Page 95 of The Devil and His Goddess

“Harper,” I called happily as I approached her side.

Her dull gaze met mine. “Welcome back.”

“That project I’ve been working on is done. Would you like to come and see?”

She slowly nodded and gradually rose from the mattress.

I’d wanted to completely hide the fact that I was doing some sort of renovation in the house, but she’d notice the construction and installation work, as well as hear people coming and going from the house. So I’d told her I was doing something, but I hadn’t given her details. She hadn’t gone to sneak a peek, either, since she didn’t leave our room.

My heart pounded with nerves as I led her down the hallway to what used to be the gallery. True to their word, the guys from both the floor and mirror companies had made quick work, completing the task I’d given them in less than a week.

And thank fuck for that, because the excitement of seeing Harper’s reaction to the transformation was almost all that kept me going. It had been a little over a week since Harper’s world had been destroyed, and every single day, I’d seen more and more of the life leaving her eyes. The nightmares plagued her soon after she’d drift off to sleep, so I was constantly having to make her mind go blank.

Though, I was starting to doubt whether feelingnothingwas helping.

She stayed in bed the majority of the time, and when I or Aiysha convinced her to come out to eat or to watch their favorite show, she’d sit there with us while her mind remained far away, trapped in a never-ending cycle of torture.

I couldn’t breathe past the constant tightness in my chest. The helplessness consuming me made my dark mood at work worse, which was only a good thing when it came to interacting with Mandi.

Clearing all of the negative thoughts from my head, I stopped outside the closed doors to the old gallery and smiled down at Harper. She watched me with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity. That last emotion, that faint yet present yearning to know, had my throat closing with the first glimmer of hope.

Unable to speak past the lump in my chest, I opened the door and waved her in first. I’d already seen the gallery-turned-massive-ballet-studio, and right now, I didn’t care to take that all in again. My hungry eyes traced every inch of her face as she slowly walked into the room.

Her lips parted when she saw the floor had been replaced by ballet-ready vinyl and sprung hardwood. Her chest rose sharply as she spotted the wall that had once been adorned with paintings but was now floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Permanent barres had been fitted to the opposite wall, which her twinkling gaze scanned before moving to the portable barres that stood near the front window. Alongside them was a built-in wardrobe station. It held an array of leotards, tutus, and other ballet apparel, all in Harper’s size. A shoe rack contained every shoe Harper might need for any style of dancing, not just ballet. Not only that, but I had a mini bar fitted in the corner of the room to house snacks for fuel and a fridge for drinks.

Harper’s hands shook as she brought her fingers to her mouth and made a slow tour of the room in silence. She studied the new clothing with glistening eyes before reaching out to stroke the steele barre.

“You did all of this?” Harper whispered. She met my eyes and added, “For me?”

“Do you like it?”

“Like it?” She gave a breathy laugh and looked around the room in awe once more. “Perseus, this … this is amazing. And too much. You shouldn’t have—”

“Nothing,” I cut her off as I crossed the room to her in the blink of an eye. Lowering my voice, I lightly brushed the backs of my fingers over hers and finished, “Nothingis too much if it means bringing you even a little bit of happiness.”

The tears lining her eyes grew, and she bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. The fingers whispering against mine slowly wove together until our hands were joined like two perfect puzzle pieces. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, baby. You’ve been stuck away from home too long.” I waved my free hand around us. “So I thought I should bring home to you.”

She took a deep breath and looked around the room again. Her voice came out quieter than a passing breeze. “Home.”

I STOOD BACKSTAGE, WATCHINGSWAN Lakefrom the wings. My heart was cold and face devoid of all emotion as I watched Mandi prepare to enter the stage for the White Swan pas de deux. Xander stood next to me, invisible to all eyes and ears except mine. An eager grin was plastered on his lips while he bounced on his feet.

“This is going to be good,” Xander said. With a glance my way, he probed, “Last chance. Are you sure you want to do this here?”

“I’m sure,” I answered without hesitating. The people bustling about me were too busy with their tasks to notice me speaking to what would look like air to them.

Xander had expressed concerns about doing the final part of our plan during this show, not out of fear that we’d somehow get caught, but because he cared about me. Doing this during a Saturday night, sold-out show could tarnish Silverlight’s reputation, especially after we’d just moved our ballet schedule around. The risk was one I was willing to take. The retribution that would be served tonight far outweighed the company consequences.

Mandi, who had already been rattled from the past two weeks, began the White Swan pas de deux with Samir. Xander took his own place near them onstage, and while the audience watched the pair of white-clad dancers, I watched Xander. The Mischief demon studied the two dancers and waited for the perfect moment to strike. That moment came when Mandi, aided by Samir, went down into a penché. Her standing leg held her weight en pointe while she raised her other leg high to make a complete straight line with her legs.

Smirking deviously, Xander kicked his foot into the side of her standing leg knee. Her instant scream of pain pierced across the stage, echoing over the orchestra’s playing. Her leg snapped, buckled, and bent at an unnatural angle, making gasps ring out from the audience.

Damn Samir was a professional, though, and he’d felt the change in her body, which allowed him enough time to scoop her up into his arms before she fell to the floor. Without breaking character, he whisked her offstage, improvising the portrayal of a heartsick man who wanted a moment of privacy with his lover.

“Holy shit,” Samir gasped as he deposited a sobbing Mandi on a box once offstage. A crowd of staff and dancers who’d witnessed the disaster gathered around. “What—”

“Get back out there,” I ordered him. Catching sight of Carmen, Mandi’s understudy, I nodded toward the stage. “Both of you. Back out there. The show must go on.”

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