You Are Mine (Mine, #1)(26)

I watch as she waddles down the corridor, wondering what tomorrow will bring.

***

“Quit fidgeting,” mother says around a mouth full of pins.

“Ouch!” A pin stings my leg.

“I told you. Now hold still so I can finish.”

I try to hold still. Really, I do, but I can't help it. The dress is awful though I have yet to see how it looks on me.

Mother moves to my stomach and starts pinning the material. “We'll have to take it in, but I think it will work. I can't believe you're grown enough to wear it. Seems like only yesterday I was wearing it to my own engagement ceremony. Finished. What do you think?” Mother's face glows at me, but from her chair nearby, Cynthia is passive, save for a tightening around her mouth.

I turn toward the mirror, my painted face reflected back, trying to guard my reaction. It's more like a slip than a dress. Flimsy black material clings to me, held up only by two thin straps. Right now it reaches a touch below my knees, but mother has plans to hem it three inches.

I detest it. “This is what you wore?”

Mother nods. “I know it's different from our customary dress, but men like to show off their new things.”

“I'm practically naked.”

“Serena! Language.” She puts the rest of her sewing kit away. “Your dress is acceptable for an engagement. Chancellor Zade informed me it didn't have to be as traditional. The gowns now days are not nearly as modest as this one. We can get one of those if you like.”

They can be worse than this? “He said it didn't have to be as traditional?”

“Yes. I don't think he cares too much, and I thought you would prefer this, but obviously not. We can get something more showy. There's plenty of time to run to the closest town.”

Cynthia meets my gaze in the mirror, slowly shaking her head like she knows what I'm thinking. I ignore it and grab the opportunity to wear something else.

“I'd like a gown that covers more.”

“Really darling, this dress covers as much as you can for an engagement ceremony. Perhaps too much.” She eyes the dress, then pulls the pins out. “We don't want you getting punished over this.”

I hold my hand out. “No. I want something that doesn't leave me feeling like a red tarnished.”

Cynthia gasps.

Mother's face whitens, her lips tighten. “We will see.”

She turns to a nearby servant. “Please inform the Master that his bride is refusing my choice in engagement gown instead desiring for something that's highly unsuitable.”

The servant nods and scurries from the room. Mother sits in the corner and picks up a blanket she's embroidering for the baby. Sky blue, of course. Cynthia's worried eyes watch me.

“What are you doing?” she whispers.

“Would you wear this in public?” My heart beats faster. She'll have to wear something like it when she gets engaged. I wonder how long it will take the servant to return a message. Or what if the Envadi returns with him to see what all the fuss is about. I hurry to my clothes. “Help me change into a real dress, Cynthia.”

She sighs and stands to help. “We've always known the engagement ceremony attire is more revealing than generally permitted.”

“And that makes this acceptable?” I motion to the garment now laying on the floor. “I think not. I'm not keen on marrying anyway, I refuse to wear something I'm so uncomfortable in.”

Cynthia picks up the discarded dress, throws it over a chair, and helps me into a forest green one.

“Too much freedom,” mother says from across the room. “If your Father were here, he'd skip a beating and go straight to a hex. If that Envadi has half your Father's wits, he'll do the same.”

I bite my lip as Cynthia finishes tying my dress. Mother's right, but I don't want her to be. Being here has made me too lax. Rarely seeing the Envadi and no negative consequences when I disagreed with his choice of fruit, made me unwary of how severe punishments can be. I wanted to know how far I could push him, but by barely crossing the line, not bounding over it. Is he coming to hex me now? Or will he wait until I've chosen the wrong gown and hex me then?

The servant enters the room. Mother puts down her work. “Well?”

Instead of addressing mother, the servant walks to me and hands me a pouch. “He said to tell you the carriage has been sent for. You can go to town and pick what you like. The money should be enough to cover what you need.”

The bag is heavy. I can't move. I can't breathe.

“He did what?” Mother's eyes grow with disbelief.

“Sent for the carriage.”

“He didn't want to do anything?”

“He did ask if she'll return in time for dinner.”

Does this mean not only can I go to town, but I can skip another stiff dinner? “Inform him that I won't be back, but mother would be happy to attend.”

“She's not going with you?” the servant asks.

“No. Cynthia, would you like to join me?”

Cynthia looks at mother. “I'd better not. Perhaps you shouldn't either. If you insist on going, at least take a chaperon.”

That's right. I don't have a chaperon. The Chancellor didn't offer or provide one. What will happen if I go without?