The black stretch Lincoln glided smoothly along the highway toward Manhattan.
Helena sat on the plush leather seat. She wore a simple, perfectly tailored white sheath dress. She rested her arm on the door, watching the trees blur past the tinted window.
Across from her, Alaina sat rigidly upright. She wore a stiff navy blue business suit. Her hands were clamped tightly around a thick black folder resting on her lap. She kept biting her lower lip, chewing on the skin until it turned red.
The silence in the car was thick with Alaina's nervous energy.
Helena turned her head. "Nervous about the first day?"
Alaina jumped slightly. She nodded. "A little. I am worried I will not do well."
"You graduated from Parsons," Helena said smoothly. "You will be brilliant."
Alaina's eyes flickered with a brief light at the mention of her design school, but it faded quickly. She looked down at the black folder in her lap. Her fingers traced the edge of the plastic cover.
She took a deep breath, unclasped her hands, and held the folder out across the space between them.
"These are some of my sketches," Alaina said, her voice shaking. "Could you... could you take a look?"
Helena reached out and took the folder. She opened it and rested it on her knees.
Inside were pencil and watercolor sketches of evening gowns.
Helena's posture changed instantly. Her eyes narrowed in focus. Her thumb automatically moved to the seam of her white dress, rubbing the fabric in a slow, rhythmic motion.
The designs were beautiful. Alaina had raw talent. But the structural logic of the garments was flawed.
Helena turned the page. The silence stretched.
Alaina held her breath. Her stomach twisted into knots. She was terrified Helena would laugh at her.
"This draping is beautiful," Helena said suddenly. She tapped her finger against a sketch of a flowing blue gown. "The way you have handled the chiffon creates a sense of movement. Like water."
Alaina let out a shaky breath. Her shoulders dropped an inch.
"But for this silhouette," Helena continued, her eyes scanning the lines, "you might want to consider a heavier silk blend for the lining. It will give the skirt more structure without losing the flow. Right now, the weight of the bodice will drag the waistline down."
Alaina stared at her. Her mouth parted slightly.
Helena turned another page. "And here. The seam placement on the bias cut will pucker if you use this satin. Move the zipper to the side seam."
She spoke with absolute authority. It was the voice of a seasoned professional.
Alaina scrambled to open her purse. She pulled out a pen and leaned forward, writing notes directly onto the plastic sleeves of her folder.
"Helena..." Alaina stopped writing and looked up. "How do you know all this?"
Helena froze. Her thumb stopped rubbing the seam of her dress. She had slipped into her old life.
She looked at Alaina's wide, amazed eyes.
Helena let out a light, breathy laugh. She leaned back against the leather seat.
"I am not entirely sure, honestly," Helena said, waving her hand with a touch of hesitation. "I think I read it in an editorial in Vogue once? They were talking about how heavy fabrics need proper lining. Plus, I ruined a perfectly good bias-cut dress last year because the zipper was in the wrong place. You just pick these things up when you buy enough couture and ruin half of it."
Alaina blinked. The explanation fit the old Helena perfectly. The shopping addict.
Alaina smiled. The tension completely left her body. She reached into the folder, pulled out a sketch of a stunning red cocktail dress, and handed it to Helena.
"This is for you," Alaina said softly. "As a thank you."
Helena took the paper. She looked at the careful pencil strokes.
"It is beautiful," Helena said. "Thank you, Alaina."
The Lincoln pulled up to the curb in front of the massive glass-and-steel Hancock Group headquarters.
When Alaina stepped out of the car, she did not look at the ground. She looked up at the building, her chest filled with a new, quiet confidence. She walked close to Helena, trusting her completely.
