“Um, duh, that would be dumb. I’m talking about visual stimulation.”
I stared at her, confused, and automatically lifted the can of soda to my lips again. Caffeine was having less and less effect on me, but it helped some.
“What you need,” she continued, “is a Cinderella moment.”
I stared at her. “You want me to talk to mice and scrub pots?”
“No,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Look, if you don’t want to break up with him—which I think you should still strongly consider—you need to remind him why he waited all those years of not-dating until you came along. You changed something for him. I saw it, everyone saw it. He just needs to remember.” She glanced at her Pinterest board, grinning. “You need a dress.”
“For … the dance?” I asked, slowly.
“Yes. A Cinderella dress. The kind of dress where you walk into the room and everyone stops and stares at you like you’re the heroine in a Disney movie.”
I considered it a moment, then shook my head, defeated. “I’m so broke right now it’s not even funny.” I threw back the last sip of soda and burped halfheartedly. “I’d still like to come help you guys pick stuff out in Queensbury, though.” But then my brain, sluggish though it was, started churning. “Trish, wait—” I began, staring off into space. “I could make a dress.”
She raised a brow. “Out of what, bedsheets?”
I shook my head. “No—Adrian bought me a ton of fabric, and set up a sewing studio for me in his house. I haven’t had a chance to use any of it because of the craziness with the Shirtless Encounter.”
A gleeful smile began to take over her face. “Can you make it in time? Winter formal’s in three weeks.”
I chewed my lip, thinking. “I can—but I need your help. Rachel and Joe won’t let me go over to Adrian’s anymore. Could you cover for me so I could use the studio?”
“Dude,” Trish said, grinning at me. “Yes. I am so down with this. Do you have a design in mind? How does that even work?”
I thought through all my sketches, the books full of ideas, scanning through them mentally. I quickly decided they wouldn’t work, because I hadn’t designed them for me. I needed something brand-new. I reached into my backpack and pulled out my sketch pad and rubber-banded bunch of watercolor pencils.
“I don’t know,” I said, smiling. “Let’s find out.”
*
I shut the door to Trish’s truck and walked over to where Adrian had parked on the side of the road. My family once again believed I was spending the night at Trish’s. The next day was Saturday, so whenever I woke up he would drop me back here, and she would take me home.
As soon as we walked through the front door, Lucian ran to meet us, sliding breathlessly to a halt. He looked up with a smile that slowly faded as he looked first at Adrian, then at me, then back at Adrian, then again at me.
He didn’t know who to hug first.
Adrian made the decision easy—he walked into the hall leading to the east wing, leaving us behind. Lucian stared after him.
“Wanna come help me?” I asked, to distract him.
He turned and half smiled at me. I gave him a quick squeeze and ruffled his hair like Adrian always did and we headed upstairs to my studio. Pulling out the sketch I’d designed (and Trish had approved), I ran my hands over the bolts of fabric until I found the one I was looking for. It would be insanely hard to make, mostly because the fabric was difficult to work with. If you messed up, you had to cut it off and start all over. That’s just how velvet was.
I pulled the bolt and laid it on the cutting table, envisioning the pieces in my head. If I was careful, I would have just enough material to pull this off. Nervous, I set the velvet aside and pulled out the dollar-a-yard muslin instead, planning to create the pattern with it first in case I messed up. Usually I had my mom at my side, harping about aligning the grains and offering alternative stitches and little tricks she’d made up over the years. All of that was tucked away safely in my head, and I could recall her voice perfectly from the hundreds of times we’d done this together. It felt right to be working on something again. It felt, almost, like she was with me.
A few hours later, Lucian and I headed downstairs to have dinner with Mariana and Dominic and, of course, Adrian. A sumptuous meal was laid out, but simply being in this house made me lose my appetite. I picked at my food while everyone else cleaned the supersize portions off their plate.
“Are you feeling all right, Caitlin?” Mariana asked as she was finishing up.
“What?” I asked, looking up. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.”
“You’re not eating very much,” she persisted. I wasn’t sure if she was concerned about me or irritated because I was dissing her cooking abilities.
“I’m fine,” I said tightly.
Mariana didn’t look convinced. I stood up to clear my plate. As I was leaving the kitchen, I could hear Mariana speaking to Adrian.