“Uh, yes. Exactly.” Over Mx. Beauchamp’s head, Zada jerked her chin at Daphne, who started edging away toward the back room. “Could I take a look at the, er, ruffle samples you have?”
“How many would you like to see?” Mx. Beauchamp’s eyes were gleaming now. “I have a few classic designs, as well as a layered lace one that—”
“Show me all of them,” Zada said.
“Of course,” Mx. Beauchamp said. They waved a hand at a nearby mirror, which shifted to a display of ruffle designs. “Now this one up here is my personal favorite—”
Excruciatingly long minutes passed as Mx. Beauchamp explored their passion for ruffles and the latest in moisture-wicking, sun-shielding, body-cooling textile innovation. Eventually, Daphne slipped back into the room, and Zada jabbed a finger at random.
“I’ll go with this one,” she said. It must have been the right answer, because Mx. Beauchamp clapped their hands together in delight. They hurried away, muttering something about putting in another order at the warehouse, and disappeared through the curtain in the back.
When Zada finished changing back into her clothes, shecame face-to-face with Daphne, who was wearing a mischievous grin.
“Do you have the—?” Zada mouthed.
Daphne nodded. “Child’s play,” she said, leaning nonchalantly against the privacy screen. It tilted dangerously with a loud clatter. They both dove for the screen, their fingers brushing together as they righted it.
Zada immediately snatched her hand back, a year of deliberately avoiding any touch still burned into her synapses. She imagined a heat map of her body, glowing bright red where they had briefly made contact.
“Careful, that tips,” said Daphne.
“Thank you,” said Zada with feeling.
“Yeah, yeah,” Daphne whispered. “Are you okay? You look a little—flushed. Pink. Red, almost—”
“Why do you have Flora’s Gracelet?” Zada blurted out. When Daphne stilled, Zada hurried on. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t snooping through your things. It’s just that I found it in the drawer while I was looking for a brush and—”
“All right, all right, don’t hurt yourself.” Daphne sighed. “You know, I didn’t think I’d ever have to talk about this. Not with you. Considering we stopped being friends and all that.”
“What do you mean?”
“The truth is,” Daphne said, then groaned. “The truth is that when Flora came to visit me about”—she lowered her voice until it was barely audible—“the thing she came to visit me about, sometimes she would come alone, and we’d—you know.”
“I don’t, actually.”
“You know,” said Daphne again, as if saying the exact samething with the exact same cadence might bring greater clarity.
“I still don’t.”
“We—” Daphne huffed a sigh again and scanned the area. Then she leaned in to whisper in Zada’s ear, her breath tickling the nape of Zada’s neck. “We had a series of assignations.”
“You—what?” Zada hissed back.
“It’s what it sounds like. She was so keyed up about the wedding, she just wanted some way to cut loose. Please don’t make me spell it out further,” Daphne murmured.
“Oh.” Zada’s cheeks were on fire now. She couldn’t fathom it—Daphne and Flora.
“She must have dropped her Gracelet one of the nights she stayed over—” The curtain in the back parted, and Daphne straightened. At a normal volume she said, “Buford will faint when he sees you in that dress, I bet.”
“I agree,” Mx. Beauchamp said. “Miss Chambers, everything’s all set. Your gown will be ready two weeks before your wedding.” Zada didn’t bother to ask how Mx. Beauchamp knew when her wedding was. “Now if you’ll allow me to show you a few looks for Miss Fallow to wear as your maid of honor . . .”
As Mx. Beauchamp directed Zada’s attention to the mirror once more, her gaze wandered to the one beside it that reflected Daphne, who wore a bemused smile on her face as she listened.
Daphne’s strange behavior recently—the intensity and volatility of her emotions at the wedding, the grim exhaustion etched into her face, the way she’d been determined to bring the wedding to a screeching halt—it all made perfect sense now. Daphne had formed an attachment to Flora.
Zada felt a twinge of sympathy. The day of Flora’s wedding must have been agony for Daphne. And that, no doubt, was why, even though they’d gotten exactly what they’d come for, Zada felt like her heart was on a small boat capsizing in an icy ocean.
Chapter TenIn Which Stories Are Collected
