Mated To Valentine
The store is a riot of colors and patterns, a stark contrast to the muted elegance of Prada.
Achilles immediately heads for the shoes, grabbing a pair of red-soled stilettos that look like they belong on a supermodel.
“These,” he says, handing them to me. “Try them on.”
I stare at the heels, which are at least four inches tall. “I’m going to break my neck.”
“You’re a vampire. You’ll heal.”
“That’s not the point!”
He smirks. “Just try them on, North.”
I sigh but slip them on anyway. To my surprise, they fit perfectly, hugging my feet like they were made for me.