I did a good job. And I am proud of myself for it.
I can't help my smile as I slip my scissors back into my apron. I amaze myself sometimes, and today is one of those days. And the best part is, the family thinks the same way, which makes all this worthwhile.
Well, most of the family. One brother does not seem to want anything to do with the dress fitting.
I twist my head over my shoulder to look at the brooding orc lord in the corner. Torgan has been brought along again —dragged along, if his attitude is any indication of what happened before they came here. He sits in a chair that seems comically too small for his big frame, one boot crossed over his knee while he reads the newspaper he brought with him. I catch a glimpse of the title: The Battle Times.
"Human frippery," he mutters under his breath, not looking my way.
I tilt my head, shocked at the insult, but Mirelle comes to my aid before I say anything that would get me in trouble with the oldest of the Oakenshade children.
"What was that, dear brother?" she asks tensely.
Torgan's eyes peer at me from above the top of the newspaper before he goes back to the articles. "Nothing."
"Thought so," Mirelle says, visibly bristling. "Don't insult our dressmaker. She'd even make your sorry ass look great in a dress."
"Can you imagine!" Brynna asks, barking a laugh, and Mirelle joins her. I have the sense that the two younger sisters are the closest in the family, as thick as thieves. "Torgan in a dress."
"Now, now," Saskia mutters. "The only dress we care about right now is Ysolde's."
"Yeah." Mirelle snickers. "Because no one in their right mind would ever marry Torgan."
I blink, feeling the heat rush to my face as I steal another glance at Torgan. Shit. Our eyes meet, and the slight rise of his eyebrow tells me he can see my embarrassment. I turn away and go to my desk, wanting to get some tea, something to busy myself. "Would anyone like some tea?"
"Please," all four sisters answer at the same time before dissolving into a fit of giggles.
"Here, I'll help," Saskia says, coming up on my right.
"Oh, you don't have to…"
"Don't worry about it." Saskia places five teacups on their saucers, as though she knows my own tea set better than I do. "I love some good tea."
"I'll help Ysolde out of the dress then," I say, feeling oddly put out of place by Saskia taking over the tea. "Wouldn't want to get tea on it…"
"We'll help her, Lissy," Brynna says. "You've done so much, just sit down."
"But…" So many things could go wrong while they're gossiping and not paying attention, but Brynna waves me away.
"Sit down, Lissy."
I do, and realize too late that I have sat down next to Torgan, who scowls over at me.
Shit.
I don't want to do this. I don't want to be sitting right next to him, when at any moment, I could say something stupid that would ruin this and make a fool out of myself.
"Just follow orders," he says, not looking my way. "It's easier that way."
"Damn right," Mirelle shoots back at him.
He heaves a weary sigh without looking up from the paper. "See what I mean?" He gives the paper an irritated flick.
But the thing is, I don't like sitting without anything to do. Because sitting this close to Torgan lets my traitorous thoughts drift toward him, wondering why he is so grumpy, what it was like growing up with four sisters.
Who the anti-love potion was for.
I sneak another glance at him. This close, I can see the little details I missed at Noemi's — the faint scar that nicks through one eyebrow, the way he presses his mouth closed around words he will not let out. He smells like cedar, and I hate that I notice and like it.
