The Belles (The Belles #1)(19)

Elisabeth watches us. The memory of the morning conversation creeps over me again.

“What happened with Du Barry?” Padma asks me. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.” I try to smile. Everything will be fine.

“You don’t look it.” Hana reaches over to rub my shoulder.

“She threatened me,” Edel says proudly.

Elisabeth clears her throat, and Edel speaks even louder. “She got so mad, I thought a vein would pop right out of her neck.”

“Do you take anything seriously?” Amber asks.

“You do enough of that for all of us,” Edel replies. “Du Barry told me she’d have the Beauty Minister speak with me. Like I’m supposed to be afraid or something.” She laughs, but I can’t stop being scared. I don’t want this to slip away.

“I can’t tell if the Beauty Minister is mean or nice,” Hana says. “I haven’t decided what I think of her yet.”

“Who cares if she’s nice?” Edel fusses with the servant attempting to measure her arms. “I don’t plan on talking with her about my behavior.”

“She’s been elected twice,” Valerie says, then touches her stomach. “Why can’t one of you give me a smaller waist? My numbers are bigger than yours.”

“It would make us sick, Valerie,” Amber snaps.

“I know . . . I was just—” Valerie’s tawny brown skin pinkens, and she frowns.

“Still upset, Amber?” Edel’s pale eyebrow lifts. “Because there’s no excuse for your annoying temperament after we’ve had such a delicious lunch.”

Padma tsks her tongue like Du Barry.

Hana shakes her head.

“Just stating the truth,” Amber says.

“Well, your body is a pole,” Edel says. “Nobody would want you, even if you were interested in experiencing it.”

“You don’t have to be rude. I swear, you’re the most unmannered of us all,” Amber says. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Valerie. The Goddess of Beauty made you just the way she wanted you. At least you have breasts.”

“Yes, and you’re flat as a crepe, Amber.” Edel leaps off her block, shoving away another servant. “Hourglass figures and beautiful round bodies will always be coveted if I’m the favorite.” She grabs Valerie and pulls her down as well. She hooks her arms around her waist, nuzzling her face into Valerie’s neck. “I’d give anything to be shaped like you.”

Valerie giggles. Edel reaches for me, yanking me down with them. She spins us around and around. We laugh and screech and skip away from the servants.

“Don’t be so sad, or let Du Barry get to you, little fox,” Edel whispers. “Who cares what she says?”

Elisabeth tugs at us. “Get back to your places.”

“No.” Edel blows her a kiss.

I wish I could be more like Edel—want this life a little less.

“Back to your dress blocks,” the servants say.

We keep spinning.

“Girls!” Elisabeth shouts.

We turn again and again. We don’t stop. Hana joins us. Amber sighs. Padma laughs hysterically.

“There will be order,” Elisabeth hollers.

“There will be order,” Edel parrots, and we all giggle.

“Ladies, please. We must proceed,” one of the seamstresses says.

The doors snap open.

Edel, Valerie, Hana, and I freeze. Amber and Padma scream and try to cover themselves.

“Royal Fashion Minister Gustave du Polignac,” an attendant announces.

“Why, hello!” A purple-suited man saunters in, followed by a train of powdered and prim-looking men carrying notebooks, and a set of tailors and seamstresses who wheel in massive spinning looms. “I see we have quite the festivities going on in here. And not to worry, girls, there’s nothing I haven’t seen.” The man has beautiful features, with a deep-brown face freckled like a chocolate chip cookie. He presses a hand to his chest, drumming jeweled fingernails.

The Beauty Minister trails behind him. Her dark hair is fashioned into a bird’s nest, complete with a pair of live blue jays in it. They chirp out at us. She smiles at me, and her teeth look stark white like the keys of a piano.

“They’re a spirited bunch,” he says to the Beauty Minister. He kisses both of her cheeks, careful not to leave behind the bright purple rouge-stick he wears.

Du Barry enters last, starting a round of applause. The rest of us join in.

The Fashion Minister bows, then smiles up at us. I’ve seen him in newspapers, demonstrating the proper way to wear a corset according to imperial beauty laws—tight enough to fit within the desirable measurements for a proper citizen of Orléans, but fashionable enough to create the perfect silhouette, like an hourglass. He’s the fashion tastemaker of the kingdom, and is in charge of all garment production. “At your service.”

“He’s here to work his magic,” the Beauty Minister says, “with his team.”

The other well-dressed men smile at her, and a few blush.

“Yes, my dandies and I are here to the rescue. A Belle needs an elegant wardrobe, just like an artist needs a variety of ink and paint.” He waves a gold-tipped cane in the air. His heels click and clack as he circles us, his gaze like a strong beam of light. He leans in and whispers, “Welcome to court.”