Page 62 of Dance of Devils
“I… I’m pretty sure it’s the same guy who was looking for you at my place the other day.”
A numb, icy sensation trickles down my spine and wraps an arm around my middle, making me shudder.
“Huh.”
Maya groans. “Fuck, you’re totally freaked out now.”
“No, I'm not!” I lie, forcing a light laugh.
“It was probably someone else,” Maya continues. “Seriously. I mean, it’s like one blurry frame. Anyway.” She changes her tone. “I figured you’d want to hear about Zak.”
I grin. “You figured right. Thanks for telling me.”
I hang up with a shudder.
Woah. I’m not always a big believer in fate. But when Zak gets beaten to a pulp the day after he hits me?
Karma's a bitch, baby.
I obviously don’t tellVal and Evie the real reason I’m staying late tonight. Instead, I mention using the gym downstairs. Val, of course, jokes that I’m just trying to sneak a peek of Kir without his shirt on, same as Evie.
That getsmeblushing about as red as Evelina.
Even though I’m going to be dancing again, I decide to take a quick shower.
…To rinse off the day, obviously.Notbecause I’m preening for Kir.
I’mnot.
When I go back to my locker and open it, I freeze.
What thefuck?
My skin prickles as I pull out the brand new Hermes quilted duffel bag.
It hasmy nameembroidered on the side of it.
I blink quickly, setting it on the bench and tightening the towel around my body as I slowly unzip it.
Holy shit.
It’sfilledwith dance stuff: slippers, tights, leotards, rehearsal tutus, leg warmers, little wrap tops…the whole bit. When I look closer, my eyes widen.
It’s not cheap stuff, either. It’salltop-of-the-line brands.
Two Nikolay Grishko warmup sets. A dozen Luckyleo Couture leotards. Three pairs of Repetto's new F.I.T. leather slippers that everyone's been raving about but which areobviouslybeyond my budget. And…oh, God…
My jaw drops when I read the little note hand-written in perfect penmanship on cream-colored card stock:
“A personalized fitting has been arranged for you at Freed of London with two hundred pairs on order.”
My throat tightens. Pointe shoes aren’t cheap, and when you dance professionally, you can go through two pairs a week. I mean Naomi blew through three pairsa nightwhen she was playing the Odette/Odile role forSwan Lake. Freed of London, being that they make gorgeous hand-made shoes, is the absolute other end of the spectrum from “cheap”.
Twohundredpairs is enough to easily get me through the year. It’s also like thirty-fucking-thousanddollars worth of shoes, and I’m not quite sure how to actually grasp what I’m looking at.
“You needed an upgrade.”
I almost jump out of my skin, whirling at the sound of his voice. My eyes widen, and my hands grip the towel more tightly.
