Are. Off. Limits. Especially mine, and I have absolutely no problem with maintaining that spell for years to come if it means their safety is assured.”
The severity of her words is so chilling, even I can sense it, and it’s clear Phillipe does, too. Not that he likes it, of course—if the narrowing of his golden eyes says anything—but it seems he may finally understand his plight will continue going unheard until something gives.
“I hate to interrupt, but my time is running out,” Marlena advises. “Can we perhaps revisit this another day and move along before I wither away here?”
“Yes, lets,” I concur, pointing my stare at Phillipe who remains tight-lipped. “As I was saying...little N’Isabelle’s grand celebration. Everything better go off without a hitch, or there will be consequences.”
♫ Wildest Dreams - Taylor Swift ♫
“You look so pretty, Tinksley. Like a princess!” N’Isabelle exclaims from her place on the floor of the dress shop.
She has awed, gleaming stars in her big, brown eyes as though I were truly a princess and I can’t help but beam at her. It’s precious and heart-warming.
“Thank you, Izzy. I like this one, too. A lot.” My hands roam the dips and swells of my figure over the emerald lace of the gown. It really is a gorgeous dress and I feel beautiful in it.
I wonder if Peter will like it?
“It fits you seamlessly,” Mrs. O’Malley, the shop owner, agrees with a smile, “but I’m not sure your mother is going to like it very much. The back is quite low, dear.”
I pivot away from the mirror and point my stare over my shoulder at my reflection.
Damn it. It is quite low. Lower than I’d expected when I plucked it from the front of the shop.
Can she really say no, though?
I’ve worn semi-worse pieces in past, shorter even. I know she has a spot on the council and appearances are everything, but what would my appearance have to do with it?
Besides, I’m not a child. I should be free to wear whatever I want.
The shop bells ring and sheer seconds after follows my mother’s disapproving voice. “Absolutely not. The back is far too revealing and it’s skin tight. Not exactly the impression you want to be giving eligible suitors.”
My eyes spin toward the heavens.
Of course. Here we go again with this ridiculousness.
Sighing, I turn my head toward her—and Persia, who’s strolling in behind her—and throw out my arms. “What suitors, mom? Last time I checked, there wasn’t a line of young, strapping men waiting to have my hand.”
Mama chortles and tucks a loose strand of her golden hair behind her ear. “You’d be surprised, sweetheart. That said,” she holds me at arm’s length and inspects me up close, “the answer is still no. Let’s find something else, shall we?”
“I don’t want to find something else,” I argue frustratedly, hands balled into fists. “The front is modest. Why do you insist on treating me like a child? I’m a woman who’s fully capable of making decisions for herself and I like—”
“Listen to your mom, T,” Persia insists, shooting me a look I know well as N’Isabelle jumps up to greet her approaching form. “It’s pretty, but there’s much prettier options, and in a more flattering color, too.”
Frowning at her choice of words, I spin back toward the mirror and regard myself. “What’s wrong with emerald?”
Persia shakes her head. “Nothing at all. It’s just too…”
“Dark for you,” mama finishes. “How about a blush pink or a gold?”
I scrunch up my nose. “Those are everyone’s go-to colors. I don’t want to look like everyone else, much less blend in.”
“What about this one?” N’Isabelle chimes in gleefully, tugging on a piece of teal fabric. “It’s like your eyes.”
“Ooohhh, that’s a good choice, baby girl,” Persia approves, drawing my stare to the pint-sized witch. “She’s right. That shade does match your eyes, T.”
“It’s not too revealing, either. The front left does have a slit, but the back is quite befitting,” Mrs. O’Malley adds, pulling the gown off the wooden rack for my mother to scrutinize.
N’Isabelle eyes her steadily as she does so, twirling a lock of ebony hair around her small finger. We all seem to watch her, too, but the longer my mom looks it over, the closer Izzy inches.
She has no regard for personal space and she doesn’t care. Always curious that one, has been since she was born almost six years ago, but then again what child isn’t?