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Back The Shoe Queen
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

Genevieve removed the jeweled headband from her hair and laid it down on the couch. Her hands were shaking as she reached up to the back of her neck and began unclasping the hooks on her dress. The man is an artist, she told herself. It’s just the same as posing for a painter. I’ve done this before. Lulu does it every day.

I have nothing to be ashamed of. She unclipped the hooks of her corset.

A scraping sound, and across the room a match flared. She saw his face by its light—the thin wide lips, not quite smiling. The soft eyes, not looking at her. He lit a taper and blew out the match. He reached up and—one by one—lit the six candles twisted around each other in the silver cage suspended from the ceiling by a chain. He span the cage gently with his left hand, sending light and shadows dancing crazily across the walls. Then he turned and moved a little to the left, revealing the long silver mirror at the end of the room.

She took a step forward and then another, seeing herself—her skin honeyed in the candlelight, her eyes black and smudged, the curves of her body, her breasts, her hips, gentle, almost blurred.

She looked down at her feet. Deep red shoes like tongues, like blood, with the fierce sparkle of huge jeweled buckles. Spike heels.

“The shoes are made from Genoese velvet.” He was standing behind her, placing his hands on her bare shoulders. “The heels are glass.” He pressed his lips to her neck. “But the buckles are set with diamonds.”

Now his hands were on her waist, pushing her gently toward one of the purple couches. She tried to look into his eyes as she sat down and reclined, extending her legs and flinging her arms behind her head—but she couldn’t make out their expression. He took hold of her left foot under the arch, raising her leg so they could both admire the shoe, and then bent to kiss the toe, the buckle, the heel, her ankle bone, the inside of her knee…. She was naked but for the shoes. Their vivid red against her white feet made her feel more than naked.

She looked at his hand, holding her foot. The party didn’t matter anymore. None of it mattered. Not Robert and certainly not Guy Monteray. Only Zachari’s hand holding her foot. Only his touch. His mouth. She’d been born for this moment. For him.

( fifteen )

IT WAS ALMOST ELEVEN when Genevieve’s taxi drew up outside Count Duvel’s house in the Rue Cambon. The rain was sheeting.

She took a mirror from her tasseled bag and checked her face. The newly applied makeup was pristine, as was the hastily restyled hair. But still, there was something disordered about her appearance.