Senior Designer, Carrie had a hand in its creation. The bodice is so delicately embroidered, it looks like the material might split with the slightest tug. A built-in bra ensures no straps interrupt the deep, square neckline. The long, sheer sleeves fit my arms tightly and end with a V at my wrists. The waist is cinched tight and the tulle skirt billows down to the floor. The material itself is contemporary and light, but the cut and style is an amalgamation of renaissance and medieval costuming. In short, it’s the best, most beautiful item of clothing I’ve ever worn.
In lieu of a corset, the dress zips up the back, fitted perfectly. Carrie straightens my skirt, stands, and spins me around.
“Okay, enough,” she says. “I know you’ve heard the news.”
I scrunch my nose and play dumb. News? I know not of what you speak.
“Derek’s back from London. Word is, he’s here to take over for Cal once and for all.”
My features give nothing away. “Cal didn’t mention anything last night.”
She smiles conspiratorially. “I assumed it was just a rumor too, that he’s not really back—but I know for a fact he is.”
My heart hammers against my tight bodice. I can’t catch a full breath no matter how hard I try.
When I don’t immediately demand more information, she gets cocky, dangling what she knows over my head like bait.
“Costuming has a special fitting today. Can you guess who it’s for?”
“The Queen of England.”
She ignores my dry sarcasm. “Derek.”
Carrie knows the truth about Derek. Years ago, I eventually opened up to her about all the sad details. She’d already guessed what was going on even before I told her. Apparently, people don’t have the flu for months on end.
I’d sit if I could, but the dress won’t allow it. Or rather, Carrie won’t allow it. If I wrinkled the tulle before my shift, she’d have my head.
“That makes no sense. Since when does he need a costume?”
I think of him as he was eight years ago. His crisp button-downs, fitted slacks, cool sneakers. His clothes could have been bespoke, but I don’t think Costuming had a hand in them. Maybe I’m wrong.
She’s looking at her nails now, examining them coolly. “Wish I could say more, but it’s confidential.”
I resist the urge to shake her senseless. My hands fist at my sides in an effort to restrain myself.
“Tell me!”
She laughs and finally looks up at me. “I’m sorry. I can’t let the secret out. You know how tight-lipped this company is.”
My glare says, Who do you think I am? “This is different. We don’t keep secrets.”
Her dark brow arches. “Are you sure about that?”
We both know she’s referring to my feelings for my old mentor. I might have copped to my love for him back then, but I’ve assured her that’s all in the past. He means nothing to me now.
“Carrie!” I say, grabbing her by the shoulders.
“Ow! Jeez!”
“Whitney,” a soft voice calls from the hall just before a hand knocks on the door. “We’re a few minutes behind. Are you almost done in there?”
My eyes dart to Carrie. HURRY. Tell me!
She interprets my wide-eyed gaze as fear. She thinks I don’t want to be late for my shift. I’ve forgotten I even have a shift. I want info. Now.
She finds my high heels and bends low to help me strap them on.
“Carrie,” I demand, voice low.
Another knock sounds on the door.
“This isn’t funny,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Okay,” she says, done taunting me. She starts talking fast. “I don’t know all the details, but I think for the next few months—”
The door is whipped open and the time for secrets is over. The hustle and bustle of the Underground has infiltrated my dressing room. My handler, Julie, is waiting for me with her headset and clipboard in place. A walkie talkie hangs on her hip. Her cotton dress and emerald green apron fit with the theme for Elena’s Castle. She’s meant to be a washerwoman or handmaid, but really, she’s the person who ensures my meet-and-greets run smoothly. She makes sure I’m at my post on time and meeting my quota of children, all the while managing the line. It’s the same position I filled eight years ago.
A small thing, more mouse than human, Julie scurries in and nods hello to Carrie before checking my appearance. It’s part of her job, and she takes it seriously. A quick loop around me and then a checkmark on her clipboard assure me I look