Vienna Read Online Free

were … There was a picture there. Long rows of dead children, stiff limbs twisted in mud.
    She stepped up to a lemon-yellow door on Rue du Marché au Charbon. A rustic sign, implying history where there was none, marked the Gelataria du Cygne. The store’s window sported a deco golden goose in the upper left corner, leaving room to display a rack of stainless steel gelato bins. The sunshine was warm on Vienna’s shoulders; it would be a busy day. She produced the right key from a small chain and unlocked the door.
    By noon, she’d served 124 customers 186 scoops of gelato. She said the right phrases in French to collect euros, switching to English for British and American tourists. Vienna knew by late afternoon the day’s heat would drive citrus flavors to the top of the chart she kept on scrap paper. She thought a lot of inventory might be saved with the information she was collecting, but the manager was a busy man and there never seemed a chance to get a word in.
    At 2:17, two men appeared at the shoe store across the street. They removed the old poster for Versace and put up a new one for Step Out. It featured a girl who was nude except for a pair of white stiletto heels, straps set with diamonds. She was seated on white-blue fur, her body turned away from the camera, but her eyes gazing back over her shoulder. Her long, smooth legs were curled under her, showing the shoes to good effect. She was positioned in such a way—her closer arm behind her bottom—to avoid being outright pornographic. But the raw sensuality of her face was intoxicating. She had blue hair and emerald eyes and a small tattoo of a lizard on her left hip. The poster said the woman’s name was Justine Am.
    Pedestrians gawked at the image. Vulgar laughter over imagined bedroom scenes.
    For the next four hours, Vienna served melting scoops of gelato under the poster’s sensuous gaze. Her stomach twisted around a knot of anger. Easy enough to find words for Justine: Their drink is sour: they have committed whoredom continually.
    No doubt the strange man wearing the shirt-of-squares had been a gently used article left by the wayside. He’d said something about “killer” and Vienna was certain the word was used in America to describe people of sexual prowess. “She’s a man killer,” and the like. Not that sleeping with Justine had been all that great. Or even great at all.
    Everything had gone pear-shaped, and the more Vienna thought about it, the more it was her foster father’s fault. Arthur Emerson Grayfield, Earl of Idiots and Knight Commander of Nothing Anyone Had Ever Heard Of. Titles or not, he was just a miserable old git in a miserable old flat. “It’s time for you to make your own way, Vienna.” As if he knew what was best for her, even though he wasn’t really her father. “I have prepared a modest room for you in Brussels. I know you can do this.” Because he didn’t have the courage to say: “I never wanted you in the first place.” And …
    Stop being petulant.
    But if she was petulant, then it just proved she was right about not being ready to be alone and Grayfield was wrong. A real knight would admit his mistake, and he would come and rescue her. And …
    To complete the day Cecile showed up just before closing, suspended between aluminum crutches. Long, brown-gold hair that always looked better than Vienna’s. “Sorry I didn’t make it last night,” she said. “I twisted my ankle.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œI heard what happened, Vienna. I’m so sorry. They had no right.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œThey were paid to set you up by some wealthy perv, an American.”
    â€œOkay.” It wasn’t, really, but she only had herself to blame.
    Cecile looked as if she wanted to add something more, but she only nodded and limped from the store.
    Vienna closed the shop at seven, cleaned up,