“How can he be hot when it’s just a mask?” She laughs. “That makes no sense.”
“You either get it, or you don’t.” Chantel comes to my defense. “There's definitely something hot about Ghostface. I’d be down to let a masked man rail me into oblivion.”
“Even if you don’t know who he is?” Val scrunches up her face.
“That’s part of the appeal.” Chantel smirks. “As long as it’s safe, sane, and consensual, I don’t need to see his face. I just need to know he has a health clearance, and he checks my boxes on a partner requirements form.”
“What kind of requirements are on a form like that at the Cat House?” I ask out of curiosity.
Chantel is a contracted burlesque dancer for The Society, but she also understands the inner workings of the adjacent private sex club. She’s our source for information, and she also answers our sex questions without judgment. Her advice became so popular, she started writing under a pseudonym for The Fifth House. It’s a digital lifestyle magazine run by a small group of women—all of them being my friends—and we’re the only ones who know Chantel’s real identity.
“The list is long and varied,” Chantel explains. “Health and safety, personal boundaries, emotional expectations, physical requirements, consent structure. If something isn’t on there, it can be added. Mine are pretty standard.”
“So have you ever experimented with a masked guy there?”
She hesitates for a moment, and I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen Chantel blush.
“Maybe,” she answers coyly. “But no full penetration.”
“Hmm.” Val considers that. “What kind of masks do they wear?”
“I don’t really have a preference, but you can request what you like.”
“Anything except clowns.” I shiver. “That’s where I draw the line.”
“Well, at least we know there is a line,” Mariella teases. “You little horror freak.”
“Half horror, half princess,” Abella observes, pointing out my dueling interests.
My bookshelves are filled with pink, glittery things, a Royal Albert Rose Confetti Tea Set, and historical romances. But my dresser is another story—with all the Ghostface memorabilia, horror movies, and a jewelry box filled with vintage lockets, chokers, cameos, rosaries, and skeleton keys. Then there are the random things I collected during different phases—like vintage buttons, wax seals, ink quills, and Funko Pops.
“I like to say she’s half Elle Woods, half Wednesday Addams.” Abella tilts her head, examining my closet. “Depending on her mood for the day.”
“Sometimes the week.” I shrug.
“Okay, but you have the cutest outfits.” Chantel wanders over and starts rifling through everything. “Very dark academia darling. If you weren’t seven inches shorter, I’d totally raid your closet.”
“Well, when I’m done with school, I can make you what you like using your measurements. A lot of these are my designs anyway.”
“You’re so talented.” She sighs. “I’ll have to make a list of things I want.”
“You’ll have to get in line behind me,” Val tells her. “She’s already promised me a few dresses.”
“Who knows,” Abella says. “Maybe next year she’ll be designing our gowns for the annual Society masquerade ball.”
“Yeah, maybe.” I offer her a tentative smile.
Truthfully, I don’t know how much free time I’ll have once I’m married to Riccardo. I doubt he’ll care what my ambitions are. Most men in our world don’t. Life has taught me not to getmy hopes up for anything. Because hope almost always leads to disappointment.
And I lost mine a long time ago.
3
GABRIELA
By the time everyone leaves,I’m almost too exhausted to check my journal. Or maybe I’m too unnerved. The thought of Romeo reading my most vulnerable thoughts to use as ammunition against me—stings.
Regardless, I put on a brave face and crack it open. To my horror, I discover that he left me notes in the margins as I flip through the pages.
