I broke off a piece of the scone and slathered it in jam. I needed the calories however I could get them. The smell turned my stomach, but I forged ahead. Sometimes the nausea was a false alarm. I ate a second bite and my stomach rolled. I sighed and sipped my tea, hoping the warm liquid would settle the queasiness. It did not. I pushed the plate away, aware of Ian’s sharp gaze following the movement.
“Is that all you’re going to eat?” he asked.
“I haven’t decided,” I said.
“Did you eat dinner last night?”
I’d promised him honesty, but answering the question would just lead to more questions. “Did you?”
“Yes, I had a protein shake. Now stop trying to avoid the question.”
“I did not eat dinner. I wasn’t hungry.” Not a lie.
“You need to eat more.”
No shit, detective. I barely stopped myself from saying the words out loud. “I eat what I can. My stomach has been weak lately.”
“Since when?”
Since my husband injected me with experimental nanobots and fucked up my life. “It is not your concern. It doesn’t affect my ability to do my job or find Ferdinand.”
“Your safety is my concern. If you pass out from hunger—”
“Give me some credit, Director Bishop,” I said, my voice cold. “I’ve never passed out from hunger, nor have I come close. If it becomes a concern, I will let you know. Until then, I would appreciate it if you would leave it alone.”
His jaw flexed, but he held his silence.
I finished my tea, forced down one more bite of scone, then dumped my dirty dishes in the recycler. It would break them down into energy that could be used by the ship or the synthesizer in the future.
“I’m ready when you are,” I said.
Ian drained the last of the coffee from his cup and put his dishes in the recycler. “Lead the way.”
Chapter 13
People expected High Street to be a riot of color and fashion, but it was a quiet little street with wide sidewalks and old brick shops with frosted-glass windows and understated black signage. These boutiques didn’t need to attract window-shoppers.
The first boutique worker took one look at my clothes and announced they were closed, despite the three other customers in the store. Ian bristled, but I just smiled and moved on. I was about to spend a mountain of credits—if they didn’t want my business, that was their loss.
The girl working the front counter at the third shop couldn’t have been more than eighteen, with freckled ivory skin and natural red hair. She wore a simple A-line dress that was the uniform of the boutique, but hers was in emerald green, which perfectly matched her wide eyes. She looked at me rather than my clothes. “Lady von Hasenberg,” she stammered, “welcome to Boutique Blanchard. How may we assist you?”
“I need a dress and everything that goes with it.”
“Right this way, my lady,” she said. She led me to a richly appointed sitting room, and gestured for me to have a seat on the upholstered sofa. “Madame Blanchard will be with you shortly. May I bring you some tea or coffee?”
“Tea with milk and two sugars, please,” I said. “And black coffee for my guard.” Ian glanced up in surprise, though I didn’t know if it was because I knew how he took his coffee or because I’d remembered him in the first place.
The girl bobbed a curtsy and disappeared behind a curtain. A few minutes later, an older woman glided into the room. Her graying hair was pulled back into a sleek chignon. She was impeccably dressed in slim trousers and a tailored jacket in a soft shade of blue that complemented her deep brown skin.
“Lady von Hasenberg, I apologize for your wait,” she said with a pleasant lilting accent. “I am Madame Blanchard, the owner. It is my pleasure to assist you. You need a new dress?”
“Yes,” I said. “At least one.” Her eyes lit up. “But time is of the essence. It must be ready today, preferably by the time I leave.”
She inclined her head. “What sort of dress are you looking for?”
“Devastating,” I said simply.
“Stand, if you please,” she said.
I stood and spun in a slow circle. This wasn’t my first time in a boutique, and making her circle me would just waste time.
“You are tiny,” Madame Blanchard murmured to herself. “The dress must not overpower you. But perhaps if others underestimated you, that would not be so bad, no?