darted a look around, as if Daphne’s stately grandfather might be crouched beneath the table or sandwiched between the curtains. But no one was within hearing distance.
Still, Zada lowered her voice and continued, “Look, I needthose thousands of names and Mx. Beauchamp seems like the best way to get them. Would you mind coming with me and grabbing the list with my clone-scanner while I, uh, pretend to have a lot of feelings about my wedding dress?”
“Are you sure?” said Daphne.
In all their escapades, Zada had never played the role of distraction. Daphne was much better suited to it—it was practically her calling in life. Zada would need to think on her feet. It was too bad she couldn’t study her way into being a practiced liar and a convincing grifter.
“Don’t forget, Mx. Beauchamp’s list will include me,” said Zada with a wince. “I’m the obvious choice to feign interest in a gown. I guess I’ll have to pull up some styles and create a color palette. I don’t suppose you have any thoughts?”
“None whatsoever,” said Daphne. “But I can fake it. I hear silver and salmon are big right now.”
“That would spice up the wedding,” Zada mused. “A turf war with Ursa Neale.”
Daphne tilted her head, considering. It drew attention to the graceful line of her neck.
“I’ll be careful,” Daphne said and grinned. “Ursa strikes me as a biter.”
Zada had never been inside of Beauchamp’s, for obvious reasons.
It was almost impossibly quiet within the shop. After the noisy bustle of downtown, the soft silence was a relief. The walls and ceiling were padded in a pale velvetlike material that was likely designed to soak up the decibels. After a momentof looking around at the tasteful decor and the gilded mannequins, Zada realized that the abstract sculpture mounted above the entrance was emitting white noise.
When Mx. Beauchamp murmured “Welcome, do you have an appointment?” at Zada’s elbow, Zada nearly jumped. Mx. Beauchamp was very short, with dark skin and gorgeously silvery hair. They wore a flowy, high-necked blouse and trousers tucked into boots with a towering heel that put them nearly of a height with Daphne.
“Hello,” she said, attempting to match the designer’s low, melodic tone. “I’m here for an appointment. My name is Zada—”
“Chambers, yes,” Mx. Beauchamp said. “I have your dress right here.” They gestured to a gold-inlaid changing screen set up in the back of the shop.
“You do?” said Zada, baffled.
Mx. Beauchamp chuckled, the sound as pleasant as their speaking voice. “We’re the best in the business, Miss Chambers. Once you made your appointment, we accessed your feed profile. The data provided on your height, weight, dress size, body type, and complexion allowed us to craft the perfect wedding gown for you—all before you walked in our door. We may need to adjust the fit, and of course we can further customize it based on any input you might have, but we find that most of our clientele are very happy with the results of our proprietary algorithm.”
The speech had a rehearsed air to it, marked by a series of precise rises and falls.
“That’s—” Zada hesitated, glancing at Daphne who widened her eyes.Go on, Daphne was clearly saying.Distract.“That’s wonderful to hear. I’ll just go and, um, try on the dress, then.”
Zada slipped behind the screen, palms strangely sweaty. Mx. Beauchamp handed over the bundle of soft, pure white fabric, and Zada slipped it over her head. Fastening the buttons took some work, but that was a good thing. Her job was to delay and grab focus while Daphne did her digging. Finally, she smoothed down the front of the dress and stared at her reflection in the mirror, which populated with the measurements of the dress, as well as her age, height, and weight.
“Well, what do you think?” Mx. Beauchamp sounded softly triumphant.
