A soft pink stain crept onto Sisse's cheeks. He'd remembered. Unable to look at him she kept her gaze on the flowers above them for a moment longer as she answered, "I have." It was beautiful too. Nothing like her original sketches. She'd poured over fashion plates from French all fall and then fashioned the gown in honor of a rose. A British Rose was what she hoped to evoke in the evening of the ball. Much to Matthew and Henry's annoyance she had gone to fabric store after fabric store over Christmas break until at last she had found what she was looking for, the perfect texture to evoke a soft petal. And then she'd trusted the gown to the seamstress.

"Twilift and Twittings has done a beautiful job with it." Sisse told him, finally looking over at him, taking in his handsome face and the softness that she was, perhaps, imaginings in his eyes.

For a moment she toyed with telling him about Calla's gown but then she found herself deciding that she might as well. "[b]I asked Calla to consider wearing the design that I made for Sloane.[b]" She told him, her voice soft, almost cautious between them. In a way it was more intimate to bring this up, to think of this now when so much had passed between them since that summer afternoon so many months ago. He'd seen her angry, he knew what her lips felt like, he knew her passions in a way even her friends did not, and yet there was no hope between them. No thought that perhaps this would go somewhere else. Which made the admission like a jagged edge, something that he could use to break even this tentative link between them.