Chapter 14
CHANTEL
The final act of the night is a solo to “Champagne Champagne” by Mandy Lauderdale. This one is all performance and no singing, which is a relief, because I can coast by on autopilot.
I step out onto the stage in a champagne-tinted robe as the music opens, absently pulling the sash loose. The material glides over my shoulders as I walk, slowly slipping from my body to reveal the gold chainmail dress beneath.
Strolling to the bar cart in my strappy heels, I let my fingers dance over the bottles of champagne before I choose one. After I pop the cork, I pour a glass and press a lipstick print against the flute as I make my way downstage.
This song is a sultry little jazz number, and it’s all about measured steps, the buildup of anticipation, and lingering eye contact. But as I walk down the stairs into the audience, every man I glance at averts his gaze—except for one.
I find myself moving toward him, as if he’s reeling me in like a magnet. He’s cold and composed, but fire flickers in the depths of his eyes when they slide over me.
As he sits there, reclined against the booth like he owns it, an inexplicable sense of déjà vu pulses between us. I can’t make sense of it, but there’s something else I can’t forget.
Tiffany’s declaration backstage echoes through my mind, snapping me out of my haze. At the last minute, I pivot on my heel and redirect myself.
I’m taking my life into my own hands when I head for the VIP table where Ares and his men are seated.
Ares never comes here, so there must be a reason for his presence, and I need to seize the opportunity while I have it. It’s part of the show to interact with the audience during this song, and tonight I happen to have a convenient target.
Stepping between him and one of his guards, I lean in without breaking character and whisper in his ear.
“Have there been any arrivals I should know about?”
His gaze shifts to Cristian, and a smile tugs at his lips before he fixes his attention on me.
“Nothing on my watch.”
I nod, and so it doesn’t look like I’m singling him out, I turn to face his guard Elias. Passing him the champagne flute in my hand, I blow him a kiss and drift back into the crowd.
Ares’ assurance makes me feel slightly better about the stalker situation, because there’s nothing that goes on in this city that man isn’t aware of. If my past had come calling, he would know.
In keeping with the performance, I stop by a few more groups, dragging my fingers over the tablecloths, tapping to the beat of the music, and even lighting one man’s cigar.
When I return to the stage, I take a slow, deliberate walk to the elevated champagne glass, stopping at the bottom of the platform.
With a glance over my shoulder, I reach up and tug the strings around my neck. The gold dress cascades over my body and pools around my heels.
As I begin my ascent up the stairs to the platform, I pause for dramatic effect to strip off my corset, followed by the opera gloves. When I’m finished, all that’s left is my chain bra and a pair of very cheeky champagne shorts.
My back is bared to the audience save for one tiny metal chain, and I’m not sure if it’s the chill in the air or a certain gaze that makes me shiver.
When I reach the top of the platform, four ladies in waiting dance to a slow rhythm, champagne bottles at the ready. I step into the bath that’s already half full of bubbles, and ease my way into the oversized champagne glass.
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.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He assesses me. “Then you can say I’m just like every other man. So fucking predictable.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I swallow. “But while we’re on the subject, you should know that I have plans on Saturday, and I’ll be gone all night. Maybe that would be a good time for you to take Tiffany out to the alleyway. That’s where she likes to get down and dirty.”
He gives me an unimpressed stare. “For a wife who’s planning on stepping out, you seem far too invested in what your husband does with his cock.”
“That joke was only funny the first time,” I tell him. “Now it’s gotten old.”
“Does he know what he’s getting himself into?”
“What?” I ask bitterly. “Please enlighten me on what he’s getting himself into.”
He drags his thumb over my lips, pupils flaring when he smears my lipstick. “Il bacio della morte.”
“What does that mean?” I let out a shaky breath.
He leans down, and the warmth of his words ghosts over my lips. “It means being with you has consequences.”
Before I can wrap my head around that, he releases me, slipping back into the cold composure I’ve come to expect from him.
“Your friends are waiting for you.”
He turns and heads for the door, but I can’t stop myself from asking.
“What kind of consequences, Cristian?”
He glances over his shoulder, jaw tight as he delivers the blow without emotion.
“Certain ruin.”
“What the hell, Chantel?” Lucia plants her hands on her hips.
“What?” I frown.
“You’ve been keeping secrets from us. Why didn’t you tell us you were a headliner?”
“Or that you could sing,” Gabi chimes in.
“Or that you can do the actual splits.” Abella raises her brows. “How some man hasn’t wifed you up yet is beyond me.”
“Well, I think she could have her pick of them.” Valentina eyes Andreas and Elias across the club. “Are they Greek?”
“Yes,” I answer, not bothering to explain that I actually know them.
“Figures.” Serafina sighs.
Andreas and Elias often work as a pair, and I know from experience neither of them are big talkers.
Since Andreas has been with Kenzie, I’ve had more interactions with him.
But I doubt Elias and I have exchanged more than a handful of words, even when they provided me safe passage from New York to Seattle.