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Designs on Love
-- EXCERPT: We spend about an hour and a half wandering around the small space until we’re back to where we started. From the landing overlooking the main entrance, I take a few extra moments to soak in all that we’ve seen. I feel like I’m inside a Barbie Dream House. “Do you think you have enough inspiration to finish putting your portfolio together?” Liz asks, leaning against the stairwell railing. “Actually, I have a small confession to make.” Heat sears through my cheeks. Liz turns and studies me for a moment, her lips thin. “Min, don’t tell me . . . Have you scrapped everything you had and started again?” I look away, bobbing my head up and down. “Gah, you’re such a perfectionist.” She sighs. “I suppose that’s why we get on so well.” “I think from what I’ve seen here today, I have enough ideas floating around my head to get started on a new collection.” “And to finish it?” “I’ll go to my usual place.” “The National Portrait Gallery?” she asks. “Uh-huh.” We begin descending the stairs, staying to the right. “Are you going to be able to finish before the deadline for the Clarissa Lee internship? It’s only two weeks away.” I wave her off. “I have plenty of time. I can get it done.” Liz mutters something under her breath that sounds like, “I hope so.” “I will, I promise.” Reaching into her pocket, she retrieves her phone. “I’ll set another reminder to myself to check in on you next week and the week after.” “You’re the best. Have I ever told you that?” She grins. “Yes, but not often enough.” “Come on, let’s stop by the cafe and grab a tea before we head out. My treat.” “How can I say no to that?” We exit the exhibit to the main museum and walk toward the gift shop. A banner advertises a few exhibits coming to the museum later this spring. Liz grabs my sleeve and stops me in my tracks. “Oy, Min, look, there’s an exhibit for the fiftieth anniversary of the Westminster Ballet in February. That looks like it’s right up your alley. Do you want to stop and book tickets for it while we’re here?” I swallow hard as my stomach muscles clench. It’s been four years since I was fired from the LABT. I should be able to look at a dumb ol’ tutu and not become so emotional about it. But I can’t. Artum managed to ruin the one thing I loved. I may have moved to London, started a new career, and a new life, but I still can’t seem to let go of the past. “No, I . . . I can’t,” I sputter. Liz has never pushed me to talk about the past, but she knows that I used to dance professionally. As she reads my body language, her face softens. “Tea, then.” Like a mother hen tucking me under her wing, she steers me toward the cafe and changes the subject. “Did I tell you that I have a few ideas for decorating my new flat? I’d love to hear your thoughts on it.” “OK,” I croak. Liz starts on about her bedroom, but my mind is still stuck on Artum. Will I ever be free from him? 
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