They look so put together and?—
I finally put my finger on why I thought she looked familiar.
She’s Alora Briarwood.
I remember seeing the articles about her family and what she’s gone through. She’s resilient and, a powerhouse, turning her family’s multimillion-dollar businesses into an even more successful conglomerate.
She digs her phone out of her bag. “Would you consider doing custom work at all?”
“Uhh, uhh … y-yeah. I’d be honored to!” A smile takes over my face, and I right myself, adjusting the bag on my chest.
“Perfect. What’s your number? I’ll text you details about what I’m kind of looking for, and we can go from there.” She looks at me, waiting for my response, but I’m in shock.
I hastily shake the stupor. “Yeah. That’d be great.”
I give her my number, and she immediately shoots me a message.
Unknown: This is Alora! So excited to work with you!
Beaming, I quickly save her Contact. “Got it. Send me the details, and I’ll sketch some pieces up!”
“You’re amazing,” she cheers. “Can’t wait. Blair, should we get you something made?”
Blair waves her hands. “Oh, no, I don’t need anything!”
Alora butts in with a wink, “We’ll do something for her too.”
“Okay.” I chuckle.
Alora takes a step forward. “We’d better get going. But it was so nice meeting you …”
“Cirella. Cirella Ch—” I stop myself, almost using my real last name. “Matthews.”
“Cirella Matthews.” She smiles. “Have a good day!”
They walk off, and my body moves forward all by itself. There’s no way that really just happened.
I’m going to be doing custom work for someone!
“Gus! Can you believe it?” I squeal once we’re out of earshot. “Best day ever.”
We stop by the fabric shop on the way back, collecting material for Adrianna’s dress and window-shopping for all the prints and expensive textiles I want to get one day.
My stepmom must sense happiness in the air because she’s waiting in my room when I return, sitting on my bed with a bag in her lap and her cat at her feet. Gus sinks deeper into my pocket, and I hold my breath, hoping she didn’t see him.
“Hi,” I greet her.
The hairs on my arms stand up, and my throat tightens—my body’s natural response to being in her presence.
“Hi.” She mocks me. “Where have you been?”
“I-I had class,” I lie, weight pushing down on my chest. I lift the bag from the fabric store in my hand. “Then I stopped to get fabric for your garments.”
She squints at me. “Really? Did you go anywhere else?”
When she stands to her feet, I stutter-step backward.
Slowly, I shake my head, not wanting to tell her I went by my parents’ house. She doesn’t like when I go there without permission—or doanythingwithout her permission—which is exactly what she denied me of this morning. But I went against her wishes and did it anyway.
