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Back The Shoe Queen Save as PDF
Chapters (67)
  1. Cover
  2. “And may I say, those shoes are adorable.”
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. ( I )
  7. ( one )
  8. ( two )
  9. ( three )
  10. ( four )
  11. ( five )
  12. ( six )
  13. ( seven )
  14. ( eight )
  15. ( nine )
  16. ( ten )
  17. ( II )
  18. ( eleven )
  19. ( twelve )
  20. ( thirteen )
  21. ( fourteen )
  22. ( fifteen )
  23. ( III )
  24. ( sixteen )
  25. ( seventeen )
  26. ( eighteen )
  27. ( nineteen )
  28. ( IV )
  29. ( twenty )
  30. ( twenty-one )
  31. ( twenty-two )
  32. ( twenty-three )
  33. ( twenty-four )
  34. ( V )
  35. ( twenty-five )
  36. ( twenty-six )
  37. ( twenty-seven )
  38. ( twenty-eight )
  39. ( twenty-nine )
  40. VI
  41. ( thirty )
  42. ( thirty-one )
  43. ( thirty-two )
  44. ( thirty-three )
  45. ( thirty-four )
  46. ( VII )
  47. ( thirty-five )
  48. ( thirty-six )
  49. ( thirty-seven )
  50. ( thirty-eight )
  51. ( thirty-nine )
  52. ( forty )
  53. ( forty-one )
  54. ( forty-two )
  55. ( VIII )
  56. ( forty-three )
  57. ( forty-four )
  58. ( forty-five )
  59. ( forty-six )
  60. ( forty-seven )
  61. ( forty-eight )
  62. ( forty-nine )
  63. ( fifty )
  64. ( fifty-one )
  65. Acknowledgments
  66. Acknowledgments
  67. Questions for Discussion

“Nothing.” She withdrew her hand, aware, as she did so, that she was taunting him, and that she wanted to.

“Don’t say that.”

“All right then, I won’t.” The day had taken on a dreamlike quality. Whatever they did here, in the safety of his workroom, it didn’t matter. Nobody need ever know but them. “I want you to touch me.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

He put his hands on her waist, guiding her through the chaos of the room, and half-lifted her to sit her up on the edge of the worktable. She reclined slowly among his sketches, the paper crackling beneath her back.

He was looking down at her, smiling, and she was aching for more when suddenly the ceiling creaked loudly. Someone was walking about in the shop directly above their heads.

“Damn!” He moved away from her. Turned his back. “She said she wasn’t coming in.”

Reluctantly Genevieve sat up. “Does it matter? She can’t see us. She doesn’t know I’m here.”

The ceiling was creaking rhythmically now. Olga must be pacing back and forth.

“I’m sorry.” His face was troubled.

“Why are you afraid of her?”

He shook his head, denying it. “She deserves to be treated with respect, that’s all.”

“She’s in love with you.” Genevieve slid off the table. “Anyone can see that.”

Again he shook his head. “Can I telephone you tomorrow?”

“I suppose so, Monsieur Renard.” She was still despondent.

“Genevieve.” He took her firmly by the shoulders. “We’ll meet tomorrow. Somewhere away from here. Somewhere we can be properly alone.”

“I don’t know, Paolo.”

She could smell his skin. That lemon scent.

“Say yes,” he said. “Yes, Paolo, I’ll meet you.”

Upstairs, in the shop, Olga was seated at the reception desk, her back poker-straight.

Genevieve mumbled a cursory greeting as she hurried by, but Olga said nothing in return, and neither did she get up to open the door. As Genevieve stepped out onto the street, she turned to look back. The Russian woman was absolutely still at the desk. There was an emptiness about her. Her face was like a dead person’s. Devoid of expression.

( twenty-seven )