Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
It’s not until I start to move the hangers around that I realize what it is exactly that I’m looking at.
They’re costumes, yes. Leotards and tights and more, duh.
But they’re not just any dancer’s attire.
They’re mine.
They’re all the ones I wore to every major performance I’ve ever had, including the showcase pieces from Greyson Elite and my solo in New York. The very piece my father had to sign a contract stating any damages done to the diamond-encrusted, million-dollar design, even during the performance, we would be liable for. Yes, my father could pay that without a single blink, but that’s not the point.
The delicate piece was created as a marketing tool and was auctioned off to the highest bidder a month after the final curtain closing last year. From what I heard, it was locked in a glass case in the center of DeLuca Diamonds in New York City, but it’s just hanging here as if it’s a simple piece of silk.
They’re all here.
Every. Single. One.
I look toward Grandma, who still stands just outside the closet entrance, but my attention latches onto a familiar faux fur jacket, the leopard print vibrant and the length nearly sweeping along the floor.
The clothes. The shoes and bags.
“These are all my things,” I whisper. From home.
“All your things and more,” Grandma comments.
“So this room…”
Her shoulders straighten, as if bracing for a fight. “Is your new room.”
My pulse beats a little faster and I peek at her from the corner of my eye. “And Enzo?”
She tips her head slightly, her gaze assessing, and when she speaks again, there’s something lighter in her tone. “Will come home to you here.”
I nod, turning back to the closet. My closet, before stepping out into his closet.
Our room.
This is our room. Mine and my husband’s.
I’m married to Enzo Fikile.
A tiny thrill slithers up my spine as my gaze lands on the bed, but there’s an anxious tug that comes with it.
My eyes stray back toward the closets, my mind reeling. Enzo prepared this room for us, bringing in all my things from home and arranging them just as I had them, taking what he saw and adding to it using the same styles. And the costumes, both new and old. The shoes.
My toes curl, an eagerness to get back into pointes nearly drawing me right back inside.
He’s given me everything I need now.
Is this why I was put in that other room? So he could prepare?
To give me time to warm up to him or maybe time for him to cool off after I pulled the disappearing act.
Why does he have my performance pieces?
How does he have my performance pieces?
He would have had to go looking, do some research to find out what showcases I’d been a part of and track down the costumes somehow. And the diamond piece…
I make it a point to remember to look it up, see if a certain jewelry store has been robbed lately…
That shouldn’t send a spark of electricity surging through my nervous system…but it does.
I bite my lip, tracing the length of the four-poster bed.
“Grandma…” I begin, hating the hesitation in my voice. “You said if I needed anything to let you know.”
I look to her, and her eyes tighten around the edges, showing her age a little more. “I did. I’m under clear instructions to indulge your every request, Miss Revenaw.”
“Good.” I nod. “Because there is something I need, and I’m not sure it can wait…”
Chapter
Sixteen
Boston
Enzo slams his glass down for the second time, and a man whose build matches the last one to refill it—though I couldn’t say for sure thanks to the bandana slung across his nose, hiding his face—steps in to pour him a third. And the food has only just been set before us.
His movements are jerky as he piles my plate, aggressively diving into his own. Even his chewing is vicious, and the sharp dip in his brows has yet to ease since the moment he stormed into the room, slamming into his seat without a word.
In fact, he’s yet to speak at all and we’ve been sitting here for no less than ten minutes.
“Bad day?”
Enzo’s eyes narrow on his plate. “What makes you think that?”
I swallow my bite, enjoying the red wine reduction as it washes over my tongue, and take my time answering. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you were in a very different mood when you left today—”
“You mean when you picked a fight with me, all so you wouldn’t have to acknowledge you enjoyed our morning together?”
“—and now you’re stabbing at your steak like you’re the one killing the cow.” I pretend he didn’t speak, and he huffs in further annoyance.
“I’d very much like to kill someone right now, actually. Thank you for the idea.”
I roll my eyes, letting my teeth scrape across the fork and chewing slowly as I go in for a third taste.