I’m scared that Iwant himto.
“Dove!” Evie beams, her face lit up as she turns to me. “Seriously! This place isadorable!”
Evie is basically a Disney princess. Like, if you were to install a hidden camera and it caught her singing to woodland creatures while they danced on her arms and brought her bon-bons?
It would not surprise me.
Another way to sum her up in a single word is “pink”. Not the punk, fuck-you pink I wear. Evie’s is pure princess pink. Tutu pink. Tea-party, picnic-in-the-park-while-reading-Jane-Austen pink.
Like right now, for instance. She’s all in pink: leggings, skirt, fluffy mohair sweater, even the ribbon tying up her long blonde hair.
Still, you gotta love her. It doesn’t hurt that she also might be one of the sweetest, most genuine,earnesthumans I’ve ever met.
“Thanks.” I smile and spread my arms. “Welcome to my madness.”
Brooklyn’s jaw drops open as she briskly walks past me toward a work-in-progress I’ve had sitting on an easel for the last month.
“Damn, girl,” she whistles, her eyes tracing over the oversized canvas.
“It’s…an ongoing thing,” I shrug. Right now, it’s just a wash of reds and purples sliced by violent black lines. “It’s not done, but I’m not sure what comes next.”
“Okay, I knew you painted,” Evie murmurs as she walks up next to Brooklyn and stares wide-eyed at the canvas. “But I thought it was, like, landscapes.”
Yeah, psychotic landscapes from the hellish recesses of my nightmares.
She turns to me. “You’rereallygood.”
I grin. “Thanks, Evie.” I drop my dance bag behind the sofa and walk into the kitchen area. “You guys want anything? I’ve got soda, sparkling water, juice…”
“I’m good,” Brooklyn calls back to me. “I actually can’t stay that long. Kir and I have plans tonight.”
Shit.
There goes half the forces for Operation Sleepover.
“I’ll take a diet soda if you have it!” Evie says.
I walk back over to them with some lemony sparkling water for me and a Diet Coke for Evie.
She cracks it open and grins at Brooklyn. “So, what are these plans with Kir?”
Kir as in Kir Nikolayev, the head of the Nikolayev Bratva, also known as Brooklyn’smucholder boyfriend. Also-alsoknown for bonus points as the guy who owns the Mercury Theater and finances the Zakharova Ballet.
Brooklyn grins at Evie. “I’ll tell Dove. You’ll have to cover your ears.”
I giggle when Evie’s jaw drops.
“What! Why??” she pouts.
Brooklyn laughs. “Babe, have youmetyou?”
That’s another Evelina thing: in addition to being one of the sweetest people you’ll ever meet, she’s alsofrighteninglyinnocent. Like, to the point that it would keep me up at night butfor the fact that her brother, Roman, who runs the Nikitin Bratva now, has guards following herallthe time.
Literally. They followed us here and they’re parked across the street.
Evie makes a face. “Well that’s crap.”
Oh, and she doesn’t swear.
