Chapter 52 Short Training
"Gisella, for God's sake, can you just stand still for a second?!"
She didn't even hear me. She was still busy spinning around in front of the mirror, checking the lace detail on her sleeve. "Ilse, which one looks better, light blue or off-white? Light blue looks more innocent, but off-white is... elegant."
I was losing my mind. Seriously.
I slammed the pile of tobacco export reports onto the table. It was loud enough to make her stop spinning. She looked at me, face completely innocent, like she hadn't done a thing.
"Gisella, we are not going to a Prince's tea party. We're going to a harbor. It smells like rotting fish, it's muddy, and if you show up looking like you just walked out of a high-end boutique, Julian Vance is just going to see you as a dumb tourist who got lost," I said, frustrated as hell.
"But appearances matter!" she protested. "If I look a mess, how is Julian going to look at me? He'll keep looking down on me, thinking I'm some woman with no taste."
I took a deep breath. This was it.
"Exactly," I softened my voice. "If you can make Julian Vance, the rudest, most uncouth man alive, impressed by your brain, Didier's going to get hit where it hurts. Didier thinks you're just a palace ornament, right? Show him you're more than that.
Show him you understand the tobacco business he doesn't even bother with. Make people spread those rumours, we will see when Didier knows about that"
Gisella went quiet. She stared at me, hard. She hated being looked down on by Didier, and she knew I was right.
"Okay," she said finally. "Teach me."
"Good," I smiled wide. "Now, wash off your perfume."
Gisella frowned. "What? This is my favorite rose scent."
"Wash it off!" I barked. "Don't wear any floral scents! We're going to a port, not a flower garden. If you smell like a walking flower shop, Julian's going to think you're a perfume store on legs. Just use regular soap. Clean. No scent."
"You're crazy," she muttered, but she grabbed a wet cloth to wipe it off anyway.
The next two hours were pure torture. I forced her to memorize the names of the Vance family trading ships, the difference between grade one and grade two tobacco, and the ridiculously complicated port regulations. She was hopeless at first, but once she started to get it, her eyes lit up.
Suddenly, she stopped. She stared at her own reflection. Her long hair which she was always so proud of kept getting in her eyes every time she leaned down to read the notes.
"This isn't practical," she muttered.
"What?" I asked, busy scribbling.
"This hair."
Without warning, she grabbed the scissors she usually used for sewing threads from my table.
"Gisella, wait...."
Snap!
I froze. That long, waist-length hair fell to the floor, chopped roughly to her shoulders. It wasn't neat, it was uneven, but somehow... she looked sharper. Braver.
She turned to me, breathing a little hard. "Now, teach me more about tobacco exports. I don't have time to mess with my hair."
My jaw hit the floor. I tried to speak, but nothing came out. I swear, this wasn't the Gisella I knew.