The racks arrived like quiet cavalry: four long rails of clothes floating through the door on soft wheels, two seamstresses in tow, and a full-length mirror big enough to make a ballroom insecure. The delivery crew looked ready to wrestle; Cecilia thanked them, waited until they'd stepped back, and pushed the heaviest rack across the living room one-handed as easily as if it were a well-behaved cat.
"Is that… safe?" Douglas asked, eyebrows somewhere above strategy altitude.
Cecilia's smile had edges, but the soft ones she reserves for family. "It's on wheels," she said, which was technically true and wildly insufficient as an explanation for the way steel obeyed her.
