“Wow,” the mother whispered when I held up the dress. “It’s… wow”
Benish greeted me with a glass of tea and a generous slice of medovik. I took the plate with pursed lips, feeling guilty as I dug my fork through the layers of cake and cream.
“It’s… good,” I mumbled.
It was more than good. It was absolutely delicious, and beautiful besides. But I couldn’t bring myself to say so.
“Where’s Papa?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Driving?”
I took my plate to my sewing room. When had I eaten last? Twelve o’clock? The tea warmed my chest, soothed my muscles.
But I couldn’t take my time sipping. The Dratlers would be here in — I looked at my watch — ten minutes.
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