Bound By Deception|18+

11

Aria

Dove is perched on the edge of her desk, one leg crossed over the other, eyeliner in one hand and the other bracing my chin gently.

"Stop squinting," she warns, narrowing her eyes. "This is how I accidentally stab you."

"I'm not squinting," I mumble. "I'm just... bracing for impact."

She snorts. "You act like I've got a scalpel. It's eyeliner, Aria. Be brave."

"That's rich coming from someone who cries during Grey's Anatomy reruns."

She laughs, and the sound softens the air between us. Her curls are piled on top of her head, messy and elegant at the same time. She smells like vanilla and setting spray and something like safety.

There's something soothing about the way she focuses when she does makeup—like it's not about looks at all, but control. Art. Escape.

"Can I ask something?" I say after a few quiet beats.

"You already are."

I give her a look, and she smirks.

"What's the deal with you and Kalani?"

She pauses, just for a second, enough to catch it.

"We've always been in competition," she finally says. "Every dance studio, every audition, every performance. It's like we can't exist in the same room without being compared."

"Who's better?"

She smiles. "Depends on who's judging."

There's no venom in her voice. Just history, maybe even admiration.

"She's good," Dove says. "Perfect posture, insane discipline. She'll go far in life. Probably be a prima ballerina in some European company while I'm here pretending to like fruit smoothies for Instagram."

"You don't like smoothies?"

"I like pancakes. Don't tell my trainer."

We both laugh, but then she sighs, more serious now.

"In another life," she adds softly, "I think we could've been friends."

"What about Spencer?" I ask gently. "Do you think that's part of it?"

She hesitates again, longer this time. Then she sets the liner down and starts rummaging for highlighter like she needs the distraction.

"He's... complicated," she says. "And sweet. Too sweet for someone like me."

"You think you're too much for him?"

"No," she replies. "I think I'm wrong for him. He wants someone who can give him softness. Stability. I'm all sharp edges and second guesses."

She looks up at me, a little cracked around the edges. "It sucks, you know? Knowing someone sees you like you hung the moon, and not being able to feel the same. I wish I could. But enough about me...how are you holding up?"

My chest tightens.

"I miss them," I whisper. "My parents. Some days I can't even look at myself without seeing my mom's smile or hearing my dad's laugh. And other days, I forget what they sounded like. That's the worst part. The forgetting."

Dove's expression softens. She kneels beside me now, her hand slipping into mine.

"I know I can't fix that," she says gently. "But... you can borrow mine, if you want."

"Your what?"

"My parents. They're loud and a little ridiculous and constantly asking me when I'm going to bring home someone normal. But they'd love you."

My throat tightens with the kind of ache that sneaks up on you.

"Thanks," I say, voice barely above a whisper.

"No thanks necessary." She nudges my shoulder. "Sisters don't need permission."

That word—sister—wraps around my ribs and pulls tight.

We both go quiet. She picks up a brush again, returning to her work, this time with a different kind of care, less precision, more love.

Then she smirks. "So, are we going to talk about the way you look at Oliver like he owes you something... and you plan to collect?"

I nearly choke. "What?"

"Please. If looks could kill, he'd be six feet under. Or six feet on top."

"Dove!"

She cackles. "I'm just saying. You act like you hate him, but your pupils do backflips every time he walks in."

"You're impossible."

"And you're in denial."

I narrow my eyes at her. "Fine. But you and Wen?"

She groans. "Nope. Absolutely not."

"Come on..."

"He's smug. Infuriating. And way too into his own jawline."

"You're blushing."

"I'm overheating from this curling wand, shut up."

We dissolve into laughter again, real, messy, ugly snorting laughter. And for a second, there's no ball. No masks. No heartbreak. Just the two of us, tangled in the comfort of knowing someone else is there.

When the laughter fades, she squeezes my hand one last time.

"You've got me, Aria."

"And I've got you."

It's not just a promise.

It's a truth.

I may have lost the family I was born with, but in Dove, I've found the sister my heart was still searching for.

~*~

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