“I…” Thalia frowns, then seems to discover. “Can’t say.”
Okay, well obviously Damianos is being very liberal with the gag orders even if he’s not technically enthralling folks. But maybe there’s someone he hasn’t gotten to…
“Hey, Zoe. Do you know why I need a straight-up ballgown, like a black princess reboot of Beauty and the Beast?” I call out, interrupting the rep.
The rep stops, clears her throat, and answers, “Actually no. My only instructions were to ensure you were outfitted appropriately.”
“So I’m supposed to pick an appropriate dress or whatever, but I don’t even know what it’s for?”
Both my new assistant and the rep just shift from foot to foot looking uncomfortable.
“Tell you what, I don’t need all the back story,” I say to Zoe. “Just do a flip through all of them and I’ll stop you when there’s one I like.”
“A flip? You want me to flip through these exquisite gowns?” the rep repeats, her face looking like I’ve asked her to pick up a pile of dog shit and smear it all over herself.
“If that’s not cool, I could always just go in a tracksuit and be comfortable like my cousin, Tu Wulfkonig.”
I’m not even kidding. Aunt Tu and her fam are on the list of the richest wolf families in America, but they wear tracksuits almost exclusively, even to fundraising dinners.
Another uncomfortable pause. But this sleek sales rep must have heard about how super casual the super-rich in America can be. After a few moments to readjust, she starts flipping through the dresses without any further ado.
I know which dress I’ll be wearing as soon as I see it on my avatar. “Stop,” I say, holding up a hand like Damianos would.
Then I step closer to get a better look at the one-of-a-kind ballgown. It has a sweetheart neckline like so many of the others. But instead of some soft material, the bodice appears to be made of chrome, and that bad-ass corset has leather sleeves extending from it covered in equally shiny spikes. The top of the dress would have sold me alone, but when I get a look at the long ball skirt, my heart just about stops. It features a moving picture of an icy fjord at nighttime…framed by an electric purple sky. I immediately recognize the effect as what my mother referred to as aurora borealis. But what my fathers and their people used to call Freya’s lights.
“The Northern lights,” I whisper. And my breath catches as I take in the only dress in history that could be described as motorcycle gang up top and Viking on the bottom. “This one,” I say without a doubt.
I still don’t know exactly where I’m going, but I know I’ll be wearing this dress when I get there.
The rep frowns. “Actually, this one is by a newcomer who only released her first collection this year. She isn’t very well-known yet. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather—”
“Totally sure,” I answer. “I like standing out. And I don’t care who the designer is. I’ll take it.”
So that’s done, quicker than any of us thought. Agda bustles in with a tray of late afternoon sandwiches and tea to make up for the lunch Thalia and I skipped due to the back-to-back appointments. Then next up, the Swiss-Italian jewelry rep, a guy name Henri—but with the H-sound aggressively missing. After a fussy greeting, he ells his fingers to show us everything “available to us” on his comm ring tablet. The pieces he swipes us through feature gems so dramatic and large, Thalia ends up asking, “Are you sure these aren’t costume jewelry?”
“Of course not, all of these pieces are examined and certified every year to ensure their authenticity,” the rep assures us with his sharp nose up in the air.
We end up choosing a large black onyx pendant shaped like a dragon with two sapphires for eyes on a white gold chain. But I can’t decide between the huge black diamond stud or the amethyst cuffs for my ears.
“That huge dragon necklace is one thing, but I’m worried they’ll be so heavy, my ears won’t be able to take it,” I tell the rep. “My mom once tried to wear some old jewelry of her grandma’s to a fundraiser once, and the earrings were so heavy she couldn’t even wear them for 10 minutes. She had to swap them out before she and my dads left the house.”
I remember being teased when I was a kid about my parents’ very public and very unorthodox arrangement. But either this Swiss human is too progressive to care that I’m the product of an MFM or he’s getting paid way too much to react.
“If you wish, we can have Mr. Drákon’s vault opened and both pieces brought over so that you might try them on.”