APIBAGS Chapter 57

The door opens and the dress hits me all at once.

Misha's eyes are bright with anticipation. I can't say anything. Too thrown.

Is this a wedding dress?

White. Airy, the hem long and trailing. All it needs is a veil and it would be perfect.

"How do you like it? Does it suit you, my lady?"

Misha chatters on—where the inspiration came from, what she paid particular attention to, and especially "my lady's shoulders are particularly beautiful so I opened them right up—" explaining at length which features she's brought out and how.

I try hard to listen. I have no interest in clothes whatsoever. My entire impression is: she worked hard at this.

But I can't show that in front of someone who worked hard on my clothes.

I pull Misha into a hug.

"Y, y, y, my lady—?"

She trembles like a leaf. I slowly rub her back.

"You worked hard, Misha. I like it. The time was tight and you still brought me the best you had. Thank you."

"Thank you? You, to me?"

I hug her once more and let go. Misha staggers. Her face is completely red, as though she's just received some enormous gift.

"My lady."

"What?"

"You really can't just—"

She buries her face in her hands.

Apparently she assumed I was going to pay her in compliments instead of actual money. When I mention she'll be properly compensated, she finally breaks into a full smile.

She glows for a good while. Then she collects herself and helps me into the dress.

I wore it once for the initial fitting. The difference in completion is unmistakable. What a garment looks like hanging in a room is nothing—wearing it is where it shows.

"This really is a masterwork... Don't you all think so?"

Misha exhales in rapture and turns to her staff for opinions. The employees who had been fearing Evangeline—heads bowed, eyes down, unable to make eye contact—rush to contribute.

"Y-yes! I—it should be in a history book!"

"If you just stand still at the ball, everyone will think you're a piece crafted by a master artisan!"

"A genius! You've upended all of society! Of course La-Lady Rohanson is also a genius!"

What did I do to be called a genius?

Face genius?

Misha's staff are wiping tears and applauding. I'd thought Misha was just a genuinely sweet person, but turns out she does a bit of power-play. Their effort to appease their boss was genuinely pitiable.

"Is movement at all uncomfortable?"

"Fine."

"Then let's go show Gabriel quickly!"

Said with great solemnity. I nod along, swept up in it. Gabriel is face-obsessed and seems to have a particular weakness for Evangeline's face, so this should land reasonably well.

And besides—a romance fantasy has to have this kind of event. When someone who usually goes around looking somewhat disheveled cleans up, they knock someone sideways at a glance. Not that I've been going around disheveled, of course. Misha said my original style was nice and original, after all.

Misha orbits me the entire way back to the drawing room, delivering a continuous stream of praise.

The fawning continues in Gabriel's presence. Gabriel doesn't do the cartoon jaw-drop—no wide-open mouth, no dramatic reaction. But the pupil earthquake going on in those eyes tells a different story. He's massively moved.

Unfortunately, a pupil earthquake apparently doesn't count as a reaction in Misha's book.

She demands more.

"Sir Gabriel, what do you think of my lady?"

"It suits you well."

"No—you have to worship a little."

"She's like an angel!"

Mary—who goes running around the estate at will and had apparently heard from another maid about the fitting—had dashed over and claimed a spot beside Gabriel before anyone noticed.

Daisy apologizes, saying she tried to stop her. Gabriel apparently told her to let it be.

After Kanna, Mary is the most radiantly sunny person in the estate. She has the look of someone who'll grow up to be a sunshine female lead. Something about her.

"Like a fairy!"

"Yes! Exactly!"

Mary issues an endless stream of flattery. Mary praises, Misha applauds and urges for more. I'm receiving prostration and I want to leave.

"Well, sir knight—you understand now what sort of response is called for?"

Misha, having demonstrated every one-dimensional example on offer, sets the stage and opens the floor to Gabriel. The harder you're pushed to perform on command, the more the resistance rises—but—

Gabriel thinks it over. He seems to have landed on something Misha might actually accept.

"Lady Rohanson is like the brightest star."

"Good enough."

Same tier as Mary's examples. Misha had been covering Mary's ears in anticipation of something more adult from Gabriel—she accepts this with a nod.

Good enough for you? Think about those of us on the receiving end too…..

I give Misha a meaningful look. The look is received incorrectly. Misha startles and pulls Mary into a dramatic embrace.

"Mary, let's step out."

"Already?"

Mary hesitates. Misha whispers something. Whatever she offered, it was apparently enticing enough—Mary nods enthusiastically.

Before leaving, Mary runs over and gives me a bow.

"Thank you for commissioning clothes for us, my lady."

Ah. So that was the enticement. Now that my dress is done, Misha is apparently moving on to the next project.

But why is Mary thanking me. The clothes haven't been made yet. And it's Misha standing right behind her who would actually be making them. Is my role just: money.

I accept this immediately.

Money matters.

Misha's face is bright despite her credit being taken. How does someone that pure-hearted make it in this world.

"All right, Daisy—you need measurements too, come along!"

"What? But I need to attend to my lady. I'll at least wait outside the door."

"Absolutely not! This is my lady's orders too! Sir Gabriel is right here—what is there to worry about!"

Misha is apparently pulling Daisy's measurements into the schedule as well. Daisy looks to me for permission. I nod her along. And so Daisy is dragged out by Misha, resigned.

I watch the door close behind all three of them. End up making eye contact with Gabriel.

Something is awkward. But it also feels like laughter might break at any moment.

"Would you dance one song with me?"

Before I'd changed into the dress, I was the one who extended my hand first. This time Gabriel inclines his upper body slightly and offers his hand. Having a properly dressed partner, it seems, calls for proper manners.

"One song won't cover it."

There are too many dance types. I'd need to try each one at least once.

"I'll partner you for however long you need."

We clasp hands. Gabriel breathes in—small, quiet.

The man who brazenly kisses hands at farewells without batting an eye. And now he's nervous.

Setting farewell greetings aside, this actually is the first time we've properly held hands. Thinking about the kiss that would naturally follow a hand-clasp, a slight heat surfaces.

Of course, Gabriel's hand is too warm, and the thought sinks back immediately.

Why is he this warm? Cold heart, warm hands?

Gabriel takes hold of my waist with practiced ease and sets the posture. The accompaniment can't be heard, but it has begun. I follow his lead.

Come to think of it—Misha said she wanted to see us together while I was in the dress, then left the moment the compliments were done. She just wanted to see Gabriel's reaction to the dressed Evangeline.

"Misha didn't really need to vacate the space."

We're just dancing. Gabriel responds that it was her own consideration.

"Schmitiana seems to think of my lady as special."

"Because she allowed me a nickname?"

"That as well. Schmitiana is selective about who she works for—which is part of why bringing her to the estate was a struggle."

Right. She came out of the gate shrieking about human leather—obviously didn't come voluntarily. Gabriel must have dragged her here by force. But that's not being selective about clients—that's screening out criminals, isn't it?

Thinking about the employees' behavior and Misha's artisan spirit, though—selective about clients does actually fit. Gabriel's gaze moves from the firmly closed door.

"She's more discerning than you'd expect. Getting someone like that to make even the maids' clothes is no small thing."

From what I can tell, she reads more as a romance zealot who loses her mind at the first hint of a pink atmosphere, with a side of face-obsession. Deeply susceptible to Evangeline's face.

Light conversation without pausing the dance. Thanks to the thorough theoretical grounding I received, no disasters—I don't step on Gabriel's feet.

One song ends. We bow. In a proper ballroom the partner would change now—but this is private, so the same partner continues for the next dance.

The distance that opened for the bow closes again. The warmth, which has settled into something pleasantly mild by now, comes softly around my waist once more.

What genre is the next one. I'm still working through the sequence in my head. Gabriel's entire attention, meanwhile, is on me.

Light conversation continues—where had we gotten to—ah. Misha making the servants' clothes.

"Misha is just trying to be worth what she was paid."

"I wouldn't say so. Schmitiana won't move even for a large sum if her heart isn't moved. My lady is simply her exception."

Ah. This is a waltz. Hard to tell without accompaniment. No sound means learning from the body. I commit Gabriel's movements to memory.

Gabriel extends his left foot, right foot shifts, and we turn left. And then left foot again—Gabriel holds me in his gaze.

"It seems that's just what happens—when someone holds you in their eyes."