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"Is this necessary?" Olruggio doesn't flinch away from the next pin at his waist, but he does track the assistant's smile in the mirror, hers barely hidden, unlike Qifrey's.
Qifrey flows forward, always where the assistant isn't with another roll of gauzy fabric and pins, to prod Olruggio's cheek. "Smile, Olly, this party is all for you."
"I don't want it."
Another swathe of lace pinned across his chest and Olly's shoulders slump in resignation.
"I know, but imagine the buffet spread."
"That's why I'm going." Olly shakes out his sleeves. "I bet I could fit a bottle up these."