I was so angry with him that I couldn’t even think straight.
Then… I just ran away. I didn’t want to be in his company any longer; this was not how I envisioned the evening. I needed to cool off. Running up the stairs, I realized I was losing my balance. And just at the moment when one of my heels decided to betray me, and I was about to fall down, someone picked me up. My legs were in someone’s arms, and my shoulder pressed against hard muscles. I knew who it was, long before I looked into the bewildered gray eyes.
— Don’t you think at all? You could have killed yourself, — he spoke calmly, but there were nervous notes in his voice.
— How was I to know that the heel would break right now? — actually, I had been thinking about that.
We were engulfed in silence; no one else spoke a word, and I continued to be in Leo’s arms.
Put me down... — I hissed quietly.
— How rude of you, — he remarked, smiling.
— Please, — I forced it out, as I began to lose what I didn’t want to lose — self-control. — Put me down, please.
He nodded contentedly and began to lower me down slowly so that our bodies almost touched.
— You won’t reach the hall by yourself, — Leo began.
— Yes, I will, and please, — I made a small pause, then forced a smile, — let me go, — I took off my shoes and headed towards our seats. Here I only needed my bag; I didn’t want to stay. In the hall, Ella looked at me and Leo in confusion. I explained that I was going home, showing her the object that had caused me to remain barefoot, and without giving her a chance to protest, wished them all a good evening.
Outside, I had to put on my now-deceased shoes again. Thank Merlin, I quickly caught a cab. I felt sorry to leave Ella alone again and miss the second part of the performance, but I knew my friend was sincerely enjoying the company of the tall brunette. And this time I actually texted her when I got home.
All my life, I haven’t sought new acquaintances. My only passions were fashion, ballet, and books. As a child, my mother rarely read me fairy tales; I read them myself because I learned to read very early. Three years and ten months. Now, children who can read at that age are considered prodigies. Out of everything I engaged in, only ballet and schooling required interaction with others. Maybe that’s why I let it go?
I had asked myself many times what could interest Leo about me? Of course, I knew I was quite attractive: almond-shaped green eyes, chestnut hair cut in a cascade, of medium length, a white smile, and a height of 175 centimeters. Long legs and a figure like an hourglass were my consolation. My mom always said I had sharp cheekbones and an expressive gaze. But despite all this, I still understood that there were so many beautiful women around that Leonardo’s interest in me seemed a bit laughable.
He, however, was different. Pleasant, quite attractive: his eternally ruffled hair, eyes that always shine, and a physique to match his tall stature, plus he was single. There are always loads of women of all kinds around someone like that. Why was he hanging on me? I could understand why Nick looked at Ella that way. She was always the center of attention, especially male attention. Sometimes I had to physically pull my friend away from a new suitor. Flowers and compliments had become just routine for the chestnut-eyed blonde since seventh or sixth grade.
*Ten years ago*
— Really again?
— You’re just jealous, — Ella was ecstatic when she found a confession note on her desk, the fourth time that month.
— Not a drop.
Nicolas: a tall brunette with incredibly dark blue eyes. Owner of one of the coolest restaurant chains. Probably the only thing that could seduce me in men is the ability to cook well. I don’t particularly enjoy cooking; it just never worked out for me. Sometimes I lack the time just to eat, so what can I say about cooking? In this matter, I’m often saved by Damiano; he finds it easy. One or two times a week, he sometimes comes to me and prepares an incredibly delicious dinner. Ella often joins us when she’s not overwhelmed with assignments from university or work. Speaking of Sara, we might as well not mention her. She’s almost a purebred Italian (her father is a descendant of immigrants from Africa, and she inherited her dark hair and incredible, almost bronze-colored skin from him), her cooking skills are all thanks to her grandmother. I’ve crossed paths with Donatella Visconti more than once. Every summer, Sara invites us to her grandmother's summer house, and from there we can only roll out.
With my thoughts, I completely lose track of time. The fashion show is set for Saturday. I should go to sleep since tomorrow will be busy preparing for the show, and I can already imagine how exhausted I will be after just one day and all the way until Saturday evening, as Madame Lynette will absolutely, as always, turn the entire fashion house upside down to ensure everything goes perfectly. Ordinary messages from the cocky blonde break me out of my thoughts. He has taken to texting me every day since his ballet rehearsals. On Tuesday, and Wednesday, and today… I was still ignoring him.