Naked Angel by Logan Belle Read Free Book Online Page A

Soho were filled with über-chic mommies in high heels pushing designer strollers over cobblestones, models on their way to go-sees, and European tourists. Standing in the middle of that scene, it was impossible to feel too bad about herself. Whatever her recent disappointments and failures, she was still here, living the life she’d always dreamed of. She had to find a way to stay inspired, and not retreat into an existence that was gray and safe and miserably compromised.
    Nadia saw Mallory approaching from down the block. Even in the middle of a neighborhood filled with eye-catching people, she stood out. She had style, she had confidence and, at the moment, she had a giant bouquet of flowers in her arms.
    “Hey!” Mallory said, kissing her on the cheek. “Grab the door for me—these are heavy.”
    “They’re gorgeous! What are they?”
    “I have no idea. But the florist said they live for weeks. I’m giving them to Agnes to thank her for doing such a great job with the costumes.”
    Nadia held the door and then followed Mallory into the studio. The floors were concrete; the walls were part exposed brick, part brushed steel, and were mostly obscured by racks of fabric and designs in progress. Above, the tin ceiling added an ornate finish to the otherwise industrial feel of the space. In the far corner of the room was a black desk, and next to it a winding iron staircase leading up to a second floor.
    “So this is what I was thinking last night: If the performing thing doesn’t work for you—and for some people it just doesn’t—maybe you can learn costuming from Agnes. And then, after being around the shows, if you decide you want to be onstage again, great. If not, you still have something really integral and creative to contribute.”
    “I really appreciate your thinking of me, and trying to help me. But I don’t think making costumes is going to fill the need I have to be onstage. I have to find a way to get over my fear,” Nadia said.
    Mallory looked at her with empathy and seemed about to hug her when they both heard the door open behind them.
    Gemma Kole slumped in, her hair pulled into a high, messy ponytail, and big dark glasses obscuring half her face. She carried a large, green smoothie.
    “I don’t know why you Americans are so hell-bent on these juice concoctions,” she said, dropping her hobo bag at her feet.
    “So why are you drinking one?” Mallory said.
    “Because the girl at the shop keeps bloody promising me they cure hangovers!”
    Nadia thought, not for the first time, how carelessly sexy Gemma was. She was a cross between Sienna Miller and the Chanel model with the gap between her two front teeth. Maybe Gemma should be on the burlesque stage, and—as Mallory suggested—Nadia should be tucked away in this little shop, threading a needle. But no—she was not yet ready to concede that.
    “What are you two doing here, anyway?” Gemma said. “Don’t tell me I forgot a fitting.”
    “No, we’re just visiting Agnes.”
    “Are those flowers for her? They’re gorgeous, but slightly menacing. What are they?”
    “Yes—they’re for Agnes. I don’t know what they are, but they live a long time,” Mallory said. Nadia could tell she was second-guessing the arrangement after the word “menacing.”
    “Do me a favor? Go upstairs to see Agnes. I need quiet to even begin to function.”
    Nadia and Mallory exchanged a look and were happy to oblige her. They climbed the narrow stairs, Nadia clutching the slim iron railing all the way.
    The second floor had a shiny wood floor, and two walls were floor-to-ceiling mirrors. If it hadn’t been for the bolts of fabric, containers of beads and sequins, and yards of thread and ribbon, it would have felt like a dance studio.
    Agnes was seated cross-legged on the floor, wearing a pair of eyeglasses with another pair perched atop her head, and she was sewing a swatch of black fabric. She looked up when they cleared the stairs, but then went