Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 98566 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98566 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
This party was different, though. This was Konstantin’s annual ball. The men would be in dinner jackets, the women would be in big, elaborate dresses and there’d be formal dances. It all sounded amazing, and very traditional and Russian, the sort of thing where some young Tsarina would meet her future husband. What I couldn’t work out was why Konstantin was doing it. A normal party would have worked just as well as a way to do deals. And that’s all Konstantin cared about...right?
Whatever the explanation, the preparations left me at a loose end. I’d started to hang out in the staff areas during the day, chatting to the cooks and maids while I lent a hand folding sheets or setting the table. Today, though, there was no time for chat. Everyone was rushing back and forth with trays of food, boxes of glasses and stacks of chairs, and a team of four men were maneuvering an ice sculpture through the middle of it all. I was just in the way so I made myself scarce.
I didn’t give much thought to actually going to the ball, or what to wear. I usually have to be dragged to parties and then spend the evening in the corner looking at my feet. But, a few hours before it was due to start, Konstantin marched into the bedroom carrying a box so big, he had to turn sideways to get through the door. He set it down on the bed and then gestured towards me.
I stared at him, startled. For me?!
He nodded.
I approached the box. It was cream and the cardboard was as solid and stiff as wood. There was a name embossed in gold in the center: Beringham and Chase, done in that particular, curly font that suggested Beringham and Chase were British, old-fashioned, and quite possibly on good terms with the Queen. I hinged open the top….
That was the moment I first saw the dress. Just the bodice and a lot of folded skirt, at first, but that was enough to clue me in to what it was and I gave a kind of squeak of disbelief.
It was exactly what a princess would wear in some animated fairytale. It was made of thick, glossy satin the pale blue of the sky on a perfect spring day. There was a tight bodice with a square neckline, short sleeves and a big skirt. Everything was done with ribbons and buttons: I couldn’t see anything as modern as a zipper anywhere.
I lifted it gently up from the box, surprised by how heavy it was. That’s when the skirt unfolded...and then unfolded again. I’d completely underestimated it. It was a full-on, bell-shaped, floor-length extravaganza. It had only fit in the box because all the frilly stuff that filled out the skirt was missing—that must be somewhere else.
I looked at it in awe. “I can’t wear this. I mean, it’s lovely but….” I turned to him to explain that this was a dress for a princess, and I wasn’t—
But the words died in my throat. Those gray eyes were smoldering down at me and telling me, very firmly, that I was. And that he’d damn well dress me appropriately.
I flushed and nodded, my heart suddenly pounding.
“I’ll send in Victoria,” he told me, and left.
Victoria? Why would I want my maid in here? But within thirty seconds of picking up the dress, I saw why. The back was a confusing mass of buttons, none of which seemed to line up with each other, and I had no idea what to wear underneath or how the skirts worked. When Victoria knocked on the door, I let out a sigh of relief.
I let her take charge and just did what she told me. First of all, she showed me what I should be wearing underneath: a silky, cream-colored corset with an embroidered pattern of silver roses winding around it and real metal ribs. It wrapped around my waist and then curved up just barely high enough to cover my nipples. I looked like a sexy princess, or an old-fashioned superheroine.
Then Victoria pulled on the laces. Hard. All the air hissed out of me as the thing cinched tight. “What are you doing?!” I croaked.
“Corseting you,” she said, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. Then she tugged again and I had to grab hold of the end of the bed so that I didn’t stagger backwards. I could feel my waist shrinking each time she heaved on the laces. My eyes bulged. “Okay,” I managed. “I think that’s enough.”
“Yep,” she agreed. But then pulled the laces tighter and I realized she was just humoring me. “Just about done.” Tighter. “Really not much more—” Tighter “—to go.” She was having to grunt with effort, now and I wondered if this was revenge for all the times Christina had been cruel to her. “You’re really—unh! Just—nngg—about...there!” She gave a last, sudden jerk and then tied them and stepped back. “How’s that?”