My eyes are glued to the window, drinking in every single detail of the bustling, vibrant streets outside the estate. I am so thoroughly captivated by the colorful stalls and lively crowds that I don't even notice when the carriage finally grinds to a gentle halt.
It is only after I step completely onto the cobblestone street and look up that I finally realize where we've stopped.
Towering in front of us is a massive, opulent building with grand glass display windows. Behind the polished glass, stunning gowns made of rich fabrics and intricate lacework are displayed like high-end museum pieces.
A boutique? I wonder, tilting my head as I take in the extravagant architecture.
Noticing my bewildered expression, Lily quickly steps up beside me and leans in, whispering softly into my ear. "My Lady, this is the most famous clothing shop in the entire capital. Their ready-made dresses cost at least five times more than any standard boutique in the city."
My eyes widen, but Lily isn't done.
"And if you prefer custom-tailored gowns," she continues in a hushed, reverent tone, "you have to make a reservation and wait at least one or two months just to secure an appointment with their head designer."
The sheer, ridiculous extravagance of it hits my practical, modern office-worker brain like a freight train. Five times the price? Waiting two months for a single dress?!
"What?!" I blurt out loud, completely forgetting myself. "Five times more expensive? And a two-month wait?! That's absolutely crazy!"
My voice echoes loudly against the polished stone pillars of the entrance.
Instantly, several passing aristocrats and wealthy patrons freeze, turning their heads to stare at me in utter shock. A pair of noble ladies behind their lace fans gasp softly at my sudden outburst.
Orlando, who is just about to lead the way inside, abruptly stops. He turns around slowly, his face a mixture of disbelief and deep exasperation.
"What on earth are you shouting about?" he mutters under his breath, stepping closer and giving me a sharp, warning glare. "Did you already forget your promise? You said you wouldn't embarrass the family out here! Stop talking nonsense and just follow me quietly inside."
A sudden flush of heat creeps up my neck as I feel the burning gazes of the surrounding aristocrats. Quickly lowering my head, I press my lips together in a tight, sheepish smile.
"I'm sorry, Brother... I'm really sorry," I whisper hastily, holding my hands up in defeat.
Orlando lets out a tired sigh, shaking his head before turning back around. I fall into step directly behind him, keeping my head high and taking quiet, graceful strides as we cross the threshold into the boutique.
If the building looked lavish from the street, the interior is an absolute masterpiece of sheer, absurd wealth. Soaring ceilings with glowing crystal chandeliers cast a soft light over pristine marble floors. Rich velvet drapes line the walls, showcasing display after display of breathtaking gowns, each woven with intricate gold thread, shimmering silk, and delicate laces that scream unimaginable price tags. But as beautiful as they are, my modern corporate brain can't help but look at those layers of heavy padding and steel boning with utter dread.
Noticing my round-eyed awe, Orlando stops near the center of the showroom and turns to me. "Go ahead and look around at the dresses," he says smoothly. "I'm going to speak with the management to arrange everything."
"Okay, Brother," I reply, relieved to get a moment to wander.
As Lily and I move toward a rack of jewel-toned silks, Orlando strides directly up to the front marble counter where a young receptionist sits reviewing a leather-bound ledger.
"Call your manager or the head designer immediately," Orlando demands, his voice cold and commanding. "I wish to speak with them directly."
The receptionist looks up, adjusting her lace collar. She offers a polite, albeit somewhat detached, professional smile. "I apologize, sir, but our manager is currently attending to another high-priority guest in the private parlor. You will need to wait a few minutes until her appointment concludes."
The air in the boutique instantly drops several degrees.
Orlando's eyes narrow into dangerous slits. His hands clench into tight fists at his sides as a sharp spark of irritation flares across his face.
"What did you just say?" Orlando's voice snaps through the quiet elegance of the room, turning several heads. "You want me to wait? Do you have any idea who you are talking to? Who do you think you are, asking a Valerius to sit around and wait for your convenience?"
The receptionist pales, her calm demeanor shattering instantly. "S-Sir, please! I mean no disrespect" she stammers, waving her hands in panic. "If you could just take a seat in the waiting lounge—"
"Quiet!" Orlando barked, his sharp tone echoing against the marble walls, his pride clearly offended by the clerk's audacity.
The receptionist looks utterly terrified, her hands trembling as Orlando's furious voice echoes through the boutique. Hearing the commotion, I freeze for a second. I've to do something, I tell myself. I can't just let him cause a scene.