“The man is a beast,” Ophelia murmured, taking in her reflection, “However, I must say he does do well with men’s fashion.”
She turned her shoulders left, then right, taking in the fit of the black clothes and mask Tristan had sent her. She had no idea how he had estimated her sizes, but everything about the suit and black leather shoes was a perfect fit. It was tight enough to not make her appear childlike, but loose enough to hide her feminine figure- as long as she wrapped her breasts- which she always did anyways when working. In place of her newsboy hat he’d sent her a black soft gambler hat.
The mask he’d sent her was, to her surprise, carved almost identical to his own. At first she scoffed at his lack of thought into the mask, but as she slipped it on, she quickly changed her mind. The carved features of the mask sealed away any trace of her feminine identity. Unlike Tristan’s though, there was opening for the mouth, but instead included carved thin, sculpted lips so no one could see her plump real ones.
She tucked her hands into the pockets of her trousers, taking in the full view of her new disguise. Ophelia hated to admit it, but she lookedverygood.
At ten, she snuck out of her father’s house the way she usually did by way of her balcony and met the blacked-out carriage with matching horses at the back gate. The driver said nothing to her as she climbed inside, as if he knew she was exactly who he was waiting for, and drove off the moment she shut the carriage door.
This time when she walked up to the doorman outside the club and showed her invitation, he did not bat an eye. Instead he gave her a respectful bow of his head and motioned for her to go inside. As usual there were already dozens of people inside, all in various degrees of nudity. Some were just talking, others were already engaged in erotic acts. She blushed a little less this time, and instead wondered what such courage would feel like.
“Much better.”
Ophelia jumped as she heard Tristan’s deep voice the moment she stepped into the main room. She looked toward the sound of his voice, and found him in the same mask and type of suit he’d had on before. Refusing to admit that he had good taste; especially after that nasty trick he’d pulled at lunch, she simply gave a nod.
“Not speaking to me?” He asked, his voice tinged with amusement.
Ophelia bristled at the tone.
“Well, your rules were quite clear. I am not allowed to disrespect you within these walls,” she answered with with an clipped, icy tone.
Tristan smirked, annoying her even further.
“Well, look who knows how to obey after all,” he goaded, then turned around.
“Follow me,” he added promptly as Ophelia gnashed her teeth together.
Her walk was stiff as she followed him once more to the hidden hallway beyond the mirrors as her mind teetered between giving in to thinking about their kiss, rage that he had somehow tricked her into kissing him back; and the fact that she still very much needed his money.
Tristan led her to the same room as before, where the same four women had gathered once again, and where her painting from the other night stood. The four women wiggled their fingers at Ophelia as she entered the room with Tristan, and she timidly raised a hand back.
“Look who got a costume upgrade,” the blonde praised, running her eyes up and down Ophelia’s person.
“Mmm…you may be fun to play with now,” the brunette purred, biting her lower lip.
Ophelia was suddenly thankful for the mask, for her entire face erupted with flames as her mind panicked on how to answer.
“Ladies, no more teasing the artist,” Tristan mused, coming to Ophelia’s aid in the most annoying fashion.
“Our talented friend is here to paint and paint only. There will be no playing.”
To Ophelia’s surprise, all four of them pouted. Then another heavy thought hit her- had Tristan bedded themall?Maybe even at the same time?
He was the owner ofDevil’s Masquerade. It would make sense that he would enjoy such a thing. And after the way they acted with him the other night, he must know them intimately in some way by the way they fawned over him. Ophelia’s stomach twisted strangely at the realization, but did her best to ignore it. She did not care. Why should she?
“This will be your only posed painting,” Tristan explained, pulling her back to the present.
“These four lovely ladies have agreed to sit for you one more time,” he went on, “Then once you are finished, I will take you on a tour of the club.”
“What, why?” Ophelia asked, barely lowering the bass in her voice in time. She feigned a cough, hoping to pull her high tones off as just a tickle in her throat.
Tristan smirked again.
“I want you to capture theessenceof our little erotic paradise, not our members. As you can possibly imagine, not many of them are willing to risk being identified.”
Though she was curious as to why these four particular women before her were so willing to take that chance, she kept her question to herself, and nodded, not wanting to risk giving her gender away again.
“Now I have some business matters to attend to,” Tristan went on, straightening his jacket, “But I will be back to check on your progress soon, so do not dawdle.”
