Rory felt color rise in her cheeks. It was true. Or maybe she’d never been able to see herself. “So what do I wear? I hate fussing with outfits. Not that it matters. Whatever I put on looks wrong.”
“Ah, but when you buy the right clothes, you don’t have to fuss. It all works together. Like the pieces you’ll choose for your gallery. You want them to say something to the people who see them. You’re after a theme, a statement. Clothes are the same.”
Soline took her by the shoulders, turning her to face the mirror. “Look at your shoulders, strong and square. The long legs and narrow hips. You’re lean, but not stringy like those silly models. You exude power—or you will when we dress you properly. You need pieces that play up your shape instead of hiding it. Tailored shirts and blazers. Wide-legged trousers to balance the bottom with the top. Pinstripes. Checks. Yes, and tweed, I think. Jewel tones will work wonderfully with your coloring too. No more beige. And absolutely no lace of any kind.” She smiled secretively as she caught Rory’s eye in the glass. “Unless it’s underneath.”
Rory stared at her reflection, trying to mentally swap her Red Sox T-shirt and lumpy sweatpants for anything remotely resembling what Soline had just described. “In twenty minutes you figured all that out?”
Soline shrugged. “I’ve been dressing women for forty years. We’ll go shopping next week.”
“We as in . . . both of us?”
“Unless you don’t want to.”
“No, I’d love it, but are you sure?”
“Yes. But only this once, as a kind of training exercise. Next time, you’ll do it on your own. Or with your maman. No, don’t shudder. Once you know what works for you, you’ll have confidence to choose for yourself. That’s what style does for a girl.” She paused, squinting at Rory’s reflection. “Have you ever thought about cutting your hair?”
Rory scowled at the mirror. “I know, I need a trim. It’s on the list.”
“No, I meant short, like this.” She reached around, gathering Rory’s hair to the crown of her head. “You have beautiful cheekbones and a lovely neck. Wearing it short would show off those beautiful eyes too. And you have such good hair. Paul would love to get his hands on it.”
Rory found herself grinning. “My mother would have seven fits. She thinks I’m half a boy as it is.”
“You wouldn’t look like a boy, Aurore. You’d look beautiful. Chic.”
“Chic,” Rory repeated softly, catching Soline’s eye in the glass. “Me?”
“Oui, chérie—you.”
Rory stared at her reflection, trying to imagine her mother’s reaction to the kind of cut Soline was suggesting. She’d asked to cut her hair short once, when she first started swimming, because it was such a pain to stuff it into her swim cap, but her mother had been adamant. Young ladies do not lop off their hair for the sake of convenience. She hadn’t thought about cutting it since. But she was definitely thinking about it now. It would have to be a surprise, though. If she breathed a word to her mother, she’d wind up getting talked out of it, and she was pretty sure she didn’t want to be.
Soline caught her eye in the glass. “What do you think?”
“I think I might want to. But I’m not telling my mother until it’s done. She won’t be happy, but by then it will be too late.”
Soline said nothing, but the corners of her mouth turned down.
Rory shot her a sheepish grin. “I know. I seem to be taking up an awful lot of your time lately. What’s the going hourly rate for fairy godmothers these days?”
“It isn’t that,” Soline said, letting Rory’s hair spill back down around her shoulders. “I’m happy to help.”
“Then what?”
“I can’t help thinking your mother is going to resent me for the new you. From what you’ve said, she doesn’t seem the type of woman who’d appreciate another woman’s interference. And were I in her shoes, I might feel the same.”
Rory thought about that. She made a valid point. Soline was the last person her mother would want giving her fashion advice—or anything else—but she really did need guidance. In so many things. And from someone who knew what it was like to have to reinvent herself after life had knocked her down. Camilla had never been anyone but who she was right now. Stolid and perfect and in control of every facet of her life.
“Then we’ll just have to make sure she doesn’t find out,” Rory said finally. “I’ll tell her it was all my idea. Now, how do I find this . . . Paul, was it?”