Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 126060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Amaranthe bunched the sparkly tulle skirt in her fingers, trying to feel in his mind if he meant what he said or was trying to spare her embarrassment at not being able to pay such an exorbitant amount of money for clothes. She decided she would have to look at it as acquiring costumes. When she left a dance company, she didn’t keep her costumes. It didn’t matter how beautiful they were, they belonged to the company. She might just have to negotiate to keep this dress; that was how much she loved it.
“Thank you, Andrea,” Amaranthe said. “I love all the clothes, but this dress is my particular favorite. It makes me feel beautiful and confident.”
“You do look beautiful in it,” Andrea said.
“You are beautiful,” Geno said. “It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing. You’re simply beautiful, Amara, inside and out.” His voice was gruff.
Geno still wore his stone mask, but it didn’t matter because she saw beneath it to the heart of him. She would always be able to read him thanks to the way their shadows had tangled together. She doubted if it was safe to allow her shadow to get close to his again. The moment it happened, the two shadows connected like magnets. The more it happened, the harder it would be to separate them.
Although Amaranthe hadn’t grown up in a normal household, she had been warned to protect her shadow. She’d been told if her shadow was compromised and she couldn’t undo the weave, if one rider walked away from the other and both were riders, neither would be able to continue riding the shadows.
She was a shadow rider. That was her identity. Who she was. Her parents had begun her training at the age of two. Jean-Claude and the Archambaults had continued it from the time she was four. She knew no other life. She doubted she would survive if she couldn’t be a rider. Surely, Geno felt the same way.
She changed in the fitting room, mulling the question over. Did he? He had been so quick to take the poison from her, risking his life. He had known the consequences of ingesting the poison, and he’d still done it. There had been a quiet sorrow in him, an acceptance of death, as if he welcomed it. That bothered her. Geno had a huge family. She had none. No one. People weren’t meant to spend their entire lives alone.
Amaranthe had known there was a high probability that she would die young. Her profession was high risk. Investigating rogue riders without any backup drove the risks higher than ever. Most of the time when she was sent in, thankfully, it was a false alarm and the rider wasn’t guilty, but she had brought more than one to justice. It hadn’t been easy, and it had become automatic to protect her shadow. Because of that, she hadn’t believed she would find someone she would want to spend her life with.
Lunch was on the terrace of the second floor overlooking the sparkling water. Sunglasses were a must, but the view was impressive. She sat across the small table from Geno, still feeling like the princess in a fairy tale.
Geno had a way of focusing completely on her. Even with his eyes hidden behind sunglasses, she could feel the intensity of his gaze burning through her.
“Tell me about your dancing. Why you love it so much. I’ve taken over my mother’s position on the board, but I don’t know that much about ballet yet. I’ve been reading up on it, the difference between classical ballet and ballet. I didn’t even realize there was a difference. I thought all ballet was the same and the training was the same until I started reading about it. It’s very clear I’m going to have to watch videos and then the real thing. You’ll have to help me learn. I wouldn’t want to turn down the wrong students for scholarships or hire an instructor who doesn’t know what he or she is doing.”
Amaranthe couldn’t help admiring the fact that he took replacing his mother on the board of directors seriously. Many men or women in his position wouldn’t bother.
“Of course, I’ll help you in any way I can. I love to dance, and I really love teaching anyone who takes it seriously.”
“Tell me about how you got started and why you love it so much.”
There was no denying the real interest in his voice. That was another thing she hadn’t had in her life. No one had ever shown such interest in her opinions or why she wanted to do the things she did. The council studied her reports, asked her questions, often disagreed with her findings, and sent her on her way.
“When I was little, a toddler, my mother would take me to the ballet with her. I would sit spellbound. I loved watching the performances. If I trained without complaint for shadow riding, she would always reward me with dance lessons.” She flashed a quick self-demeaning smile at him. “I think back then it was the sparkly outfits.”