“Good. But I’m still paying you. Then you can use the money to bring your other designs to life.”
I don’t wait for a response. Instead, I turn and walk out of the changing room.
Every woman in the shop stops and gasps.
Mum’s eyes instantly well with tears, the hem of the dress she was inspecting falling from her hands. Fiona, standing just behind her, starts to sob. Finally, I glance at May—her grin is huge, borderline manic.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” she squeals, rushing to my side and running her hands over the fabric, inspecting every detail.
“This stitching is impeccable. You handmade this?” she asks the woman behind me.
The woman’s face flushes pink as she nods. “Yes, it was just a sample, but it fits the little Luna perfectly!”
May beams. “In that case, I want you t
