Page 67 of Lovely Venom

Once I’m settled, I drape myself back dramatically, and one of the other women hands me a feather fan. The ladies in waiting perform a synchronized pour, filling the bath with champagne.

After they step back to the safety line, I fan myself as the glass starts to spin. In unison, we lip-sync the words to the song, the dancers snapping their fingers to the beat. I kick up my heels with a theatrical flourish, splashing the champagne around me. Then, in one last display, my ladies take a bow as I appear to hold the last note.

Finally, I rest the fan against my forehead, tipping my head back, and the stage goes dark.

The curtain closes, the lights come back on, and chaos unfolds. A slow, smoky jazz filters through the speakers as stagehands race to remove props and the rest of the cast returns to the stage.

One of the other performers helps me from the champagne glass, and someone tosses me my robe from below. By the time we get down the platform stairs, I have the robe wrapped around me, and the rest of my costume is already gone.

Two men roll the elevated champagne glass away, and we all take our places center stage. The curtain rises to a wave of applause as the entire cast takes a bow and confetti bursts into the air overhead, fluttering around us like snow.

Some of the audience members toss flowers onto the stage, and after an eternity of cheers and whistles, the show is over. The emcee does his outro as we smile and wave, then the curtain closes, and we all take a collective breath.

Meredith congratulates us on a job well done as everyone filters out into the hallway. The dressing room is loud and frenzied as the other dancers rush to change out of their costumes. But I grab my bag and head for the shower, eager to wash the champagne off.

After a quick clean-up, I change into a black strapless midi dress with a sweetheart neckline. There’s an expectation that we keep up appearances if we hang around, and this dress contours in all the right places, delivering effortless old Hollywood glamour. I pair it with some black pumps, opera gloves, and a glittering Swarovski collar necklace.

By the time I return to my dressing table, the last two dancers are leaving. Most of them like to socialize in the club following the show, with the exception of the few who go home right away.

I take a seat to touch up my hair and makeup, but when a shadow falls over the room, I glance up to find Cristian darkening the doorway.

“You aren’t supposed to be back here,” I tell him, realizing how stupid it sounds as soon as I say it.

There isn’t a soul alive who would dictate what this man can and can’t do.

He disregards my observation and closes in behind me, meeting my gaze in the mirror. We stare at each other for an uncomfortably long stretch of silence, and he lets me stew in that tension before he finally speaks.

“Have you been enjoying your little games tonight?”

“What games?” I powder my face.

“Is that how we’re going to play this?” The warmth of his body brushes my back.

Ignoring him, I focus on applying another coat of lipstick and blotting it with tissue paper.

“Do I make you nervous, Chantel?”

His voice rolls down my spine, sending goosebumps skittering over my arms.

“If by nervous, you mean irritated, then yes,” I answer primly.

A hint of a smile teases his lips, more dangerous than amused.

He grabs my jaw and tilts my head back so I have no choice but to look at him.

“What did you say to Ares?”

The words are low and controlled, but there’s a silent promise that if I don’t tell him, there will be consequences. Still, this is the only leverage I have over him, and for too many reasons to list, I want to aggravate him as much as he does me.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Vitale, but unlike everyone else, I don’t answer to you. What I said to Ares is none of your business.”

Darkness swallows the light in his eyes. “Do you want me to fuck her?”

“What?”

“Your friend,” he murmurs. “That’s what this is really about, isn’t it?”

“Do you think I care who you fuck?” I force the words from my dry throat. “You can go fuck her all night long. In fact, please do.”