Like what you see then Io? His face was certainly scarlet now as an electric chill ran up his spine. Was he that easy to read?

And why had he assured the Queen he could complete the gown in her requested fabric? A simple explanation of the improper texture and malleability would have certainly made his life easier. Io wouldn't be at the mercy of Oriana this night at least. The problem was Io's inability to say no. Call it people pleasing or pride, he always convinced himself he could handle an overbooking or a particularly difficult commission. While timelines had been tight before, this was certainly the worst predicament he had gotten himself into of late. 

Io nearly jumped as the fabric was shoved into his hands, but he followed the seamstress, looking over her shoulder as she sketched. He couldn't help but raise his brow, finding himself nodding slowly. "It would be a start...I'd rather fallen out of usage of hoop skirts, but I do believe you're right...it would give the velvet the volume it lacks internally. We could even use a bit of wiring to add some structure to the shoulders," Io instinctively reached to slowly pull the charcoal from the woman's hand, adding a few more lines onto the sketch. "And pull the boddice into a tight cinch at the waist...like so. Perhaps even add a few accents with your expertise at embroidery."

The compliment would have tasted like bile in his mouth in any other circumstance, but the tailor found himself becoming excited. He hadn't felt inspired for any project the past few seasons, but this...this could be something original. 

"I do believe we might have something here, Oriana."

Her smile faltered, only for a moment, but the flush in the mans cheeks was surprising. She had thought his staring was out of annoyance but now she wasn't sure. Io was never a man she had tried to charm, they had hit the ground running as rivals and she had never looked back. And she was pretty sure he felt the same way, the blush in her cheeks though was not something she would expect from a rival and she was glad to be holding the fabric.

Listening to his words, it was annoying to admit there was a bit of skill in his thoughts. Clearly the man had ideas, and he wanted to sketch them too apparently. While she thought about holding onto the charcoal she let him pull it from her hands, but making sure to intentionally brush their hands together. "We could do slim the hoop skirt down a little too and thin the wire here." Smudging the drawings where she was taking about she thought it could be thinner and less bulky but complete the look she chewed on her lip in thought.

"We do when we talk about compensation for time and materials." A glimmer in her eyes, Oriana was out of her creative mind and back to her usual crafty one.

Io froze briefly as the woman's soft, delicate hand brushed against his in the exchange of the charcoal. It sent those same waves of hot and cold racing up his arm, adding to his growing confusion. He hadn't meant to do that. He simply nodded at her suggestion, not fully hearing or processing her words. Her eyes were a sparkling kaleidoscope of amber and hazel...had she always bit her lip so when thinking?

What are you doing Demeter? Keep your eyes on the prize...the gown, you idiot!

When she mentioned compensation, Io set the fabric down on Oriana's counter and began pacing. He wanted to lowball her: he had already lost significant funds in the now destroyed garnet velvet. Plus, she was his rival, and a bit of undervaluing each other was their mantra.

Another small voice inside reminded Io that he couldn't afford to lose the seamstress's help. Her ideas and fabric were exactly what he needed...she was good at her craft. 

"Fifty percent of the original commission, with your name as a contributor," the man found himself saying. He undid the top button of his shirt, pinching the fabric to try to fan himself. "Is it not incredibly warm in here to you?" Io asked weakly. 

He froze. Oriana wasn't sure what to make of that. Surely Io was just forgetting himself for a moment, lost in the panic of screwing up so badly and needing help. They were competition and it was cutthroat, so if he was going to be all weak about this it wasn't her fault. Well maybe it was considering she had done that on purpose, but this was too interesting of a development to ignore.

But once she brought up business again it seemed to fix whatever thread was loose in his mind to look at her with anything other than annoyance. The pacing was annoying but she just let him do whatever he had to do and got ready to put her foot down on whatever offer he was going to offend her with.

And then... "Fifty percent and my name? Just like that?" Watching as the tailor undid his top button and fanning himself with his shirt, the seamstress raised an eyebrow. "Are you quite well Io?" Pulling a stool over she put a hand on his shoulder to insist he sat. If he fainted he might pretend he forgot she was helpful.

Well? No, he was quite far from well. And the pressure of her hand on his shoulder certainly didn't help. 

Io let her push him into the seat, biting his lip as he tried to remember to breathe. With each breath came the faint smell of spiced fragrance...a perfume? He was half certain he was imagining it at this point. 

As darkness ringed his vision, he could nearly hear Taimi laughing at his predicament. His sister had often teased him about his rivalry with Oriana, speaking at length of the seamstress's better qualities. She would certainly think this whole situation entirely ironic given his prior protests. 

"Oriana, there is something very important you must promise me," he reached up to grab the hand on his shoulder tightly, braving a look up to her eyes. "Promise me you will never wear a dress made of that," Io pointed back towards the red velvet on the counter. "Around me." After a shuddering breath, he added a low, "I do believe it's your color. And it's making this rather difficult."

Oriana always wore some kind of perfume or scent. She attempted to always be a pinnacle of beauty, and smelling nice despite being on her feet all day was a must. Whether it was home made or from one of her connections, it was always different and unique. Today was a mix of cedarwood, mandarin and vanilla, but if she had known it would cause Io to almost pass out she would certainly start wearing it everyday.

It took a lot not to flinch from the shakey hand covering hers, but she remembered that she could break him in the blink of an eye and it calmed her down. That and the words that came from his mouth, which it was quite hard not to laugh at. She wondered if he had ever considered her a woman before this moment, or if she had just been a thing to deal with. Well she was just going to have to wear more red, specifically garnet apparently, because this was well worth recreating.

”So I can’t wear my best color because you find me too attractive in it? Io that is absolutely ridiculous.” Brushing her hair over her shoulder, a movement that would send a wave of her perfume his way. This was far more enjoyable an afternoon than she had imagined it would be when he strode into her store. And it wasn’t like he was bad to look at either, but she wasn’t about to pass out because of it. ”Maybe you’d prefer I wore nothing then?”

"Ah," Io had not thought that he could blush more than he already was, but her last statement proved him wrong.

His father had always said a man looked best in a three-piece suit, and a woman...

He looked away from her before his mind could entertain that fantasy visual too far. The desire was certainly there, especially now, but it was not right or proper. It was certainly the most sensual temptation Io struggled with: he might be twenty-three, but he had not so much as kissed a woman. Had there been a couple that expressed interest over the years? Perhaps, if Io thought back. But he had been dedicated to his work, socially distant and ever the picture of restraint. 

Perhaps it was because of the opposite activities of his father. It really was a wonder his mother agreed to marry his father: Io supposed a non-wed pregnant woman was considered a social taboo in Lorendale. Still, Rolt Demeter was a man who had no qualms appreciating the feminine form, even in whispers to his son's ears when a particularly well-endowed noblewoman crossed their paths. Io had hated it. Women were not objects for the pleasure of men. After all, how would he want other men to treat his mother and sister? As the full, amazing people they were. Certainly not just for their bodies. 

Do you expect to remain a stonewalled monk until a woman slips a ring on you? He could hear his father's voice chortle in the back of his mind. 

Sensuality had it's place: Io just was not sure how to handle it.

"Maybe," he shut his eyes briefly as a waft of the vanilla, citrus, and something with depth he couldn't place washed over him. "Ah, maybe we can focus on the gown...and work this out over a drink later."

The flush in his cheeks was, slightly adorable. The poor thing had no idea what Oriana could do and here was blushing about the idea of her being undressed. Was he picturing it? Maybe, and honestly she couldn't blame him after putting the idea in his head. Made it hard to pretend to be offended as well.

It was honestly interesting to watch the tailor in this moment, ducking his head and stiff as if he was still enough she might leave him alone or forget he was there. From the times they had met before and traded words back and forth, this was not a side she had seen in Io. She liked it though, he was human and had desires that could be bent like any other.

"As long as I can wear something red to this drink later." Moving to pick up the fabric she passed Io the drawing they had worked on together. "Where are we working then Io. I've got supplies here if you wish?" If he wanted to get down to business she could do just that. For a little while anyways. This was going to be part of her career now anyways.

"I suppose I can't stop you from wearing...or not wearing...whatever it is you want," Io replied meekly, taking the sketch from her hands.

Of course Oriana would toy with him: he shouldn't have expected anything else. Io felt very much the defenseless mouse to the mountain lion of Oriana's presence. He wanted to flee and kiss her at the same time. Despite their rivalry, Io did respect the seamstress: she knew how to build a reputation, networked well, and produced solid quality apparel. Based on her words and actions, he wasn't sure that the respect was mutual. But did he want it to be?

At that moment he was quite fine for the woman to disrespect him any way that she liked.

"Right," he shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. "Let's ah...let's work here then. See how much progress we can get done tonight."

This was just about the most fun she’d ever had with the royal tailor, and Oriana really wished his sister was around. Would have been far more fun to poke and prod with someone who would find his blushing just as hilarious. Alas she had to enjoy it all on her own since Io was clearly too uncomfortable to find it intriguing. One color completely changed his perspective, dresses had a way of doing that. ”I’m teasing you Io, I doubt we’d do any talking if I wore this color.”

A joke, although it wouldn’t have been the first time the store would be used for less than proper purposes. Those days were behind her though, at least that’s what she was going to tell herself. Proper ladies didn’t think about making a man beg, and she wanted very much to be the countess she had once been. You couldn’t have too much fun as a lady, goodness the scandal it would all cause, no she’d keep her hands to herself, at least for the most part.

”I’ll have Bethelda cover my one afternoon appointment and we can work in my space.” Leading the way with the fabric she would pull back a curtain that revealed her workspace, more of a mess then one might expect from her composed appearance. There were sketches pinned to a board and some scattered, scraps of fabric on the ground and table, and her ivory needles randomly poking out of pincushions. The only thing not a mess was a chest off in the corner, a pile of neatly folded linen on top. ”I’ll go tell her, get comfortable this is going to be a long night Io.” The fabric would be difficult to work with, she couldn’t deny that, but she also wasn’t going to rush which would prevent absolute ruin.

Io frowned a bit, perplexed. "Wouldn't talk...oh! Ah," he bit his lip again, wondering just how long his face would be stained red. "I ah...well, Oriana, that would be ah...another technique I'd have to learn from you," he scratched the back of his head, having a difficult time meeting the woman's gaze. "That is to say I ah...much like bone needles, I have no experience in that particular department."

What was he saying? Certainly Io couldn't help but admit to himself the growing desire, but should he not save himself for his future wife? He wasn't sure Oriana was the marrying, family type: and would a lady be upset to hear he had loved another woman in so intimate a manner? But was it love for Oriana? He didn't think so: it was a need and desire that her words and movements tickled, not a deep affection. And would he be upset if a potential courting partner told him she had known another man before their meeting? Honestly, Io didn't think so. How had the evening turned into this line of self-reflection?

The tailor followed her into the back room, surprised by the chaos he saw. He had certainly always imagined Oriana as put together as her public image. The mess distracted him from the allure of the woman before him momentarily, but her words quickly drew his attention.

"Alright," Io nodded, clearing his throat. "A very long night...of working."

As the woman left the room, Io doffed his coat and vest, laying them neatly on a seat. The freer his movements, the more comfortable he would be working for hours on the gown. He raised his hands above his head, leaning back with a flinch to pop his back. Hunching over tables to work certainly did no favors to his spine. His father had always complained of the back pain.

Io looked around the workroom once more, taking stock of materials and workstation. He began clearing off tables and the floor around them, neatly folding fabrics and sticking loose pins in Oriana's plethora of pincushions. A little bit of organization and cleanliness would certainly help him focus better, and could do no harm to Oriana. He paused for a moment to pick up one of the ivory needles, feeling the curious tool and gentle testing its sharpness against his finger. Was it truly the secret to working with velvet?

When Oriana returned, she would find him neatly laying out the velvet on one of the cleared tables, the floor cleared of hazards and fabric neatly stacked next to the chest in the corner.

The admission was certainly a bit of a surprise. Neither of them were nobles, at least currently, so the whole chastity and marry later thing wasn’t quite so life or death. She had always assumed he had some kind of romantic relationship with someone, it wasn’t like he was bad to look at. One might even say he was attractive, but Oriana was not going to be the one to say that aloud. ”You assume I have experience in the matter? How rude.” But her tone was teasing and not of one scolding as she probably should. It’s not like it really mattered, he certainly couldn’t go blabbing around since she could always bring up how he had ogled her.

Turning on her heel and leaving Io to either start or sit she made her way over to Bethelda. ”Mademoiselle would you mind covering my one afternoon appointment. It’s Lady Antebellum, all you have to do is the finishing touches and handle the last payment. She’s an amazing tipper it will be well worth the extra time.” All Oriana had to mention was the extra money and she was nodding her head and shooing her to the back. Tips were everything if it wasn’t your business, and while that was a bit of a loss, the project in the back was going to be well worth it in the end. Seeing as the tailor kept up the bargain.

Walking back and through the curtain, her smile dropped off her face for a moment, a mix of shock and anger displayed for a moment before a polite but thin smile plastered back on. ”Io, what did you do to my workspace.” Her eyes darted to the linens on top of the chest, thankfully unmoved. Explaining a chest of bones was impossible so she would have just had to kill him. For now she could just be annoyed that he had come into her place of work and made it his. ”Did you forget were you where for a moment?”

Oriana's attitude relaxed him; he hadn't offended with his words.

When he looked up as Oriana returned, he stood stone-stiff and straightened up. The thought of defending himself and pointing out the room was much more functional zipped through his mind only briefly. It was a pang of guilt, and a bit of fear, at her brief expression that caused him to instinctually lower his head like an abashed puppy.

"I'm sorry, I was trying to be helpful but it is clear that I was not," Io moved to pick up the folded and sorted fabrics, looking down then around the workshop. "I can fix it and put it back...though I do insist on not replacing the runaway pins to their hiding spots, being a safety hazard for you. I am very sorry, Oriana, I should not have overstepped my boundaries to control your workspace."

Internally berating himself, he undid the fabric organization, putting things back as he remembered them...the green silk by the leg of the table, the blue cotton hanging over the wardrobe...Just what he needed, upsetting the woman he was attracted to by stepping in to clean and control like some uninvited mother-in-law. Io would certainly do his best to set things right, even as the clutter made him rather uncomfortable.