Chapter 15
Over the next two weeks, Azam got to work on the dress orders and, as he made them, he received more orders; a few from men as well, for tailored trousers and waist-coats and blouses.
Sonya was in the shop, watching Azam work as he embroidered a pattern onto the pocket of a waistcoat. The design was very handsome, but she was mesmerized by his long and slender fingers.
The second week of May was coming to an end, and the weather was much warmer. The windows were open, and she could hear the distant bustle outside, as well as the closer birdsong.
After cleaning up, Sonya had starting helping Azam at the shop for most of the day, and after he got paid for the first few orders, he started paying her as well.
‘Not as much as you deserve,’ he’d said, ‘but I hope I can give you more as the shop makes more.’
‘Honestly, you don’t need to,’ she had replied. She didn’t have much need for money as Azam paid for everything, but he insisted.
‘You should have money of your own,’ he had said. ‘So you never need to depend on anybody.’
She didn’t understand at first but soon she came to learn that he was right.
With her own funds came newfound independence—it was empowering to have her own money that she’d earned.
She could go out and buy sweet buns from the bakery if she wished, which was exactly what she did with her first payment.
Azam had laughed when he’d seen she’d brought enough for all of them. ‘The money was for you!’ he said. ‘To spend on yourself.’
‘But this makes me happy,’ she replied. ‘I wanted to treat everyone.’
‘Thank you, sweetheart,’ Kiri said. Dania had already finished off her own sweet bun, reaching for another.
At the shop, Sonya helped keep things tidy and got Azam the things he needed. When he was in a good flow, he could get a bit frazzled and frenetic, as if his mind was moving more quickly than his hands and magic. She liked watching him work, the way he and his magic moved.
He finished the embroidery on the waistcoat, stitching the final stitch, and held it up for her to see.
‘What do you think?’ he asked. He always asked.
‘It’s lovely,’ she replied, taking it from him. He smiled up at her.
She slipped it onto a hanger, then set it on the rack alongside some other orders that were ready to be collected.
When the customer came to pick up their garment, Azam always had them try it on to see if any adjustments were necessary, which he would then do immediately.
Otherwise, Sonya would package the order up.
Azam stood and stretched his back, cracking his neck. A little while later, the front door dinged and a familiar old lady entered. She had long gray hair in a simple braid and was a little hunched over as she walked with a cane.
‘Mrs. Webster,’ Sonya said, going to say hello. ‘Are you here for your dress?’
‘Yes, dearie, thank you,’ Mrs. Webster replied.
‘Just a moment.’ Sonya went to the hanging rack and retrieved the dress. She knew exactly which one it was because she remembered being unable to tear her eyes away from it when Azam had been working on it. It was a breathtaking lilac color that caught the light.
Sonya held the dress up for Mrs. Webster for inspection, and the old lady smiled, pleased. ‘It’s perfect!’ she said, clasping her hands together. ‘Oh, I just know my sister will adore this.’
‘It’s a birthday gift, you said?’ Sonya asked, and Mrs. Webster nodded.
‘Her seventieth!’
‘How wonderful! Shall I wrap it up for you?’
‘Yes, please!’
Sonya packed up the dress and, after paying, Mrs. Webster was on her way. The day was almost over then, and she closed the windows, winding things down for the shop to close.
They always closed around six, which left them with more than enough time in the evening for dinner and to spend time with Kiri and Dania, though during the day they were always going back and forth from the shop and the living room; it was easy with everything being together in the same cottage.
Azam finished up what he was working on, and then she felt his gaze on her. She glanced over at him and he smiled.
‘I’ve got a surprise for you,’ he said, opening his desk drawer. He pulled a folded piece of fabric out. It was the same lilac as the dress for Mrs. Webster. ‘I saw how much you liked the color and …’ He lifted the fabric and it unfolded, revealing a dress.
Sonya gasped. ‘For me?’ He nodded. ‘Azam, I love it!’
She rushed over to him, taking the dress from his hands.
It was just as soft, the color just as breathtaking, if not more so.
The design was different from what Mrs. Webster had taken for her sister: this had a collared V-neck with delicate lace, sleeves just above the elbow, and a pleated top with pearly buttons.
‘It’s gorgeous,’ she said, hugging the dress. He laughed, happy to see her happy, as if it brought him as much joy to give her a gift as it did for her to receive it.
She felt overwhelmed with fondness, then. He did spoil her so! It was so sweet. She knew she was used to being spoiled at the castle, but it was different coming from Azam.
He was so attentive and paid particular attention to her. He was always watching and noticing. It made her feel seen and cared for.
Overcome, she put the dress down on his desk and threw her arms around him in a hug.
Surprised, he staggered back, his hand on his desk to steady himself. For a moment, she worried if she should have been so bold, but then his arms came around her, and she felt his trembling breath by her ear.
‘Sonya,’ he whispered against her hair, holding her tight. She was on her tiptoes, holding on as he was bent over, his cheek against hers. She took a deep breath, and he smelled so familiar, like strong black tea, mingled with the starch he used for ironing fabric, a clean scent.
He pulled back, leaning his forehead against hers. His hands rested on her waist, and she rested hers on his shoulders, feeling weak in the knees. Desire stirred low in her belly as he gazed deep into her eyes, his pupils blown wide. She ached to lean in closer, to taste him.
Before she could test her limits, the doorbell dinged again.
Sonya startled back, cheeks flaming, and Azam fidgeted, hands twitching as they both looked toward the door.
‘I do hope I’m not interrupting,’ a young woman said, painted lips tilted into a small smile. ‘I know you are about to close, but I was hoping you could squeeze me in.’
It was not a customer they had seen before. Sonya did not recognize her at all, and neither did Azam, from the look on his face. The woman seemed to be from Castletown, not the Outskirts: she was evidently wealthy, a society lady.
She looked to be a few years older than Sonya and very beautiful, with straight, dark hair pulled up into an elegant twist, arresting eyes, and a beauty mark next to her full lips.
She wore an expensive, complicated outfit, the hem of which looked a bit dirty, and underneath she was wearing silk slippers.
Most definitely not from the Outskirts. No one wore silk slippers here. And to confirm it further, she even had a handmaid with her.
‘Of course,’ Azam said, quickly regaining his composure. He cleared his throat. ‘Welcome to Bunto’s. How can I help you?’
‘Are you Azam?’ she asked. Azam nodded. ‘I’m Ximena. I need a wedding dress.’
Sonya and Azam shared a shocked glance with one another.
Society girls like Ximena went to the big designers in Castletown for their wedding dresses.
While the royal tailor was solely for the royals, everyone else from the aristocracy got their gowns made by one of three celebrated designers: Ashanti, Izume, or Philippe.
Ximena must have seen the questions on their expressions because she explained.
‘I ordered a dress from Ashanti months ago,’ she said.
‘Then, this past weekend, I attended a wedding, and what do you know? The bride’s dress was practically the same design as mine.
Hers was from Ashanti’s, as well.’ She made an irritated sound, shaking her head. ‘Absolutely unacceptable.’
Sonya was surprised Ashanti would do such a thing.
Azam frowned. ‘But her designs, especially for weddings, are meant to be one of a kind.’
Ximena’s expression darkened. ‘Of course I confronted Ashanti, and she claimed the wedding dresses are singular, but I cannot wear a wedding dress with even a stitch of similarity a few weeks after the daughter of a baron wears an Ashanti design. It’s embarrassing.
My father is a marquess. I am marrying an earl. You must understand.’
‘Of course,’ Azam said.
‘I canceled my contract with Ashanti, and I’ve been to Izume’s and Philippe’s, but both have refused me.
’ Ximena looked outraged then, huffing. ‘They claimed there wasn’t enough time, and to rush a wedding gown would only jeopardize their reputations.
I have been distraught, as you can imagine.
Until I saw someone wearing one of your designs. ’
‘How fortuitous,’ Azam said.
Her dark eyes glinted. ‘While it was simple, I could see the mastery in the stitching, and I rather liked the work. It’s why I am here,’ she said.
‘No one will have worn one of your dresses, not in the circles I am in, and so there is no risk of being unoriginal.’ She narrowed her eyes.
‘But know that I take a great risk in trusting you with the most important dress I will ever wear. I see potential in you, but there is absolutely no room for disappointment.’
‘I—I’d be honored to make the dress for you,’ Azam replied, quickly composing himself. While such a prospect was daunting, and Ximena did not look easily impressed, Sonya knew this could be Azam’s big break. A way for him to reach wealthier clientele.
‘I need something groundbreaking,’ Ximena warned.
‘I can do it,’ Azam replied.
‘Good. I will pay you handsomely,’ she said, naming the price. Azam’s eyes widened; it was the price of twenty dresses. Probably much less than she would have paid at Ashanti’s or Izume’s or Philippe’s, but it was still a very pretty penny. Even Sonya knew that.
‘You can trust me,’ Azam said, voice confident.
‘Here is a quarter in advance,’ Ximena said, and her maid came forward with a bag of money, setting it down on Azam’s desk with a satisfying thud. ‘I will bring the next quarter payment when I come for my trial, and you will receive the remainder once I have my dress.’
Azam nodded. ‘How much time do I have?’
‘My wedding is on the twenty-fourth,’ she said, and Sonya had to stifle a gasp. ‘You have ten days. I’ll be back in a week for my trial.’