I follow in a daze, my heart already racing toward tomorrow.
Dinner is an elaborate affair served in a dining room that could seat thirty, though tonight it's just the five of us at one end of the long table.
Crystal and china.
Candles flickering in silver holders.
Wine that probably costs more than most people’s rent.
The walls are lined with oil paintings—landscapes mostly, the wild Irish countryside rendered in dark greens and moody grays.
A massive fireplace dominates one wall, the flames casting dancing shadows across the Persian rug.
This is old money meets new power.
The kind of wealth that's been built and rebuilt and built again, each generation adding another layer to the fortress.
The conversation flows easily—Doran and Aleksandr discussing business in vague terms that tell me absolutely nothing, Rev and Greer talking about some charity gala coming up next month.
I eat and nod and laugh in the right places, but my mind keeps drifting.
The salmon is perfect.
Flaky and rich, dressed in a dill cream sauce that melts on my tongue.
I barely taste it.
Tomorrow. Nine sharp.
"The Dublin Fashion Council wants to feature you in their fall showcase," Greer says to me, and I nearly choke on my wine.
"I'm sorry—what?"
"They've been watching your work. The structured pieces from the winter line caught their attention." She takes a delicate bite of her salmon, completely unbothered by the bomb she just dropped. "I told them you'd consider it."
"You told them I'd—" I set down my fork before I drop it. "Greer. That's... that's one of the most prestigious showcases in Europe."
"I'm aware."
"They feature designers with decades of experience. Household names."
"And emerging talent, when that talent is worth featuring." Her eyes meet mine across the table. "Are you not worth featuring, Dalla?"
It's a test.Everythingwith Greer is a test.
"I am," I say, and I'm proud that my voice doesn't shake.
She nods once. "Good. We'll discuss the details after I've seen your portfolio."
I pick up my fork again.
My hand trembles slightly, and I grip the silver tight to steady it.
What if she hates everything?
What if she was wrong about me from the start?
What if I've been fooling myself for five years, playing designer when I should have stayed in med school like my parents wanted, followed the safe path, the predictable path?—
