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Sorry I’m late,” I say, crossing the room to give her a kiss on the heek. “Miles was being difficult this morning.” My mother laughs. “Children have an innate sense for when you’re in a hurry. It’s like they can smell deadlines.” I smile, sinking into one of the wicker chairs. “The makeup artist should be here at three, and the hair stylist at four.” “Perfect,” my mother says, sitting across from “That gives us time for lunch and a little relaxation before the madness begins.”
She studies my face for a moment, her head tilted.
“But
something’s bothering you.”
I hesitate, then decide to just ask. “Mom, does Nora..
me?
My mother’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Nora? Why” would you think she doesn’t like you?”
I shrug, suddenly feeling stupid. “I don’t know. She just always seems so… uncomfortable around me. Just now, when I ran into
her, she could barely look at me. And when she did, she rushed off like she couldn’t get away fast enough.”
་་
My mother sighs and sets down her teacup with a delicate clink. “Ah, I see. No, Iris, Nora doesn’t dislike you. Far from it.”
“Then why does she act that way?”
“Ithink,” my mother says carefully, “she feels somewhat responsible for what happened. For the switch.”
“But that wasn’t her fault,” I protest. “How could it be? The hospital made the mistake, right?”
“Yes, but Nora was there. She helped deliver you. She was the one who brought you–well, Selina–home from the hospital. She was the one who cared for her those first months while I was ill. In her mind, she should have known.”
I frown. “I don’t want her to blame herself.”
“Neither do I, darling,” my mother sighs. “But I assure you, she’s a good person, Iris. We wouldn’t have kept her around all these years after Selina and Caleb grew up if we didn’t love her dearly. I think she’ll come around in time. She just needs to see that you don’t blame her.”
Nodding, I make a mental note to bring Nora a gift, perhaps some nice chocolates or a scarf, to show her that I harbor no ill feelings about the switch. Maybe once she realizes that, she’ll be able to look me in the eye. I want everyone to get along.
“Now,” my mother says, standing, “let’s have some lunch, and then we can check on your dress. I’m so excited to see you in it!”
We eat a light lunch in the garden, my mother filling me in on the guest list for tonight. Many of Ordan’s elite will be there, along with several school administrators and teachers. And, of course, Veronica, who’s been surprisingly hands–off with the planning despite the gala benefiting her charity.
After lunch, my mother insists I take a bath to relax before the stylists arrive. She’s had the staff prepare her enormous soaking tub with lavender–scented bubbles and rose petals. It’s ridiculously luxurious, but I have to admit, it helps calm my nerves.
By the time I emerge from the bath, wrapped in a plush robe with my hair in a towel, I feel much more centered. The makeup artist is due to arrive soon, but first, I want to check on my dress.
I make my way to my bedroom, excited to see the dress my mother insisted on having custom made for the gala. I didn’t have much time to help design it, so my mother took over the process with her personal tailor. From what I understand, it’s s‘ to be a very pretty, light silk dress in a lovely champagne color. I can’t wait.
But when I step into my room, the smell of smoke fills my nostrils, and I gasp.
The garment bag is laying on the floor, half in the fireplace.
Burning.
I rush forward, ripping the bag out of the fireplace and stamping out the flames. I fling open a window and cough, waving the
sed
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smoke out of my face before I kneel and open the bag. A tiny pa unfortunately, that hope quickly dies out as I pull the dress out
The entire bottom half of the dress is charred and blackened.
It’s ruined.
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smoke out of my face before I kneel and open the bag. A tiny part of me hopes that only the bag got ruined and not the dress, but unfortunately, that hope quickly dies out as I pull the dress out of the bag.
The entire bottom half of the dress is charred and blackened.
It’s ruined.
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