Page 96 of Grim
“Do you have any Manolos?” I ask without a trace of confidence in my voice.
Paloma’s face lights up. “Yes, we do. Right this way.”
When we arrive at the small white table with six pairs of shoes on display, Kane hums as he surveys the footwear. His focus is unwavering, his gaze bordering on obsessive. The silence stretches, and since these are my shoes anyway, I take a look at the table and make a pick. I point to a black patent leather heel with a single black strap over the toes and a thin black ankle strap with a small gold clasp.
Kane moans a low rumble in his throat as Paloma oohsaudibly at the same time.
“Not bad, Mayday, but not quite it.”
“Great choice,” Paloma says. “What’s your shoe size?”
“Seven,” I say as Kane speaks only to me. “Those, Rue. The ones to your left.”
He points to an open-toed sandal-style heel with a soft curve to the arch, a single strap in smooth leather, and a bow to secure it around the ankle in a rich crushed velvet of the purest black.
As Paloma begins to walk to the back, my eyes break from the shoe in my hand to Kane’s. His sinful smile is damn near edible.
“Wait,” I shout after Paloma. “On second thought, could I see this one too?”
“Ooh, the Chastanas,” the clerk says reverently. “Yes, queen.”
I take a seat as Paloma disappears to the back. She returns with two cream-colored boxes that reveal some of the nicest shoes I’ve ever seen, let alone tried on.
Paloma kneels and helps me slide into one of each—left foot in the patent heel, right foot in the Chastana. I stand to my full height. The contrast is immediate.
Kane says nothing. He just observes for a moment. His silence weakens my knees.
Finally, he breaks the tension. “Hmm,” he appraises with a delicious growl to his voice. “You’re more bows than straps, Mayday. A gift to be tied up, not a dangerous creature to be strapped down.”
My face floods with heat. “I’ll take the Chastanas,” I say, my voice rushed as I sit back down.
Paloma helps me remove and then box the shoes, and we head to the counter. “You’re going to turn a lot of heads in these.”
I glance briefly at Kane, and like he’s not standing right there, I answer honestly, “I’m only hoping to turn one head, Paloma.”
“Ooh, okay, girl. That’s a lucky person then.” The clerk scans the side of the box and looks up at me. “That will be eleven hundred dollars.”
“I’m sorry, what? Eleven hundred?” I exclaim, my voice hitting an octave I did not know I had.
“Mayday, calm down,” Kane says.
“These are more than shoes, girl. They’re a feeling, a statement, a purpose,” Paloma preaches.
“You can’t take it with you,” Kane reminds me with a smirk as I take a deep breath.
He’s right. The price tag doesn’t matter much since money won’t mean anything in a few short days. I ignore the pit in my stomach that realization invokes and offer Paloma my credit card.
“Wrap ’em up, Paloma,” I say, handing her the plastic rectangle.
Kane smiles and offers one more piece of encouragement. “And you can’t put a price tag on feeling good about yourself,ma chère.”
As we’re walking out of the store, bag in hand, I glance down at the box, then up to Kane. “I do feel decadent,” I admit, surprised by the weightless grin tugging at my lips. “It does not suck.”
Kane stops in his tracks and turns toward me. His voice is low, reverent. Like a vow. “Your father might have treated you like a princess, Rue Chamberlain,” he says as he traces my cheek with his thumb, “but I intend to make you a queen.”
NothingIsImpossible
Exiting the fluorescent jaws of the shopping mall, we step out into the open air, and the difference is immediate—no more synthetic oxygen, no more perfume traps, no more cursed overhead music trying to reanimate my soul through nostalgia.
