The Cinderella Moment Read Online Free PDF Page A

sketches.
    There were dozens of drawings of every kind of outfit in pastel, pencil and ink. Among them were several sketches of the silver-and-black cocktail dress, each beautifully executed.
    Angel stared at the pictures, trying to absorb the designer’s vision, then considered the dress on the dummy. She wrinkled her nose, the cut was better than average and Clarissa’s sewing was good, but something was not quite right— 
    Angel looked through the pile of sketches again and frowned. The artist had talent, but not many of the designs seemed original. Puzzled, she leafed through the drawings, trying to recall where she’d seen that off-the-shoulder, slashed-hem evening dress before. And the suit with the short bolero jacket and the tight buttoned legs…
    Then she remembered. It’d been in an old Vogue magazine, in an article about a Spanish designer who’d died years ago.
    Angel sat back on her heels. It was the same with nearly all the pictures: the artist could certainly draw and definitely had a talent for copying, but that was all.
    Except for the dress on the dummy.
    There, at least, the designer had achieved something fresh and new, but when Angel looked at the rest of the drawings she could see nothing original—and not a single idea that she hadn’t already seen in one of the major fashion magazines.
    She piled the sketches on the table and reached for those near the bed. They were of the cocktail dress and, as she picked them up, Angel noticed the signature— CK —and on the next sheet, a flamboyant “ Clarissa Kane ,” and beneath it the words: Teen Couture .
     
    ***
     
    Angel’s jaw dropped. Suddenly it all made sense: the sewing things, the dressmaker’s dummy, the Japanese silk. Clarissa was entering the Teen Couture. She couldn’t believe she’d been so slow to realize it. But it was a leap to think of Clarissa—despite her job with Miki Merua—as being like herself: a girl with a passion, who loved to create and who wanted to win the Teen Couture more than anything else in the world.
    Of course, Lily had told her about Clarissa’s ambition, but stupidly Angel hadn’t thought of her entering the Teen Couture. She studied Clarissa’s sketches again and thought of the effort and determination needed to produce so many drawings and five individual hand-sewn garments.
    She stared at the unfinished dress on the dummy. The fabric really was exquisite. If Clarissa could make it work, the dress would probably be a contender for the finals.
    The bathroom door opened and Clarissa emerged.
    “You’re still here?”
    “Sorry,” said Angel, groping under the bed. “Almost done.”
    “Well, hurry up. I want to get dressed.”
    Angel grabbed the last errant page and pulled it towards her. She drew it out and found it was attached to a sketchbook. Standing up, she brushed the dust bunnies off the blank page and held it out. “This must be yours.”
    To her astonishment, Clarissa leapt forward and snatched the sketchbook from her hand. “How dare you touch my things!” she snapped, flipping the book closed. As the pages fell together Angel caught a flash of something red. For a split second she felt an odd sense of déjà vu before Clarissa let fly and the moment was gone.
    “How dare you come in here! You shouldn’t even be upstairs! You’re nothing but a cook’s daughter from the kitchen!” Clarissa seized Angel’s arm and herded her to the door. “Get out! Get out, Angelique, and go back to the kitchen where you belong!” She pushed her into the hall and slammed the door behind her.  

 
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Four
     
     
    Angel leaned against Clarissa’s door trying to breathe. Her heart was pounding and she was still trying to work out what had just happened when Lily came out of her room.
    “My Angel.” Lily took her arm and headed for the stairs. “Have you been visiting the evil diva? What did she want?”
    Angel thought quickly—if she told Lily what’d happened