She gives me a sympathetic smile. “That’s all right. Would you mind if I check?”
I don’t know how to answer, but I say yes anyway, and she’s gentle, explaining everything as she goes. The gloves are soft, almost warm. The exam itself is painless, just a brief, clinical sweep. The gloves are off in seconds.
“Thank you, Daisy,” she says, voice gentle. “You did perfectly.”
She steps out for a minute to fetch a glass of water, leaving me alone in the room with nothing but the faint scent of latex and the thud of my heart. When she returns, she has a printed report and a bottle of fancy electrolyte water.
“I checked you for signs of sexual activity, as a standard part of the intake. There’s no evidence of penetration or trauma. I would say that you are a true virgin, if that’s helpful to know.”
The words echo. “A true virgin.”
Why does that sound less like a diagnosis and more like a product description?
She must see the confusion on my face. “The club requests a full health and wellness check for all girls in situations like yours. They pride themselves on safety—and on discretion.”
I nod and take the water, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. “Thank you,” I say, even though I don’t mean it.
She tells me to rest, to call if I feel worse, and that she’ll update my club record for “VIP medical clearance.” When she leaves, I’m so dazed I can’t remember how to stand up. Eventually, I drift out, clutching the report and the water, and find Sophia waiting in the hallway with a little smile.
“All done?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m a clean bill of health. Like, capital-C clean.”
Sophia takes my arm and steers me toward the gallery, all casual. “That’s good. The club likes to know everyone’s safe. Did Dr. Celine tell you the thing?”
“What thing?”
Her mouth twitches. “You know. About your status.”
I flush, so hot I feel like my face is going to melt.
“She mentioned something about me being a true virgin, whatever that means,” I mumble.
Sophia leans in, dropping her voice. “That’s good, Daisy because rich men will pay crazy money for the chance to have a night with someone new and unspoiled. But only if the girl agrees, and most of the time she gets, like, a fortune for college or a condo in Paris.”
I almost choke on my tongue. “Wow.”
She shrugs. “You don’t have to do it. But if you’re interested, you should talk to Veronique. Or Hunter, because I know he’s bid at these auctions before.”
The name slams into my chest. It takes me a second to remember how to walk.
“Right,” I say, voice small. “Okay.”
Later that night,I have a rendezvous with Hunter in the gallery. The space is cool and white, all hard lines and splashes of color. Meanwhile, the alpha male stands alone, hands in his pockets, studying a massive abstract canvas that looks like a big splotch of red paint on a white canvas. His suit is dark, crisp, and his black hair catches the gallery light in blue-black highlights.
I walk toward him, heels silent on the marble. He turns as I approach, and the tension in my stomach triples. His gaze hits me all at once, sharp and hungry, but his face is pure calm.
“How was your afternoon?” he asks, voice even.
I try to play it cool, but I can’t look him in the eye. “Fine. It was good. Sophia showed me some of the club, and took me to the doctor’s too. You know, just to see if I was banged up beyond the amnesia. No lasting damage, just a bruise or two.” I try a joke, but it lands limp.
He doesn’t smile. “Glad to hear it.”
I shift, arms folded under my chest, and stare at the painting because looking at him is too much.
“There’s something you should know,” I say, words tumbling out fast. “The doctor said, um… that I’m a… that I’ve never…”
I can’t finish. My face is on fire.
