The Next Line ( The Lineage Series #2)

Chapter 14

Because if I really hated him?

I wouldn't still be thinking about that smirk.

By the time I done dealing with Joshuan, I found Luz Carvalho in her private design studio, surrounded by fabrics and sketches.

She beamed the second she saw me.

"Aurora, mija!" she said, pulling me into a hug. "I'm so glad that you could come."

I smiled. "I'm glad Luz."

She stepped back, giving me an appraising look, then nodded.

"You came for a dress."

I blinked. "How did you—"

She waved me off. "Your mother called ahead."

Of course she did.

Luz smiled. "Come. Let's find something that makes you shine."

As she led me toward the fabric swatches, I exhaled, pushing all thoughts of Joshuan out of my head.

Because right now?

The only thing that mattered was this dress.

And the performance that I decided to do for my family.

She was designing mine.

She led me into her private design studio, a space filled with rolls of luxurious fabric, mannequins draped in half-finished designs, and a large drafting table covered in sketches.

Everything smelled of expensive silk, fresh linens, and the faintest trace of her signature perfume.

I inhaled, already feeling a little less tense.

Luz turned to me, hands on her hips.

"Tell me, mija," she said, eyes warm, "what kind of dress do you want?"

I hesitated.

Because what did I want?

The truth was, I hadn't even thought about it.

All I knew was that I needed to look perfect.

Because that's what was expected.

Because this wasn't just a dress.

It was a statement..

That I wasn't just a dancer, not just my mother's daughter, not just a girl with too many expectations on her shoulders.

I was someone to watch.

And this gala was a stage.

Just like ballet.

And in ballet?

You never let them see you sweat.

I lifted my chin.

"I need something that stuns," I said simply.

Luz's lips curled into a satisfied smile.

"Ah, I see. You want to make them weep."

I grinned. "Yes exactly."

Luz pulled out rolls of fabric, running her fingers over delicate French lace, heavy velvet, shimmering silk.

She glanced at me every now and then, studying me like she was envisioning the final product already.

I didn't mind.

She was an artist.

And I was her canvas.

After a few moments, she nodded to herself, picking up a bolt of deep ivory silk with a slight shimmer.