Pitch Black But Blinking

[Maria Graziano]

Houses were for the architecturally illiterate, at least that’s what Maria had always claimed. Her dream had never been a mansion in the upstate. It had always been an apartment in a prewar building in the Village with Justin. But Justin was dead and the Village was a hundred million miles away. Yet despite her characteristically brash opinion on the subject, when Tical had decided on a house, she had put up surprisingly little fight over leaving her New Haven brownstone. She requested only two things -- that the interior have character and that there was a sitting room off the bedroom.

And he'd delivered, of course. Arches transitioned one room to the next in the open floor plan. There were coffered ceilings, detailed mouldings, and more space than she knew what to do with. The hardwood floors had plenty of character, aged by both time and wear. The real estate agent had spoke of refinishing them but Maria had dismissed the idea outright.

From the comfort of a oversized chair in the sitting room off the master bedroom, she frowned down at the polka dot socks (a gag Christmas gift from Adie) as her feet shifted to cover a knot in the floorboards. A halo of dull winter light streamed in from the windows that sandwiched the chair and she basked in it. Drafts of a press release were scattered across the top of the ottoman, waiting to be read and approved.

In the apartment she grew up in, she didn't have to lift her voice to talk to her mother in the other room but then again their entire apartment probably could have fit in this bedroom suite. Therefore, she lifted her voice. "Tic, have you read over these releases about the engagement that Jennie sent over?"

There was a few seconds of silence from the adjacent bedroom. Shortly thereafter, Tical came through the archway and into the room. One earbud of a digital music player rested in his right ear while its companion dangled free at chest level. "You say something, M?"

"Press releases, Tic." There was a hint of a frustrated whine to her voice as she motioned to the spread before her. The more pregnant she got, the more stubborn she became about refusing to adjust her schedule, the more often that tone had a tendency of creeping its way into her voice.

He crossed the remainder of the space between the doorway and the chair and ottoman that she was seated in within a few steps. The tint of frustration in her voice had been noted, but he had let it slide. The pregnancy had been a delicate and personal balance for him as well. Her refusing to adjust her schedule meant that, more often than not, he would have to adjust his own. However, thus far, he had been more than willing to do so to avoid any confrontation or unnecessary stress for her.

A couple of the press releases were picked up and he scanned over them quickly before shrugging. "They look alright to me. I say we go with them."

He couldn't have possibly read the different wording much less fully considered it. It caused a huff of an exhale from Maria. An incessant voice inside her head suggested what she suspected to be true. He didn't care. He didn't care how it was announced. He didn't worry over the wording. Maybe she didn't have to let it weigh on her either. Maybe it was just a convenient distraction from her real fear.

He pulled the other earbud from his ear and slid both into the pocket of the gym shorts he was wearing. "Speaking of the press, we gotta talk about somethin'…"

"What's that?"

Truthfully, the words had been a jumble for him and he didn't fully process the phrasing on either sample that he had glanced over. There was something there, a distraction, and that was etched in his features as he focused on her. "Let me ask you a serious question, M. Do you want to get married? More specifically, do you want to marry me?"

The verbal blow was instant. Her heart sank into her stomach, her palms instantly felt clammy. She drew her feet under her Indian-style, letting fingers curl over her yoga pants around kneecaps. "I don't want to lose you."

"Well.." Tical cleared space off the ottoman before he took a seat. Apparently, her answer had not completely satisfied his curiosity on the subject. "Normally, I wouldn't question you. And normally, I wouldn't give any consideration to somethin' I read about you and I in the papers. But, do you know why I keep havin' to answer questions 'bout my fiancee supposedly not wantin' to get married again?"

Again. There was that unpleasant word. The reminder of her past failure. All her hard edges came crashing down with it. There was no good way to answer his question and if she lied Ria would probably only be too happy to tell him the truth. "A reporter got a hold of Ria's phone. She claims it was lost. I don't know if she sold me out or not. There were some text messages... and some e-mails."

"My stylist has been trying to arrange for me to meet with a couple designers to talk about wedding dresses. Ria was cc'd on those e-mails since she wanted to help. And I canceled a bunch of appointments. I just... I don't know." Her hair was piled in a messy bun on the crown of her head, limiting her options for fidgeting so she tightened her hold on her knees. "We can't fight the story because it's true. Or there is enough evidence on that phone to suggest it's true."

He narrowed his gaze for a brief moment in contemplation before his eyes met hers. She was jumping from place to place and he wasn't sure if it was because she was nervous or she was trying to conceal something from him. "I'm not worried about public perception, M. Or what the papers are going to write or what they're going to air on TV. I'm worried about us. Cold feet is normal. Hell, I have cold feet, too. But I still, beyond a shadow of a doubt, want to get married. I need to know if that's what you want, too."

Nothing was going right. She was exhausted all the time, making her schedule of appearances, training, and mothering damn near impossible. Ria blamed her for the support for Candy. The press was a constant buzzing, just waiting to catch sight of her walking into a maternity boutique or shopping for nursery furniture. Myria was upset that she wasn't around to keep everyone on the same page. Kal was pushing all of her buttons, trying to pull her back into the rings. It bubbled up and she spouted off at the one person who had been bending over backward to help her through it.

"I'm pregnant with your baby. Isn't that enough for you right now?"

Tical sat there in stunned silence for a moment his eyes trained on her for what seemed like an eternity. He understood the frustration she was going through with everything that was going on. And for the most part, he tried to shoulder most of it to alleviate that burden. But, they were both very public figures. There was his own appearances he had to make, sponsors he had to appease and side businesses that he had to run. Dealing with all of that only to have her snap at him at this particular point in time had only served to increase his own frustration.

After moments ticked by and the initial wave of anger subsided somewhat, he answered simply: "No, it's not enough. That ain't a reason to marry someone. I would think you would have realized that by now. But, I am not going to have an argument with you right now, M. I'm just not. If we need to talk about this later, we can."

The sharpness of the cut she had levied took her own breath away. The anger in her voice was drowned in a wave of panic. Make it right, make it right, make it right. She released her knees, hands falling over the expanse of her ever growing abdomen. When she found her voice, it was a soft, vulnerable hush of a noise. "Tic, you know I love you. You know I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

There was a slow exhale of breath and he rubbed his chin as his own frustration dimmed with her statement. "If you mean that... then that is good enough for me. But please don't just say somethin' because you think it's what I want to hear, M. Or because you think it avoids a problem for the short term. This is not somethin' that we can have comin' up again." His hands reaching out as he spoke to clasp her own.

It was the perfect opportunity to tell him, to explain why she was so afraid. She gnawed on her bottom lip as her fear flooded in. This marriage would fail just like her last... and the Crew would lose Tical. No, worse yet, she would lose Tical. The only person who never balked in the face of her temper tantrums, the only person she could talk to freely.

Her hands curled within his and as he made an effort to reach her, she stumbled through her own compromise, her eyes dropping to their clasped hands. "I'll make an appointment with a designer this week to talk about dresses this week and I'll keep it."

There was a nod at that, but something made him pause as he relinquished his grasp of her hands. Something, that while it seemed fleeting, was enough to give him a moment of hesitation. "You know you can talk to me, M. 'bout anythin'."

About anything but this, it would seem. Words never came that could express the fear and her eyes traced up his form to offer a distant smile and a nod.

He lingered for a moment before he rose from the ottoman after placing a kiss on her lips. When it seemed that the discussion was over, he returned his gaze to the press releases on the ottoman and picked up a few. "And I'll read over these again, see if there's somethin' I didn't catch before."

Her smile brightened by two shades and tender sentiment caused her brown eyes to soften. His willingness to read over releases that he had little interest in was just another sign of his willingness to compromise, to do what was necessary to make their relationship work. She would too. And she’d start by making and keeping an appointment with a wedding gown designer.

((Taken from live play!))

[Koyliak]

“Stay where we can see ye, bee.” Koy warned Thia as she bolted away from her parents and ran straight for the sapling meswen trees holding their own in the wintry air. The small girl left a trail of boot prints in the thin layer of snow that had dusted the ground earlier that morning. Her sunny yellow hat and mittens designed to resemble small lions cut a bright swath of color against the otherwise bleak sky. It would be all but impossible for her mother to lose sight of her with such poor camouflage but Koy kept constantly glancing in the girl’s direction to track her movements.

Koy had thought it would do the three of them good to escape to Battlefield Park for the day. They could all use a break from the real world. Though they rarely commented on it out loud, Koy and Matt both felt more at ease out in nature. He chose the solitude of stars and she favored forest and sea but both could breathe better in their respective wilds. The tales they shared with their daughter imbued the girl at such an early age with a deep reverence and awe for the world outside her bedroom window.

Taking a seat on a stone bench within one of the Park’s gazebos, Koy sat with the full length of her side touching Matt’s, both for warmth and a desire to erode any space between them. “You know my brother does not require the constant presence of cold air to stay satisfied,” MoonBeryl remarked offhandedly. It was true, Koy had also thought spending time outside in the chilled air might give IceDancer enough peace that he would allow Matt to relax for a little. She didn’t speak to the blue Opal nor did she know his psyche. If her assumption was incorrect, so be it. For now she would take what she could get. Matt sat next to her. She felt grateful for the heat emanating from him in comparison to the temperature outside.

They sat in comfortable silence watching their daughter weave her way in and out between the saplings. She trailed along the stuffed arbelog toy Koy’s brother, Beldron, had sent his niece from Langenfirth. Thia chittered away breathlessly to the furry, not to mention particularly ugly, doll, though they could only see her gesturing from their seat and did not hear what she said to the arbelog.

“She’d do better with a confidante who could respond, wouldn’t she?” Koy did not necessarily pose the question to Matt. It was a riff off the same major theme that she thought about daily.

“Must such a thing always be so torturous for you, child? If the answer is yes, why keep harping on it?” MoonBeryl silently answered her question with his own first. He often indulged her in her self-pity but today he would not.

“It’s because it’s time for a new tack.” IceDancer’s curt sentence was spoken only to his brother Opal.

How much does he know? MoonBeryl struggled to block IceDancer from his private thought. The two siblings, brought together by circumstance but working towards an unsteady alliance, had spent some time dancing around the implications of what could be theirs the more their coupled holders came together on their behalf. Not that IceDancer spent much time or many words waxing philosophical but the possibilities began to grow around them both. MoonBeryl had yet to outright share with IceDancer the role he played along with ShadoWeaver and PathFinder in the conception of the Simon child, nor the utter failure he and the black Opal had experienced during their one attempt to unleash their powers through her. The storm, having been named Sanyumato by Matthew during his continuing governorship of the city, took its meaning from the language spoken in Koyliak’s homeland.

Sanyumato. Divine Anger. But there had been no intervening deity. It was simply an experiment gone horribly wrong. Not that the Opals minded the destruction it caused the people of this plane. But finding themselves back at the drawing board after the humiliation of failure at the hands (or more literally, chaotic mind) of a toddler, that perturbed both of them.

Yet here he was again, not with his sister but his brother. IceDancer often proved himself a mystery to MoonBeryl. The yellow Opal found him the least predictable mainly because he rarely made much of himself available to analysis. He was smart and he had been separated from them all for a stretch of time several years before. IceDancer showed so little of his hand that MoonBeryl could not know for sure whether the blue Opal fished for confirmation about what his siblings had done with the Simon child or if he simply had come to the same conclusion MoonBeryl and ShadoWeaver had reached as well.

MoonBeryl would test the waters. “What are you suggesting?”

“That you do not always baby her so.”

A coincidental choice of words? MoonBeryl could not be sure. “You have my attention. Go on, brother.

“We’re agreed it serves us more, for the moment at least, to strengthen their connection. If she were with child, few connections prove stronger.”

“Need I remind you we do not possess the barbaric... equipment... required for conception?”

”Don’t be crude. We’re clever. We can make a plan.”

“She will not be readily convinced. She would be with child already given her past history of fertility not to mention their propensity for... well, for behaving less like primates and more like rabbits.” Oh, the disgrace of the acts he had witnessed during his time in the Simon household. It made MoonBeryl grateful for lacking that very equipment. Flesh made for a filthy mess in so many ways.

IceDancer’s cool tone exhibited his indifference to those base matters. ”Crass again. Stop and listen. It’s one way, but not the only one. We plant several seeds and reap the best harvest. We’ll start here and continue sowing as we devise new plots.”

MoonBeryl knew his brother was right. Perhaps his reason had simply brought him to this place without needing to know how that small girl now babbling to an inanimate object came to be. Babbling to inanimate objects... she takes after her biological parents after all... MoonBeryl found amusement in the jibe at the Simon’s expense until he silently scolded himself. Compared to IceDancer today, MoonBeryl behaved in the juvenile manner better suited to their holders.

“Perhaps it simply is not in you, child, to give those you love what they need most no matter how loudly they beg for it.” MoonBeryl borrowed some of his brother’s cold mannerisms when he returned to speaking with Koyliak.

“You know how I feel about it, Koy,” it was Matt who answered her previous and mostly rhetorical question. Koy felt doubly blindsided - first by MoonBeryl’s shift in attitude, agreeing with her doubts instead of dissuading them, and second by the glimmer and quick disappearance of hope in Matt’s eyes as he answered. She had seen the latter expression before whenever they toyed with the possibility of expanding their family but his inevitable disappointment wounded her every time. She knew Matt would never push or fight her on her hesitation but his eyes always betrayed him. What bothered her the most, however, was how that hope diminished more and more each time. He appeared resigned and defeated, two sentiments that Koy never wanted to inspire in a man meant for far greater pursuits and victories.

”Mebbe I’m doin’ more harm than ShadoWeaver ever could...” Koy replied mentally to MoonBeryl. He remained icy and silent.

When he did not reassure or comfort her, Koy tried again. ”Mebbe it’s fer me ta face a different demon...” MoonBeryl left her to wonder as again he did not respond.

“Good work, brother.

“She lies, to herself most of all. You do not see it but the anxiety and self-doubt are seeping back in, set on reclaiming any bravery in those words.

“You forget. A seed only needs to take root. We have plenty of time to see what blossoms. A little bad weather does not mean certain doom.”

[Koyliak]

Annabelle Brighton knew her client/friend well enough that when choosing a restaurant to meet her at decided on something outside the box. It took a lot less thought to toss out restaurant names like Lena’s East, 131 Paisley, and Main the same way that someone would say The Ivy, Mr. Chow, or Matsuhisa back home but Maria Graziano would hardly have been comfortable with the photographers that waited out front and the celebrity-gawkers who spent a mint on a meal just for the experience of being surrounded by RhyDin’s famous faces.

Instead of the usual suspects, Annabelle had suggested Moody’s which was situated down a relatively ubiquitous street in Dragon’s Gate. Although separated by only a couple blocks from the high end boutiques and lavish cafes of New Haven, the massive stone wall separating the neighborhoods left them feeling like entirely separate worlds.

Maria had to admit that Annabelle always had a way of leaving Maria with guard down around her ankles which is probably why their professional and personal relationship had lasted as long as it had. Seated beneath the skylights in the upscale but relaxed interior of Moody’s, Maria found herself waiting patiently for her friend to arrive while scrolling through her calendar on her phone. There were fewer and fewer little blue dots marking things she needed to do over the coming weeks. That was Tical’s doing, she was sure. She wanted to stay busy and he was working with her team to trim down her schedule in anticipation of the baby’s arrival and their wedding.

A waiter swung by and filled Maria’s glass from a pitcher of water. His smile was kind and she found herself easily able to flash one in return despite the dread that was building in her stomach. With this few of appearances needed from her over the next several weeks. There was only one thing this meeting could be about and the mere thought caused her abdomen to be gripped in a sharp jabbing pain.

Maria breathed her way through the anxiety, shoving the thought from her mind by burying herself in a string of work e-mails on her phone.

Outside the entrance to Moody’s, Koy checked the ruffled hem of her white leather circle skirt and paused with one manicured hand on the door to catch her breath. She had nearly broken a heel racing across town from her last fitting to get to this meeting with Annabelle and some mysterious celebrity client Belle insisted Koy absolutely had to meet with on time.

She likes to be called ‘Annabelle’ now, not Belle, Koy reminded herself. She had known Annabelle Brighton way back when she kept her hair dyed purple and found styling C-list debutantes thrilling. Back then, Koy would never have gone out of her way to keep such a vague appointment with the waifish and naive Belle.

“May Faenella damn ye, Daven Mallie,” Koy muttered under her breath as she pushed the door open. Daven, her business partner, had known Annabelle back then too. He called her his Violet Belle and she swooned over the attention from the dashing retailer. Koy, Tula and the old biddies who loitered at the Heavenly Boutique every day all took bets on how long before Daven conquered and crushed poor Belle, another notch on his extensively curated bedpost.

Five weeks. It involved two dates to court her, a third to bed her, and another two weeks for Daven to regal Koy with the unwanted tale of how Belle had shaped and dyed her other set of hair to make a violet flower for him. The last week after he grew bored as he always did was spent avoiding Belle as he made his play for a stunning young artist making her first gallery debut in New Haven.

Unfortunately for Koy, two things happened since poor Belle finally got the hint that Daven wouldn’t be returning her calls any time soon. One: Belle blamed Koy for being the one to introduce her to Daven at an after party during Fashion Week. Two: Belle landed in the good graces of one of the city’s most elite circle of fashionistas, the Inky Disco Divas, a group of five former C-list debutantes consisting of two twin sisters, a cousin and two childhood friends of the family, who brilliantly had created a hip, youth culture of their own design. They ran the Inky Disco, frequented by their rich, young peers, and simultaneously published their own magazine featuring the latest trends spotted at their club. Both businesses became wildly popular as they fed the egos of their wealthy friends desperate to stand out on the scene in an ongoing loop that allowed them to dictate fashion trends as they saw fit.

This was unfortunate for Koy because the Inky Disco Divas considered Annabelle Brighton a goddess among stylists.

Once imbued with the power to control who the Inky Disco Divas wanted to wear, Annabelle became courted by something far greater than Daven Mallie: every RhyDin designer wanted her to choose their clothing.

And that was why now when Annabelle Brighton insisted she arrive at Moody’s that summer afternoon Koy swallowed her pride and hastened her stride to get to the restaurant on time. Once inside she started for a table under the skylights while casting a look around for Annabelle. The woman no longer kept her hair dyed purple but she was still nowhere to be found. When Koy recognized the lone figure at a nearby table she frowned though she could not help herself from remarking to the woman who often proved to be a thorn in her side.

“I didn’t know they let ye out ‘lone these days. Aren’t ye jest catnip fer bad PR, Maria?” Call her petty but Koy derived a strange pleasure at diverting her annoyance at having to bow at the altar of the stylist formerly known as Belle onto Maria. The comment left Koy wearing a smug grin. At least until she replayed Annabelle’s words in her head: “You won’t regret it, Koy. I’ve got someone so big for you that she can’t help but create buzz amongst the paparazzi the minute she sets a foot outside her home.”

Koy cringed openly as she pieced the puzzle together. She gave a horrified look at Maria hoping she was wrong in her new assumption.



((Written in collaboration with Maria's player!))

[Maria Graziano]

Maria knew the voice. She didn’t bother to look up from her phone. From the outside it would seem that she just didn’t care enough to look the woman in the face but the truth of the matter was that it was a lot easier to put up with the insults, particularly since all they made her want to do these days was cry.

And wasn’t that the real reason that she no longer showed her face in the dueling venues? She simply wasn’t strong enough to be Maria Graziano anymore.

“We all have our lot in life, Koy. Yours is evidently to spend all your time trying too hard to prove how cool you are. It’s really quite pathetic,” Maria responded to Koy without ever looking up.

But as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she found the e-mail that Annabelle had sent her to set-up the lunch appointment. This is the perfect designer to create you an amazing wedding dress. The two of you have so much in common and I know she’ll come up with something Tical will love, the typeface of the e-mail on her phone teased.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Maria grumbled under her breath, lifting her light brown eyes up to Koy.

So it’s true. Maria’s face confirmed Koy’s fear. She suddenly felt nauseous. The pale blue printed silk of her long-sleeved blouse tucked into her skirt looked fresh for the season but she was anything but cool. Maria was both literally and figuratively right in her insult, though Koy found it fell a little flat compared to the sharp barbs the woman had slung her way in the past. Koy tried standing still to let the cooler air inside Moody’s help lower her body temperature. She only hoped she wouldn’t sweat through the thin material before Annabelle arrived.

“Tha’s all ye got fer me? I ‘lmost feel cheated. A prepubescent teenager could’ve thought tha one up.” When the waiter returned to offer Koy a glass of water as well, the fashionista grabbed it with more need than she would have liked to show. She took a less-than-dainty gulp.

Before she could throw one last ditch effort to determine that Maria was there for any other reason than becoming Koy’s latest designer bride a soft jingle of bells and thin gold chains clattering gently against each other announced the arrival of their puppetmaster, Annabelle Brighton.

“Maria! Koy! How lovely to see you both, my little doves.” Annabelle in her finest, trendiest day time look whirled her way to them, smelling like orange blossoms and new money, sweeping them up in the air of fabulousity she spun now wherever she went, a fae of fashion’s design. She completely ignored the deadly stares reflected back at her even as both Koy and Maria’s cheeks could not help but present themselves to be air kissed.

As she watched Annabelle brush her lips just to the side of Koy’s cheek so as not to leave a lipstick impression, an injection of dread rushed through Maria. The spark of panic tightened her abdomen in a sudden contraction which she bit the inside of her lip to fight from showing on her face. Gone were the days when she could trust herself to go toe-to-toe with Koy with verbal jabs and heaping helpings of accolades. There was no way to avoid the truth of why Koy was present and Maria only hoped she’d get through this nightmare of a meeting without crying.

[Koyliak]

“A sweet tea for me, please, when you have the chance,” Annabelle waved to the only waiter on duty at this slow hour for Moody’s with another jangle of the bells she wore in a delicate bracelet around her wrist. “Don’t you just love these?” She gave the bracelet another shake. “I’m crazy for them right now. They’re made by these blind dwarves deep in the mines of Yuengli. Incredible craftsmanship, considering.” Annabelle glossed over the sour expressions both women wore and ushered Koy to sit with her at the table Maria had already claimed.

Koy set an astute eye on the bracelet and wondered how long it would take before she saw them adorning the arms of every young socialite in the city. She sat down but cut a hard stare at Annabelle.

“Ye couldn’t possibly have us here fer the reason I’m thinkin’, could ye, Be--,” Koy caught herself quickly before dropping the now-forbidden nickname, “bub?”

Annabelle simply smiled at Koy, caught somewhere between saintly and patronizing. Her tone never faltered and remained cheerful. “If you mean the reason of giving you,” she pointed a perfectly manicured nail painted black with a funky white lightning bolt design on it at Koy, “the to-die-for opportunity to design a gown for what’s sure to be one of the most buzzed about weddings of the season, and you,” she pointed to Maria, “an incredible dress any bride would kill for, then yes, that’s the reason I’ve brought you here.”

Just like Koy, Maria’s eyes were fixed on Annabelle. It kept her from having to face Koy head-on. She bit the inside of her lip through a ripple of pain. A breath was released in an exhale. She hoped it came off more huffy than hesitant. “She is not designing my wedding dress. You’re overestimating how much I care about an incredible wedding dress if you think I’m going to sit here at this table and even have lunch with her.”

And, yet, Maria also wasn’t hopping up to storm for the door. At this point in her pregnancy, it would be more of an embarrassing waddle anyway. She kept her seat. It was more dignified.

Although Koy had spared her previous breath to dissuade Annabelle from scheming to pair them together, Maria’s snubbing of working with her put the fashionista on the defensive. “I think ye’re underestimatin’ how much work it would take ta pull off makin’ ye look like a classic bride, and I’d say tha even iffn ye weren’t ‘xpectin’.” The words tasted nasty on her tongue. She almost regretted them as soon as they reached her pointed ears.

“Classic bride? How many kids did your husband already have when you married him again?” Maria snapped back before gritting her teeth as her abdomen clenched up tightly without her permission. She ignored it. Now was not the time.

The ‘almost’ turned to ‘no longer’ when it came to Koy’s previous regret. She prayed to her more vain gods that her wince at Maria’s pointed barb was not as visible on her face as she imagined it might be. The woman had deadly aim for Koy’s weak spots. They weren’t physical and they weren’t rational considering how many daily reassurances she received about the strength of her relationship with Matt. Koy loved her stepchildren but her own insecurities often let the idea that she was only a consolation prize to the life Matt could have had with them, and more importantly with their mother, Ginger, if things had shaken out differently, continue to fester despite the years.

Annabelle gave the two grown women enough rope to hang themselves with before she smacked her palms flat against the cloth-covered table. The clattering of the bells proved jarring now and for a minute they saw lightening more fierce than the stylist’s nails flash across her normally graceful face. “That’s enough!” The stormy expression passed but the displeasure and disdain replacing it judged them just as harshly.

The waiter paused in cleaning his silverware to stare at the trio. Annabelle cleared her throat. Her curls settled back around her sweet, heart-shaped face. “You both have more in common than you think: you’re both pigheaded, thick-brained, and infuriatingly stubborn and I’m through catering to it.” The insults poured forth from Annabelle’s berry-stained lips with a level, almost musical ring to her voice. “Maria, unless you want me to slap something on you from the secondhand bargain bin, you’re going to let Koy measure you. You will let her twist and turn you, you’ll weigh in on fabric choices, colors, and anything else she needs to make you look amazing. You’ll do this because you’re marrying a man worthy of a beautiful bride. You’ll do this because you deserve it and you’ve already burned through enough of my designer contacts. This is it.”

Maria dragged her bottom lip between her teeth, unable to stop the way her brows furrowed. She had promised Tical months before that she would make some headway on this. Yet, they were still looking for a designer that Maria could put up with. Eventually, he was going to see through her smiles and vague comments that she and Annabelle were making progress on the hunt for the right dress.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, Koy, before you get to wearing that smug look you’ve picked up from that cad you call a business partner,” Koy opened her mouth but Annabelle only held up her finger again, silencing her like a misbehaving child at school, “you’re not above doing this, far from it. You don’t have the luxury to land on my bad side. You may be talented but don’t think there aren’t a hundred other hungry designers waiting for me to snatch them up from obscurity and set their sales on fire. You know I can do it, like that.” She snapped her fingers in Koy’s face for effect.

“You should both be kissing my pedicured feet for setting this up. I’m never wrong about these things.” She paused to sip her tea. Dabbing a napkin gently against her smear-proof lips she rose from her seat. She left several coins on the table for the waiter and neatly returned the napkin to the table, folding it with the precision ingrained in one who previously worked in retail.

“Ladies, I trust I can leave you to brainstorm without scratching each other’s eyes out, yes? I will check in with you both later and see where we go from here but I must be going now or I’ll be late to a photo shoot for RhyDin Wear Daily.”