Clary POV
There is only one person in this whole entire castle who likes me and is not a servant—not really. She stands before me, her long black hair flying around when the wind hits it. She sighs, rolls her dark eyes, and pushes it up in a ponytail. Her mother would be horrified.
"So," Isabelle says, placing her hands on her hips. "You said you needed help?"
"Yes," I tell her. "It's—Jace invited me and my daughter to have dinner with him, and I have nothing to wear."
Isabelle grins. Clearly, I made the right choice, calling upon her. She was kicked out of her house when she was fifteen, and since then, Jace gave her refuge. She only started to work as a designer for fun, but anyone can tell she loves it. But then he said she had to work in order to live in the house, and so she became the clothing designer and maker.
"Did you have anything in mind?" she asks me, dragging me out of the field and into the castle. We pass a few servants, friends of mine, and greet them. It's all very surreal, walking around with Isabelle. It always has been.
"Momma!" says Brooklyn from behind us, making me jump, startled. "Where are you going?"
"Brooklyn," I say with a sigh. "Honey, I'm gonna go get ready for dinner. Isabelle is going to gives us some dresses! I'll give you yours once you're done with chores."
Brooklyn pouts. "Why, mommy?"
"Because they come first."
"Fine," she says, lifts her chin, and stomps away. Great. Now Brooklyn's mad at me.
"Don't worry," Isabelle says. "She'll come around."
"She loves Jace." I probably have a wistful expression on my face, because Isabelle stiffens.
"Please, please don't tell me you like Jace," she pleads.
"I think I do," I admit. He has been on my mind nonstop.
"Clary," she says, and that, of course, brings me back to Jace. After all, they are the only two people that call me that. "You cannot possibly be attracted to my brother. He isn't what you want."
"He's been nice to Brooklyn and to me," I insist. "He's amazing."
"He's an idiot. Probably playing with you," she says, and I know she isn't lying, but I can't bring myself to care. All I can think is he's the guy who asked me to draw him, who wants me to have dinner with him, and who Brooklyn loves.
I sigh and say, "I don't think he is."
"You're a hardheaded person, you know that?" Isabelle shakes her head. "Come on, let's go get you ready."
When we get to Isabelle's room, she puts a blindfold over my eyes and tells me to sit down on a wooden chair in front of a mirror. I comply. When she asks me to stand up, I stand. When she says to take my clothes off to try out the dress on me, I do so, even though I am reluctant. I wait until she is done with everything, tells me to sit back down with clothes on, and goes to look for Brooklyn. Time to get her ready, too.
After about an hour, Izzy takes off the blindfold and spins me around. I see myself in a light purple dress. It is long, reaching my feet, designed with cloth flowers falling over it. It has no straps, no gems, nothing fake in it. t's flowing and has cloth flowers on it. It feels natural, extremely comfortable.
"Mommy! You look pretty!" Brooklyn says, running over to me and giving me a hug. I grin at her and see she's in a light purple dress. It has a deep purple sash. There are some sown on flowers. I adore it.
"Thanks Isabelle. We love them," I say and hug her.
She hugs me back but says, "I'm doing Brooklyn's hair. Then I'm doing yours." There's no room to argue. I look at the clock on the wall. There's about an hour until the dinner. "Don't worry. You'll both be done and down there with fifteen minutes to spare."
"Fine," I say. "And thank you. Really."
I sit back in a spare chair and watch as Isabelle takes my daughter's hair and messes with it. Brooklyn lets out a silent cry or two, biting her lip because of the pain. She always does that when someone is messing with her hair, yanking at it. I tell her she'll look pretty, and she smiles. At the end, she's always pleased. Isabelle takes some straightening item and passes it over her newly brushed hair over and over. Brooklyn has finally relaxed. She looks at me through the mirror and gives me two thumbs up. I smile at her and wave while waiting for Izzy to be done. She is done with the iron, brushes her hair, and takes a few pins. I notice they're purple. She places them carefully on either side of her hair, then spins her around so I can see her. I gasp. The girl is my daughter, only fancier-looking. Her beauty is shown more than before, and I am glad. Her light brown hair is straightened, her normal curls no longer there. She has two decorative, flower-shaped pins on her hair.
She looks beautiful.
"You're welcome," Isabelle says. "You're next, Clary."
I sit on the stool and let her work on me. I bite my lip to keep myself from crying out sometimes, just because it hurts. It brings tears to my eyes, but I shake them off. I will look pretty. I keep my eyes closed, ready to be surprised. I feel heat. Is she working on straightening my hair, too? Brooklyn gasps.
"Beautiful," she murmurs from beside me, and I smile, my eyes still closed.
"Done," says Isabelle, sounding pleased with herself. "You can open your eyes now."
I do, and when I see myself in the mirror, I gasp. My hair is curled, tied back with bobby pins only. No curls are falling on my face. My hair barely reaches my shoulders. The curls, once messy, look fancier, now copper ringlets.
"Thank you so much," I say, giving her a tight hug and a kiss in the cheek.
"No problem. But, Clary? Be careful." She looks worried.
I ignore her warning. "Come on, Brooklyn. Jace is waiting."
