Silvia laughed softly, a sound like breaking glass, as if she had expected this all along. As if she had wanted it. "All right, if you care that much about a piece of fabric." She stepped back leisurely, her eyes never leaving mine. "Then keep it."
I turned and left with the gown in my arms, without looking at anyone. The silk was still warm from her body, and the sensation made my skin crawl.
Behind me came their lowered laughter, intimate and conspiratorial, and Giorgio's deliberately gentle reassurance.
"She's been under a lot of pressure lately with the alliance preparations. Don't take it to heart."
That was exactly the answer I needed.
The confirmation. The proof. The final nail in the coffin of my old life.
Back in my chambers at the Ashford estate, I placed the gown in front of the fireplace. Firelight flickered across the fabric, shadows swaying like a farewell long delayed. The pearls caught the light and scattered it across the walls like fallen stars.
Low voices murmured outside the door—servants, or perhaps associates who had heard what happened at the tailor's shop. Word traveled fast in our world. Gossip was currency, and scandal was blood in the water.