SAMANTHA
Samantha was sitting cross-legged on her couch, idly reading an article on her laptop, when she heard a familiar one-two-three knock.
She shoved the computer aside, certain she’d misheard, or that one of the footmen had heard her use this knock and was trying to mess with her. But when she opened the door, Nina was standing there.
Sam wished she could throw her arms around her friend and pour out everything that had happened since their fight. Nina and Jeff might have reconciled—Jeff had told Sam about it, right after it happened, and Sam had seen the photos of them together this past week—but she and Nina still hadn’t spoken since that awful day in Nina’s dorm room. The silence echoed with all the things they’d shouted at each other.
Nina cleared her throat. She was dressed totally out of character in a conservative dress and tights, her normally wavy hair pulled back.
“Sorry I didn’t warn you I was coming over. I just—I was in the area, and I thought …” Nina trailed off in confusion.
Sam frowned. “Nina, what happened?”
“I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but I’ve had a wardrobe emergency.”
“Wardrobe emergency?” A smile tugged at the corner of Sam’s mouth. She was fairly certain Nina had never used those two words together.
Nina gave a quick nod, causing a few pieces of hair to slip from her bun. It made her look more like herself. “There was a misunderstanding with my dress alterations, and now I don’t have a gown for tomorrow. And every store in town is entirely picked over. I was wondering if you knew where I could get one at the last minute?” she asked in a small voice.
Sam was no longer trying to hide her smile. Given the other, monumental problems in her life right now, it was a relief to be confronted with one she could actually solve.
“Sounds like we need to go shopping.” She grabbed Nina’s wrist and pulled her into the hallway.
“There are practically no dresses left in the whole city; I’ve been looking,” Nina started to protest, but Sam just kept leading her down one corridor after another.
“We’re shopping here.” She stopped when they reached a metal touch screen on one wall. Sam scanned her fingerprints, and the door silently slid open.
Nina’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know you had biosecurity anywhere except the Crown Jewels vault.”
“This isn’t the Crown Jewels vault, but it’s almost as good.” Samantha stepped eagerly inside, and the motion-sensor lights clicked on.
They were standing in an industrial-sized closet, at least five times bigger than Sam’s bedroom. On three of the walls were hanging rods, brimming with every kind of dress imaginable: formal gowns and short sequined dresses and wispy garden-party frocks. The final wall consisted of shelves lined in luxurious black suede, covered in accessories. There were hats and gloves and purses of every size, from functional leather handbags to embellished clutches so small that they could barely hold a lip gloss. Countless pairs of shoes were lined up like an array of brightly colored candies.
In the far corner, a seamstress’s platform stood before an enormous three-fold mirror. A dimmer on the wall had settings for DAY, BALLROOM, THEATER, DINNER, and NIGHT. Sam had never really understood how theater and dinner differed from the night setting, but who cared? If nothing else, it was all fun to play with.
“Welcome,” Sam intoned, in the voice of a game-show announcer, “to the Dress Closet.”
“What are all these … I mean …”
“It’s the collective closet of me, Beatrice, and my mom. Just the formal and event dresses. A lot of them have never even been worn.”
Nina turned a slow circle. “How have I never been in here?”
“We’ve never had a Code Red wardrobe emergency before.” When Nina didn’t laugh at the joke, Sam cleared her throat. “Each time we had an event coming up, I would just pull a couple of options for you. I assumed you didn’t want to come in here.”
Nina winced at her words, and Sam realized she’d said the wrong thing—reminding Nina of all those online commenters who mocked her fashion sense. Nina tugged absently at the hem of her long-sleeved dress. “You’re right. I don’t know anything about this stuff.”
Sam was glad the queen wasn’t present to hear Nina call this room—filled with thousands of dollars of couture gowns, of intricate beading and gossamer fabrics and delicate hand-stitched sequins—this stuff.
“Don’t worry, you’re in good hands. Because I know a lot.” A grin stole over Sam’s face. “And I’ve been waiting for this moment for years. You, Nina Gonzalez, have no choice but to be my human mannequin.”
Already she was prowling down the first rack, chattering as she went. “You have such a long torso, you’ll fit better into Beatrice’s gowns than mine. Which is too bad, since my style is way more fun,” she teased, pulling out one exquisite gown after another. The peach high-necked one from last year’s museum gala, covered in tiny crystals that caught the light. A gorgeous red one with black arabesques that trailed down the heavy full skirt. A dress of fuchsia silk that Beatrice once wore on a state visit to Greece. Sam draped them atop her arm, one after another in a vibrant multicolored stack.
Nina shook her head. “Sam, I can’t let you do all this. I was saving up for my own dress.”