Because Lorenzo?
He’s not the kind of guy you get attached to.
Especially when you’re me.
I can’t let him get so far under my skin that I can’t get him back out again.
I head downstairs, clutching the heels, and encounter Leo still standing in the doorway to the living room, the blonde beside him.
His girlfriend, I’m guessing.
She glances up at me, and I expect some level of bitchiness, because really, in my experience, most feel threatened by a strange woman suddenly appearing, but she smiles instead, full-blown grinning. “You must be Cinderella.”
That slows my steps. “What?”
“Lorenzo had your shoes,” Leo says. “He was looking for you, said you ran away from him. Kind of sounded like Cinderella.”
I laugh, looking at the shoes.
Pretty sure Cinderella didn’t rob the prince before making her escape.
Also pretty sure the prince didn’t consider killing Cinderella whenever he found her.
“I knew you’d pop up eventually,” the bubbly blonde says. “I mean, come on, any woman would come back for a pair of red patent leather Louboutins. I had a pair once... or well, my best friend did.” She laughs. “You know when your best friend has something, you do, too.”
I wish I could say I knew what that was like. People just seem to come in-and-out of my life. “You got a name? I think Lorenzo called you—”
“Firecracker.” She rolls her eyes. “Name’s Melody Carmichael.”
“I’m Morgan,” I say. “What size do you wear?”
“Uh, an eight… or well, a thirty-nine and a half.”
I flip the shoes over, glancing at the thirty-nine on the sole as I hold the shoes out to her. “It’s your lucky day, Melody Carmichael. They might be snug, but I’m sure you can make them work.”
Her eyes widen. “Are you kidding me? No way, I can’t take your shoes!”
“You can,” I say. “I have to warn you, though. Those shoes were a gift I never asked for, a gift I never wanted, and ever since I got them, I’ve been plagued with terrible luck. I’m not exactly superstitious, but I’d rather not risk it anymore. So take them, if you want them, but just... don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She squeals, kicking her black flats off, and takes the red heels, slipping them on her feet. “You, Morgan, are totally my new best friend.”
I laugh, shaking my head.
We’ll see how long that lasts...
Chapter Sixteen
One month.
Four weeks.
The little girl still counted, waiting... waiting... waiting for something that didn’t seem to be happening. She kept coming up with reasons why her mother hadn’t shown up yet. Maybe it took a long time to fix the front door? Maybe she was still sleeping?
She didn’t know. She was still only four. Nothing about it made any sense to her, but she was trying to listen, trying to be a good girl.
Sitting in the bedroom, at the desk against the wall, she clutched the light blue crayon as she colored all along the paper, making a sky. Other colors were scattered around in front of her, while most were still wedged into the box. The Cowardly Lion had given her one of those big packs of crayons, over a hundred colors, some even glittery. She spent most of her time drawing, Buster sitting on the desk in front of her, watching, also waiting.
Waiting to go home.
Grinning, she set the crayon down, admiring the paper. She’d drawn the Tin Man, but not as the Tin Man… she drew him like the person he looked like, although she wasn’t really good at drawing people. He looked kind of like a balloon animal, but she had his eyes right—gray, like the rain clouds.
She didn’t want him to be lonely, and she didn’t like his flying monkeys, so she drew herself standing with him.
Besides, she was kind of lonely, too.
“Come on, Buster,” she said, snatching up the bear, tucking it beneath her arm. “Lets go show him.”
The little girl made the trek down the big, winding stairs, taking them one at a time. There were so many it always took forever. She was getting used to it, though.
Getting used to the palace.
Noise echoed out from the Tin Man’s den. The flying monkeys were there tonight, and they’d brought along some women. The group was drinking from bottles of that clear liquid, the stuff that made the Tin Man make faces. Music played through the den, a woman singing foreign words the little girl didn’t know.
The little girl strolled to the den, the double wooden doors hanging wide open. She paused there, eyes wide. People were kissing, some dancing really close.
The light was so dim.
Where was the Tin Man?
“Vor,” a voice called out, using a word she recognized, one the monkeys called the Tin Man sometimes. Vor. She turned in the direction it came from, seeing the Cowardly Lion in the center of the crowd. He pointed her way, saying something she didn’t understand to the man right beside him. Tin Man.
A woman with long brown hair sat on his lap, straddling him, wearing just a bra and a skirt, her other clothes missing. He pushed her aside, his bloodshot eyes darting to the little girl in the doorway.
“Ah, there’s my kitten!” He grinned. “Do you need something? Come here.”
His tone was off. Too nice. Not right. A voice in the back of her mind whispered for her to hide, a voice that sounded just like her mother’s. It was too late, though, because she’d already been spotted, so she carefully approached him, trying to ignore the looks the others gave her.
The Tin Man sat up further, forcing the woman from his lap. She slid to the floor instead, sitting by his feet, not going far. The little girl looked at her. She was young, like the little girl’s mother, while the Tin Man was kind of older. She wouldn’t call him old, no. He had no gray hairs at all. But he had hands that weren’t soft and eyes that sometimes crinkled.
The little girl paused in front of the Tin Man, her stomach feeling sick when she looked him in the eyes. They were black, like midnight, the gray all gone.
“I drew you a picture,” she said, holding out the paper.
“How sweet.” He took it, squinting. “Is this me?”
She nodded.
His eyes cut to her.
Use your words. He didn’t say it, but she heard it.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“And is this you with me?” he asked, holding it up, pointing at it.
Her cheeks grew warm as people all around them looked. She’d just meant to show him. “Yes.”
He turned it back around, studying it, still grinning. “It is perfect, kitten. I need to have it framed.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
“Of course,” he said, setting it aside, on the table, before patting his knee. “Come, sit.”
She wanted to say no. She wanted to go back up to her room, away from all of those people, away from the woman giving her weird looks from where she sat on the floor, but his expression left no room for arguing. She sat down on his knee, facing the side, and he wrapped his left arm around her. She used to sit on her mother’s lap all the time, but she didn’t much like sitting on his, wearing the white nightgown that still itched.
He smacked the woman’s shoulder, motioning for something with his hand, and she handed him a rolled up dollar. He gripped the little girl tightly, so she wouldn’t fall to the floor, as he leaned the whole way forward, nearly face-planting the table, and snorted a line of white powder.
Letting out a deep sigh, he leaned back in the chair again, his smile glowing.
“Do you love your Papa?” he asked, rubbing her back.
The little girl tensed at that question.
His stark black eyes regarded her. “It is okay, you are allowed to love me, no matter what your mother may have said. I am your father; my blood is inside of you. You might look like the suka, but you are half of me.”
Suka. The little girl knew that word.
It was one of the bad ones.
She still didn’t answer. She didn’t know how. What if she lied by mistake? Would he be mad?
After a moment, he laughed, hugging her to his thick chest as he ruffled her hair. “One day. Even your mother once loved me. It is inevitable.”