Free Fracture by Amanda K. Byrne Page A

you’re thinking of.” I had an impressive collection of heels I’d left behind in Pittsburgh, thinking I wouldn’t have much use for them while we were here. Ryan was going to be busy with his thesis research, and money would be tight. Going out wasn’t a priority. The two pairs I brought with me are in the back of the closet in the flat I left yesterday. I’m never going back. There’s nothing left for me there.
         Mila gives a final snip, swipes the comb through my hair, and unclasps the cape, dusts off the back of my neck. She gestures for me to follow, and we head for Zlata’s bedroom.
         Her sister’s closet is full to bursting with clothes. Mila laughs as I stand there, mouth open in shock. “She likes clothes. She has been going nuts, trying to get the newest styles and not succeeding.” Rifling through the tops, she plucks out a couple of slinky, skimpy, sleeveless creations and tosses them on the bed. “Her pants would be too big, I think.”
         “Is that a nice way of saying I’ve got a scrawny ass?” I say. I know I’ve lost weight since I got here, with the running and foot shortages.
         “Yes. Too skinny. You have no hips.” I like this bluntness.
         “Yeah, well, you should have seen them before. I could have given JLo a run for her money.” If JLo had gone on a starvation diet.
         She picks up one of the tops and holds it up, a shimmery dark purple thing. Lips pursed, her eyes dart between me and the shirt, then she shakes her head and drops it, selecting another. This one is grey, almost matte. I like it. I pluck it from her fingers before she can discard it.
         “Try it on,” she demands. Turning around, I exchange my sweater for the top. Mila’s face lights up as I face her again. “Yes. Good. Another.” She hands me a cap–sleeved top in bright red.
         “Cap sleeves? Seriously?”
         “Cap sleeves. Seriously.” I spin around, clutching the shirt to my chest. Zlata’s leaning against the doorjamb. “Mila, what have I said about my closet?”
         “I- I- I’m sorry.” I hold out the red top. “I’ll take it off.”
         “No. It looks better on you anyway. Keep it. But try on the red one, too. I do not think it is your color, but let me see.”
         Cheeks heating, I pull off one top and trade it for the other. “No. Just…no. Cap sleeves and me do not get along.”
         Zlata nods sagely. “They do make you look childish.” 
         “I think you mean child–like.” I strip aside the offending shirt and reach for a black scrap of fabric.
         “I think my English is not as good as it could be and you should come around more. No, not black. Blue.” Zlata brushes past me and pushes through the tops on the bed. “Mila, you have my blue tank top?”
         Mila’s got her head in the closet. “You mean this one?” She waves a cerulean number in triumph. The color reminds me of Declan’s eyes, flat and full of depth at once, like a simple twist of movement or trick of light will take it from innocent to wicked.
         Both sisters whistle as the fabric slides into place. Draping low in the back, the neckline higher than I’d expected, it flows over my skin, caressing it.
         “Makes you look like you have tits,” Zlata says approvingly. My mouth drops open to retort when she grins. “Shoes.” She crawls into the closet and starts rummaging through the detritus on the floor.
         “I’m a 36.” It took me a while to get the European sizing down.
         Her butt wriggles as she backs out of the closet on her knees. “These should fit. You have better pants?”
         “I’ve got jeans without holes in them, if that’s what you mean.”
         “It will do. We make it work. You come with us tomorrow night. Have Murat or Ismael bring you. Is not safe to walk at night. Especially not in those shoes.”
         Dusk