I already feel a hundred times better, and that's just with the first sip. I could kiss her for the relief. I should have thought of this instead of leather hangover curtains. What a silly idea.
"Did you get lost out there?" Ysolde teases, and I realize that both she and Brynna have been teasing Torgan this entire time while I've been savoring my tea.
"No, of course not," Torgan answers, sounding like a scolded child.
Brynna crosses her arms. "So you're just slow?"
"No."
I hide my smile in my teacup. Mmm, Noemi outdid herself with this. And now I can enjoy the banter between the siblings, something I'll have to get used to, especially as it seems like Ysolde is going to become a client.
"Can I get you all something to drink?" I ask.
"Oh, you shouldn’t,” Ysolde says, but I also see the disapproval in Brynna's eyes as she shakes her head.
"I'm all right now," I say, and it's true. I pull myself out of the chair, my headache now forgotten. I stand on steady feet. So far, so good. The contrast feels so good, I give myself a small chuckle.
"Now," I say, turning to Ysolde, "it's my turn to treat you like the bride you're meant to be."
The restof my consultation with Ysolde goes the way it should — and I thankfully don't crash my head into the cabinet again.
I work through the specifics of Ysolde's wishes for her dress, with Brynna bringing in her input every so often, reminding Ysolde of the things she has wanted ever since they were little orcs.
Torgan, for his part, is silent the entire time, sitting in a chair by the window while he watches us. I can feel his eyes on me the whole time I'm sketching out the dress, taking Ysolde's measurements, and going over fabric swatches with her. He doesn't speak, unless Brynna says something to try to rile him up, which works a little more often than I would have thought. But I can feel his gaze on me like it's a living thing, and I can't tell if it makes me feel uncomfortable. Exposed, maybe?
Or wanted.
Which is silly, because there's no way this orc lord would ever notice me — a human with a dress shop that's barely scraping by and no prospects to speak of.
And, most important of all, and something I need to remind myself: he looked at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe the first time we met at Noemi's.
I wonder which of these sisters he bought the anti-love potion for. Or if it's someone else entirely. They certainly don't seem to be under any spell, so maybe he had the sense not to give it to them.
An expensive purchase, but I'm glad he didn't make a bigger mistake.
After two hours of consultation and plenty of drawings and mess, mostly mine because my mind demands perfection fromthe dress, we land on a design that even I would admit is stunning and one-of-a-kind. And I am my harshest critic.
I hope I can bring it to life the way I want. The way Ysolde deserves.
"That should be it," I say, putting down my pencil and holding out my sketch for the sisters to see. My sketch shows off a woman with Ysolde's long, willowy proportions, colored with her moss-green skin to show the contrast between her and the eggshell-white dress that's tight at the bodice and flowing around the shoulders and skirt. The leather and the silks we've chosen are marked, with the combination of textures making as much of a statement about the union between an orc and a minotaur as any vows.
I've outdone myself, and I know it.
"I love it," Ysolde says proudly. "Torgan, come look at this!"
"I'm fine," he grumbles, and Ysolde frowns, a line creasing between her dark eyebrows. I can see that Brynna is about to burst into a string of retorts, and I decide to intervene.
If only to keep them from bickering again. Even if I did kind of like it.
You're welcome, Lord Oakenshade, I think darkly.
"Probably a good thing that he doesn't see it," I tease with a shrug, giving the sisters a wicked smile. "Who knows, he might spill the beans to your fiancé about it, and we can't have that."
"Torgan never could keep his big mouth shut," Brynna growls, to which I laugh.
"That is the problem with brothers, so I hear."
"Oh, no brothers?" Ysolde asks. "Sisters?"
