Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 103852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
They smell like Mom, Dad, and bright memories.
I refuse to associate them with the day when everything ended. I place the roses back on the table and take the card, grinning as I read it.
You’re the most beautiful flower on earth, Duchess. You not only grew on the harsh pavement, but you also flourished. Keep growing. I’m proud of my little Duchess.
Love,
L.
Luca.
We might not see each other often, but my friendship with him will always be there.
My smile pauses when I lift my head to look in the mirror. I’m in a soft pink tutu with a muslin bodice and a tulle skirt. It’s tight around my breasts and waist but is wide at the bottom.
My hair is pulled up and my face is full of glitter and layers of makeup. I don’t have the time to remove it, because if I don’t leave right now, one of the producers will corner me and force me to attend their show-off party. They’ll parade me from one of their associates to the next as if I’m livestock for sale.
I take out the pins and release my hair, then remove my ballet shoes. I wince at the droplets of blood marring my big toe and massage it. It’s nothing to worry about.
Pain means I did my best.
After slipping into my comfy flats, I put on my long cashmere coat and wrap a scarf around my neck and half of my face.
I make sure no one is outside my room before I hug Luca’s flowers to my chest, snatch my bag, and hurry to the parking lot.
A long breath leaves my chest when I’m on the road with the flowers in the passenger seat as my lone companion.
I wish I could call Luca and talk to him right now. But the fact that he didn’t come to meet me backstage means he’s keeping a low profile.
Ever since we met as kids, his entire life has been about being in the shadow of action and dealing with the wrong crowd.
I’m not an idiot. I know that as much as he took care of me, Luca didn’t get his money legally, but as he says, the less I know, the better. He doesn’t want to put me in danger and neither do I.
So we kind of look out for each other from afar.
But I miss him.
I want to tell him all about today’s show and how the pain in my ankle kept me on the edge. I want to tell him about the blood because he’d understand what it means to be in pain.
He’s the only person I can call both family and a friend. And it’s been months since I last saw him. I had hoped he’d make an exception today and come out of the shadows, but apparently, that wasn’t the case.
I arrive at the parking garage of my building in less than thirty minutes. It’s located in a quiet suburban neighborhood in New York City and has excellent security that makes me feel safe at home.
My ankle is throbbing when I exit my car. I lean against the door to catch my breath and a cramp tries to break the surface. After taking a few deep breaths, I beep the locks, then remember my bouquet. I might not get Luca in the flesh, but I can at least feel his presence through the flowers.
I’m about to get them when a loud sound of screeching tires fills the garage. I duck down and remain in place when another screech follows.
Usually, I wouldn’t stop for any commotion, but hearing disturbing noises late at night at an apartment building like mine is rare. In fact, it should be almost impossible.
I stare up at the cameras blinking red in every corner and release a shaking breath.
I’m safe.
But for some reason, I don’t come out of my hiding spot beside my car. It seems vital at this moment, and if I get up, I feel like something disastrous will happen.
The ache in my ankle pulses harder, as if it’s sensing my stress and participating in it.
A black Mercedes comes to a shrill stop in my direct view, its tires leaving angry black marks in its wake.
No one gets out, though.
Another black car, a van this time, brakes behind it. Then I watch in horror as its window lowers and bullets fly in the direction of the Mercedes.
I jump, placing both hands over my ears to block out the loud gunshots. Inching back, I find myself crouched between my car and the wall. Thank God I always leave some space.
The gunshots go on and on like a crescendo of a musical, up and up, faster and harder and louder. For a second, I think it’ll never end. That it’ll keep going for an eternity.
But it does stop.
My heart beats in my throat, nearly spilling my guts on the ground as I hear some rustling and then curses in a foreign language.