"Oh good," she snapped. "We're aligned."
"I assume you'll be taking matters into your own hands," Edward said delicately.
"I already am. I'm two blocks from Gloria's. I want the Empress's wing cleared for a fitting by the time we arrive. And send the royal designer on holiday. Somewhere cold. With no return ticket."
"Done. I'll say it's an emotional burnout leave."
"Make it spiritual."
The call ended in mutual silence and understanding, with Edward already preparing damage control and Alexandra preparing for war.
The atelier loomed to the left, like a blessed fortress of reason. She didn't wait for the driver to stop fully before opening the door and sweeping inside.
Inside, Gloria had barely taken her first sip of coffee. Her silk robe was still tied, her hair half-pinned, and three assistants were fussing over a mannequin in something tastefully scandalous.
Then the door slammed.
"Alexandra?" Gloria blinked. "You're early—"
