Page 63 of Lovely Venom

Slowly, I pivot on the vanity stool, sweeping the silk robe behind me with a dramatic flick of my wrist. The tempo increases, and as the music swells, so does my voice.

Slipping into character, I rise from my seat and walk downstage. The robe slides off my shoulders, and I make a show of tossing it aside, presenting myself in my not-so-good-girl costume.

I avoid glancing at the section where Cristian and my friends are sitting, but as I focus on the other customers, something feels off. They’re watching the show, but when I make direct eye contact, they look away.

Tension hangs in the air, and there can only be one reason. I’m not sure if it’s Cristian’s presence that’s unsettled them, or rather a decree he’s issued.

Either way, I can’t focus on it now, so I redirect my attention to the performance as the first cast member approaches me on stage. He’s the Parisian aristocrat donning a fitted black tux.

As he steps into stride beside me, a demure smile teases my lips when he offers me his arm. With a gentle pat on the shoulder, I dismiss him and continue on my way.

Further downstage, I reach the instrumental break as the second cast member appears. This one is a Saint-Tropez playboy in cream linen trousers, an unbuttoned shirt, and slicked-back hair. He approaches me with lazy confidence, opening the velvet box in his hands as I pause to examine the diamond necklace. With a shrug, I blow him a kiss and keep walking while I sing about poolside and cocktails.

Cast member three is the Hollywood Heartthrob in a white polo and high-waisted trousers. He walks with a swagger, a dazzling smile, and a certainty he’ll have his way as he drops to one knee. I pause, tilt my head to examine the ring in his hand with a dramatic squint, then pass him by without a word.

After theatrically rejecting all my offers, I come upon a display stand showcasing perfume, lipstick, and jewelry. Eyeing the pearls, I retrieve a folded bill from my corset, hand it to the attendant, and twirl them around my finger as my attention drifts back to the audience.

As the percussive beat of the song begins, a flurry of other dancers arrive on stage to frame me. I’m handed a fan, and on cue, we all snap them open. My face is briefly obscured before I sweep the fan across my body, partially close it, then repeat the process.

The choreography is sharp, deliberate, and precise, offering a dramatic flair as I bring the song to a close and the music stops.

The crowd applauds as the curtain lowers, my friend group being the loudest and most vocal among them. During those last few seconds, I cast a glance in their direction and make eye contact with Cristian. He’s as unreadable as ever, but there’s a stillness in him as he watches me, and something that feels deceptively like ownership in his gaze.

My heart does a weird little flip as I convince myself I’m losing my mind. But before I can be certain of it, the curtain closes, sealing the truth behind it.

Kenzie meets me backstage, gesturing like she’s snapping a photo. “Make way for the superstar.”

“Please, no paparazzi,” I joke, playing into our little bit.

“You killed it out there.” She joins me for the walk back to the dressing room.

“Thanks.” I toss my fan into a prop bin as we pass by. “Did the energy in the audience feel off to you, or am I imagining it?”

She eyes me hesitantly. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but something was definitely off. It’s like the men are afraid to even look at you.”

“Weird,” I mutter.

“Oh, baby girl.” Jackson, our resident gossip hound, chimes in as he overhears our conversation. “You’re so cute when you’re naïve.”

“What does that mean?” I arch a brow at him.

“You want to know why nobody’s looking at you?” He gestures me over to the backstage service door, opening it a crack so we can see the audience. “It’s because they like their skulls intact.”

Kenzie squeezes in beside me as we peer into the crowd, and my eyes land on Cristian.

“What have you heard?” I grill Jackson.

He doesn’t appear to hear me, because he’s too busy gazing at Cristian with a dreamy expression.

“Jackson, you’re drooling.”

“Holy smoldering sex god.” He sighs. “I can’t help it. That man is a sight to behold.”

“Who?” Tiffany shoves her way in between us, forcing the door open even further.

Of course, that’s the moment Cristian notices all of us staring at him.

An uncomfortable feeling settles in my gut as Tiffany sets her sights on him. The other dancers refer to her as the husband hunter, because she sees taken men as challenges, rather than obstacles. And she never backs down from a challenge.