Chapter 3

The next day, I was packing when Simon came through the door so hard he nearly kicked it open.

"What was that message you sent me last night supposed to mean? Is this your way of pressuring me into marriage? You know that won't work on me. I don't like being threatened."

He was only now answering a message I'd sent the night before. Even our breakup came second to Wendy. Gripping the hem of a shirt, I was so angry I laughed.

Simon took my laugh to mean I was backing down, and his tone softened a little. "Wendy's your best friend. You'd be upset if the two of you fell out. I'm just helping you keep the friendship.

"Stop imagining things. I've got something to do later. We're done talking about this."

I didn't ask what he had to do. I folded the last piece of clothing and tucked it neatly into my suitcase. Then I saw Wendy's latest post: a grid of nine revealing photos of herself.

[Someone's pretty handy with a camera. I'll have to use them again!]

The caption was suggestive enough that several mutual friends commented.

[That has to be your boyfriend, right? Who else would take photos of you like that?]

[These look amazing. It's like we just walked in on a couple in bed.]

[When do we get to meet your boyfriend?]

Wendy replied with a blushing sticker. [The photographer really is just a friend. Stop teasing, you guys. Someone might get upset.]

I zoomed in as far as I could. In a mirror behind Wendy was Simon's familiar face. He held the camera with complete focus, carefully framing and composing each shot. I'd never seen him look so intent.

I stared at the nine photos for a long time, then quietly closed the post. That was when I learned how quietly the last of my hope could die.

The following day, I retrieved my car and was getting ready to leave when I remembered the ballet slippers my grandmother had left me.

I opened the drawer where I kept them. It was empty. I searched every corner of the house, my heart racing and my fingers going cold.

The door opened. Wendy walked in wearing ballet practice clothes and carrying a pair of slippers smeared with red chili oil.

I stared at her, my eyes red. "Who said you could take those?"

She shrank back, and Simon immediately stepped between us. "Why are you snapping at her? I told her she could use them. She left her dance shoes at her rental, and you had a pair."

He spoke as though he had no idea those slippers were a keepsake from my grandmother. But he knew better than anyone that Grandma was the one who had raised me. She was a graceful woman who had studied abroad and danced ballet professionally.

I snatched the slippers from Wendy. Chili oil covered the dusty pink fabric so completely I could barely make out its original color.

Wendy reached for me. "I dropped food on them by accident. I didn't mean to..."

I shouldered past her and rushed into the bathroom to wash them, but the stains wouldn't come out. Simon stood in the doorway, his expression darkening.

"They're shoes. We can buy another pair. There are plenty just like them. Tomorrow I'll get you a pair imported from Russia."

Clutching the stained slippers, I took a step back and looked at him through red eyes. "Simon Zane, there isn't another pair like these."

He frowned, uncertainty flickering across his face.

Wendy's eyes filled with tears, and her voice shook. "Please don't fight because of me. I'll move out right now. I won't bother you two again..."

For all her talk of leaving, she made no move toward the door.

I let out a laugh, gathered the slippers in my arms, and picked up my suitcase. As I headed out, Simon shouted after me, furious at being embarrassed.

"If you so much as step outside today, don't ever come back!"

I kept walking. I didn't look back.