I step in, and my breath catches.
The dance studio is like something out of a ballerina’s fever dream: mirrored walls on all four sides, the floor a pale, slick wood polished to a shine. The ceiling has twinkle lights embedded in gold leaf, so when you walk in, it’s like floating inside a jewelry box. At one end of the room, a long window overlooks the pool where two women in tiny bikinis are doing slow, synchronized laps. A man in a silk robe lounges by the water, watching them with the lazy focus of a cat.
I can’t stop staring. I don’t know if it’s the perfect bodies, or the way their hair flows underwater, or just the possibility that at any moment, I think the man’s going to claim both ladies at once. Something gives me that feeling, and my belly tingles as my nipples harden.
Sophia’s voice cuts brings me out of my reverie, however. “Okay, Daisy. The first rule of seduction is confidence. The second ruleis rhythm. Most of the men at Sanctum have seen it all, but if you can walk like you’re the only thing worth watching? You win.”
She puts her gym bag down and pulls out a pair of heels, clear plastic, with an ankle strap. I laugh—actual stripper shoes.
“Put these on,” she says. “And don’t worry, we’ll start slow.”
I slide into them, and the world tilts in a new direction.
Sophia moves to the center of the studio, and for a second she just stands there, hands on hips, chin lifted. The sunlight catches her, and she becomes all angles and shadows. She snaps her fingers and starts to walk, slow, deliberate, hips moving in a smooth figure-eight. When she turns, it’s like every muscle in her body is in on a joke I haven’t heard.
“Your turn,” she says.
I step forward, and immediately trip over my own feet.
“Dang stripper heels!”
Sophia bursts out laughing—not mean, just delighted. “Try again. Slower.”
I do. This time, I make it four steps before wobbling, but she comes over, steadies my hips with both hands, and guides me.
“Like this,” she murmurs, and moves my hips in the right direction, pressing against my waist.
Her hands are gentle but insistent as they steer me. I stare at my face in the mirror, and the girl there looks enchanting. A goddess in training. A beautiful blonde with the world’s secrets in her hands.
I try again. This time, I manage a full turn and a little hip pop at the end. Sophia claps, her smile wide. “Perfect! Now try it with the slip a little bit undone in the back.”
I freeze. OMG, really? My fingers tremble as I pull the zipper down. The fabric parts, showing the slope of my breast, the line of my bra.
Sophia watches, approving.
“Now sashay,” she says. “Pretend you’re on stage, and every step makes you more valuable. Drive those those guys wild.”
I try, and something clicks. The shoes force my hips to sway. The cool air makes my skin go tight, goosebumps everywhere, and in the mirror I see my own eyes go hungry.
We practice for what feels like hours, but can’t be more than forty minutes. Every time I mess up, Sophia shows me again. She’s patient. She teaches me to arch my back, to let my hands wander down my thighs, to touch the curve of my breast like I’m a gorgeous goddess, and proud of every inch.
“Don’t be shy,” she says. “If you’re going to strip, strip with purpose. Stop at every new layer, show it off, then move on.”
It’s embarrassing because I never thought of myself as a girl who’d take off her clothes for money, but after a while, it starts to feel fun. I spin, I strut, I flip my hair, and Sophia’s encouragement gets less clinical and more gushing.
“You’re a natural,” she says at one point, breathless and grinning. “You were made for this.”
At some point, she pulls out a feathered mask from the gym bag and hands it to me. “Try it on. It lends an air of mystery.”
I slip it over my eyes, and suddenly I’m not Daisy anymore—I’m someone else, someone mysterious, someone who can walk in and own a room.
With the mask on, I strut and pose. I tug the dress strap down, then up, teasing myself as much as the imagined audience. I run my hands over my body, slower and slower each time. The girl in the mirror is a stranger, but she looks like she’s in complete control.
When the lesson ends, I’m high on adrenaline, legs shaking, but I’m not afraid. If anything, I’m addicted to my own power.
Sophia pulls me into a hug.
“You’re ready,” she coos. “We’ll do this by the pool next. It’s a whole new level to have people watching, even if they’re more interested in their own shenanigans.”
