Page 13 of The Devil Goes to Washington

“Meghan, I mean it. Swear on your Louboutins.”

“You’re scaring me. Fine. I swear, but you better not have a dead body in there.”

Evelyn pushed open the heavy wooden doors to her inner sanctum, also known as the walk-in closet.

“Wow!” Meghan spun in a circle, taking it all in. “How much did you spend on these? I thought you didn’t want to spend anything on dresses.”

Rows of clothing racks on wheels lined one end of the space, each filled with exquisite women’s evening wear.

“I made them right here. I stitched every bead and applique with my weary little hands.” She ran her hand along the edge of her workspace in the middle room that had been the original island of drawers and cabinets.

“That sewing machine is massive. That must have cost a ton.”

“It’s on lease, but it’s a workhorse.”

“I know there are a lot of events coming up, but not this many. What are you going to do with them all, besides give one to me.” Meghan batted her eyelashes like a cartoon character, but her silence would be worth the request.

“I sell them. I have an online shop.” She watched Meghan finger the detailed work one outfit at a time and waited for the inevitable conclusion.

“You must make a bundle from these. Why do this marriage thing?”

“I don’t make that much after all of the overhead of materials and shipping. Not many people know me yet either, but someday maybe.”

“You’re freaking Lady Catherine Designs! Everyone wants to get their hands on one of these.” Meghan exclaimed like Evelyn was some famous fashion week designer when she found the pile of embroidered labels yet to be hand-sewn into each dress.

“Shhhh, you swore! Yelling it at the top of your lungs is not keeping it secret.”

“Right. But why don’t you want anyone to know?”

“Because they all make the same assumption about my income. Most times, I’m lucky if I break even.”

“I can’t believe you’re wearing a Lady Catherine Design tonight because you’re Lady Catherine!” Meghan squealed.

“Well, that won’t be happening if we don’t get moving.”

“Your hair looks fantastic. A little spray maybe and then we can start on makeup?”

“Do you think Michael will like it?” She spread out the lace overlay of her “My Fair Lady” inspired princess dress, complete with hand-sewn crystals across the bodice.

“How could he not? It’s breathtaking. I’m sorry I ever doubted you,” Meghan responded in a reverent tone.

“MRS. HARDING. NICE to see you are prompt. Is that what you’re wearing?” Michael outwardly sneered at her choice of attire while imagining throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her to his room to explore her luscious red lips and curvy body for the night.

“Yes. What’s wrong with it?” Evelyn asked as he circled her, examining the dress in detail.

“You mean besides the fact that the sheath is skin tight, the lace gathered in the back accentuates your ass, and your breasts are practically falling out of the low-cut neckline? It’s rather inappropriate for the occasion.”

“I don’t know what got in your cornflakes today, but she is perfectly well covered. Now get going before you’re late.” Opening the door for them, Meghan came to Evelyn’s defense. Interesting. She wasn’t wrong, but the dress unsettled him all the same.

“This happens to be the latest fashion among the DC elite,” Evelyn stated as they moved to the car waiting for them in the driveway.

“I don’t know what paparazzi rag you’re reading, but this is not what the wives will be wearing,” he quipped as he folded himself into the car.

His driver, Stevenson, who had been waiting at the car for them, offered a hand to assist Evelyn when he realized that Michael was already getting in the vehicle on the other side.

“Are there so few women in the men’s club called congress that you can make such a sexist comment?” She continued the conversation like there had not been a break or a lapse in social etiquette.

“It’s not my opinion. It’s just a fact.”