That evening during dinner, after Sasha’s visit to my room, my parents, just as Sasha had predicted, brought up the royal ball.
It was already a dead end. I had only one option left. I resigned myself to my fate.
Having no particular interest in fashion, I casually answered my brother’s question about my dress.
“You know the one I wore last year? That one’s practically new.”
It’s a stereotype that all women are crazy about clothes, jewelry, and bags. Likewise, the assumption that men don’t care about fashion is equally false.
Hearing my response, it wasn’t my parents but Sasha who protested vehemently.
Unlike other men, his love for romance novels already proved he had an above-average sense of sensitivity. As someone with a refined aesthetic sense, Sasha was particularly attuned to the latest fashion trends in the capital.
“Are you kidding? If you wear the dress from last year again, people will think the Roha family is struggling financially.”
“I barely wore it once! It’s as good as new! And if I get a new dress, I’ll just end up barely wearing that one too.”
As I scratched my ear absentmindedly, my father squeezed his eyes shut, clearly exasperated. Moments later, he issued a firm directive.
“Madam, call for a seamstress. Have them make an exquisite dress, no matter the cost.”
“No! Father, I don’t need one! Just give me the money instead!”
“It’s not wasteful spending; it’s the circulation of wealth! Besides, it’s an investment in my daughter.”
The father shook his head stubbornly as if to end the conversation. Shasha threw in a word next to him with a satisfied face.
“Mother, these days, Madame Dewey’s salon is all the rage. You should contact them.”
* * *
The Roha family had considerable wealth. While they might lack some of the political clout held by other noble houses, their financial situation was comfortably secure.
Thanks to the promise of an exorbitant fee, Madame Dewey, renowned in fashion circles, set aside all her appointments to visit our home early the next morning. With her plump figure draped in an elaborate gown, she exuded the unmistakable air of a fashion authority. Upon entering my room, Madame Dewey began taking my measurements and holding various fabrics against me, chattering away incessantly.
I didn’t understand half of the fabric names she mentioned, but she seemed to have found an enthusiastic conversational partner in my brother, Sasha Roha.
“My lady, your complexion is so flawless that you’d look good in anything. How about a brown dress to complement your hair color? It’d create a wonderfully sophisticated mood.”
“What about burgundy instead?” Sasha interjected. “It’s quite popular among women these days.’”
Madame Dewey’s eyes widened at Sasha’s suggestion. Giggling behind her hand, she replied cheerfully,
“Oh, my! The young lord has such a sharp eye for fashion. That’s right. Burgundy is a pretty good choice, too. Come to think of it, I thought of a burgundy fabric that goes well with such fair skin.”
“And wouldn’t gold accessories pair nicely with it? Clean and elegant.”
“It’s quite a challenging and bold choice. Ooh. You’re absolutely right—burgundy and gold make a stunning combination.”
“Uh, excuse me, but I have no idea what you two are talking about.”
Burgundy this, gold that. To me, it all seemed the same as brown—just slightly different shades of the same color.
As the conversation between Madame Dewey and Sasha showed no signs of ending, my patience began to waver. Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“What’s the difference between the dress I was planning to wear and this one you’re discussing?”
I couldn’t see any. Frustrated with being treated like a doll, I stormed over to my wardrobe and yanked out the dress I had initially planned to wear.
“Look at this. It’s almost the same color and design as the one I wore last year.”
Madame Dewey’s eyes widened in shock, but this time, for a completely different reason than when Sasha spoke.
“Oh my. My lady, you’re quite… um… understated, aren’t you? Unlike your brother,” she stammered, clearly struggling to choose her words delicately. Sasha gave me a mortified look, as if my mere existence embarrassed him.
“Just look carefully. This one is more vivid, and the other one is deeper.”
“Exactly! Vivid burgundy is so last season. Wearing this to the ball would be like screaming to everyone that you have no fashion sense!”
“That’s right. You’d be better off going naked than wearing this thing.”
“The young lord is right. He really is. Truly.”
I carefully compared the dress and the fabric once again to the conversation between Madame Dewey and Sasha.
No matter how closely I looked, the colors still seemed virtually identical. I couldn’t fathom how these two were holding such an impassioned debate over what seemed to me was a trivial detail.
Realizing this ordeal wouldn’t end anytime soon, I sighed deeply. Even as someone content with being a recluse, I knew when to cut my losses.
“Fine, fine. I’ll cooperate, but on one condition.”
“What is it?”
“I get cold easily, so I want a wide shawl.”
“What? A shawl…? Why would you need such an… elderly accessory?”
Madame Dewey asked me with a grim look. Sasha also nodded and responded.
“Exactly. Off-the-shoulder gowns are all the rage right now. Are you seriously planning to be the only one wearing a shawl? What would you do without me, honestly?”
What would I do? Probably live it up using the Roha family fortune, that’s what.
I stuck my tongue out at Sasha in defiance before reiterating my demand.
“I couldn’t care less about trends. If there’s no shawl, I’m not going to the ball. Make sure you have one ready. Got it?”
Seeing my resolute stance, Madame Dewey glanced nervously at Sasha for confirmation. With a resigned nod, Sasha signaled his approval, and Madame Dewey reluctantly followed suit.
Only after that did I finally resolve to cooperate fully with their little doll-dressing game. Any longer, and the process of making a single dress might have taken all day.
* * *
The day before the ball, the dress and accessories from Madame Dewey’s salon arrived.
Since the initial fitting, I’d had multiple appointments to try on the dress, each session filled with much fanfare and deliberation. Whether it was the painstaking selection process or Madame Dewey’s undeniable skill, the dress turned out to be undeniably stunning—even to someone like me, who barely cared about such things.
It was an off-shoulder dress in burgundy, a color that could easily veer into looking old-fashioned. However, thanks to its carefully crafted design, it exuded sophistication instead.
Puffy sleeves on either side and delicate ruching across the bodice lent the dress a charming elegance, while the voluminous skirt created a graceful silhouette.
As expected, Sasha’s meticulously detailed input ensured the dress suited me perfectly. Even my parents couldn’t stop talking about how they would entrust all future orders to Madame Dewey’s salon.
That is, until I donned the shawl. Thanks to my complaints about being cold, the shawl was made exceptionally wide and thick, resembling something a grandmother might drape over herself while knitting by the fireplace with a cat on her lap.
As soon as I put it on, the lovely detailing on the bodice was completely obscured, transforming the dress into something unremarkable.
Naturally, Sasha immediately voiced his disapproval.
“The shawl really doesn’t suit you.”
“Your brother is right. Showing your shoulders looks much more elegant.”
“But it’s so cold in the ballroom. I’ll catch a cold without it. I like the shawl. If you don’t let me wear it, I’m not going to the ball either.”
The shawl was my secret item. I pretended to compromise but laid down my ultimatum with conviction. My family, though displeased, had no choice but to relent.
I returned to my room. Then I began to choose a book with pleasure.
“You can only take one copy, so you have to be careful.”
In a room where no one was listening, I stood in front of the bookshelf and began to seriously pick out a book. I liked a thin, soft-cover book because it would be difficult to hide a thick hardcover.
“Hmm, <The Emperor in a Political Marriage is My Type>? Too predictable.”
Pass.
“<The Queen Marries Five Times>? A bit too risqué. Better not risk it in case I get caught.”
I prided myself on always planning for the worst-case scenario.
That’s when my eyes fell on a new book I’d recently purchased. A sleek, thin volume with a black leather cover.
“<The Demon Duke Is Obsessed With Me>…”
The more over-the-top a love story was, the more interesting it was. Obsessive male leads may be a cliché, but they’re a classic for a reason—and my personal favorite.
Nodding in satisfaction, I picked up the book. Its compact size made it perfect for hiding, which only added to its appeal.
I stood before the mirror and rolled the book carefully, tucking it into the bodice of my off-shoulder dress. Of course, hiding something there was bound to be noticeable, but with the shawl? The problem vanished.
“Oh! Perfect. This is it!”
I exclaimed, laughing with glee.
Royal balls might be exciting the first time, but after that, they’re just more of the same. The same people, the same dynamics. The popular ones soak up all the attention, while the outsiders like me are pushed to the fringes.
Sasha belonged firmly to the former group. I, on the other hand, was a textbook case of the latter—an outsider among outsiders.
“I’ll pretend to mingle while Sasha’s watching, then sneak off when he’s not looking.”
The only redeeming quality of royal balls was the desserts, which were far superior to what we had at home.
As for the rest of the evening? Sneaking into some random room, sprawling on a bed or sofa, and passing the time doing nothing was my specialty.
I did feel a bit sorry for Sasha, but he’d never caught on to my antics before. This time would be no different. Confident in my plan, I smirked to myself.
