Chapter 29 Keep that breathless charm
Keep that breathless charm
I'm leaning over the vanity, applying clear lip gloss and giving myself a thorough examination, when several girls enter the toilet block.
They freeze when they see me. It's as if I have a 'kick me' sign on my forehead.
I glance at them sideways while continuing to check my hair and makeup.
They whisper to each other before separating into different cubicles.
After adjusting my little baby-blue dress, I comb my fingers through my hair, puffing it up to add volume.
I feel like a big fake. I don’t know why I care so much right now about being perfect.
It's just—I haven't been out on a real date with Max in the District before tonight and everyone already thinks he's too good for me.
The girl in the mirror looks happy though.
I am happy.
Sometimes I feel guilty that I'm so happy given the moral compass of the man who inspires it. But most of the time, I don't. As nervous as it makes me, I accept my boyfriend is a gangster.
I accept the gun.
I accept what he does with it.
I trust in his character enough to believe he'll make the right decisions for his family. Because in the end they are all that matter. His family and mine. Him and me. Max is beautiful, just a little broken at the moment, but I believe one day he'll go straight.
As the girls leave their stalls one by one, scrutinising me so obviously, I sigh aloud. Collecting my gloss and purse, I leave them to gossip about me in peace.
I can feel Max's eyes following me as I move across the room, so I catch his gaze. Feigning a flirtatious walk, I exaggerate my strut, my hips swaying pendulously and over-the-top. He laughs, and that's why I'll never be cool. He likes me as I am.
I slide in beside him on the booth seat.
So relaxed.
He's dressed in a dark-blue shirt and black vest tonight, looking like a powerful young man.
Resting his thick tattooed arm on top of the seat, he plays with my hair and neck as we watch the live jazz band on stage.
I sip my port while Max nurses a whiskey.
I've never been here before, but Max knew that I'd love it due to the music and, of course, the elaborate menu.
It reminds me of a 1950s club where live music and fine dining collide. It's loud, active, vibrant, and classy. The Minister for Agriculture is sitting a booth over from us. It's a scene.
It's elite, I suppose.
And fun.
My favourite Frank Sinatra song comes on—The Way You Look Tonight. Max keeps his fingers moving on my shoulder and neck and hair. I glance at him, and he grins at me and mouths the words in time to the song. I'm in heaven. If I could feel any more love right now, I'd die of a heart attack.
Max's nose touches my ear. His breath cascades over my neck, making my skin hot.
While I'm trying to concentrate on the music, his tongue feathers the shell of my ear.
My knees press together at the exact time he turns towards me.
His left hand slides between my thighs and hikes my knee up onto the cushion.
Fingers move inside my knickers. Up into me.
"Max. No," I whisper, smiling and breathless.
I turn my back to the other tables, hiding his hand and my face from everyone's view. He fingers me slowly, curling in the right spot. I try to pretend it's not happening, but I want to drop my head onto his shoulder and moan.
His fingers move around, touching every sensitive spot as if he has a road map for each nerve ending. Oh God, I can't restrain myself. Shamelessly, I roll my hips into his fingers, taking more of what I need from them.
I'm halfway through a soft moan when he jerks his hand from between my legs.
His knuckles hit the underside of the table, rattling glasses.
Startled, I look up at him, but he's glaring over my shoulder.
Cheeks burning, I glance over to see a man standing behind me, shuffling nervously beside our table. I hurriedly turn my eyes back to Max.
"Sorry, Max," the man begins. "But there's someone I think you'll want to see in the cigar lounge."
Max holds the arch of my neck. "Are you fucking crazy? Can't you see I'm here with my girl?"
"You'll want to see him," he presses.
"I don't!" Max puts the two fingers that were just inside me into his mouth and sucks on them, all the while glowering at this other man.
I am not sure if the man knows what Max was doing but I cover my face with my palms, smothering a mortified smile.
I peak through my fingers at Max. He grins at me and I shake my head with a giggle.
Menace.
Max then dips those two fingers into his whiskey, swirls them around, and drains the glass. "I've got better things to do. Go get me another drink."
Shuffling nervously, the guy presses, "You told me to look out for him... Remember? When you got back—"
"Yeah alright. Alright. Fine. Send Nina over here to sit with Cassidy."
My heart jumps into my throat. "Max, no. Where are you going?"
He tries to scoot me from the booth so he can leave. "I won't be long. Five minutes."
I refuse to move. "Don't. I don't want you to." I prepare myself for a scolding, but instead he once again glowers at the man behind me. With quick steps, the man walks away, leaving us alone. Max's expression is soft and playful now, and I have all of his attention.
His hand massages my neck and shoulder. "Five minutes, Little One."
"No." I shake my head. "What could you possibly need to do right now?"
He grins at me and tilts his head. "Little One, I'll be five minutes. How much trouble can I cause in that time? Clock me."
I roll my eyes. "Fine, Menace. But then you have to dance with me."
"Do you think I wasn't already going to?"
"Really? You were going to dance with me? In front of everyone?"
"Why are you surprised? I'm a fucking majestic dancer."
I laugh and he slides out from the table. As he follows the other man into a room behind the bar, I sigh. He knows exactly how to work me.
A tall barmaid with burnt umber hair wanders over to me and sits on the opposite side of the booth.
"I was told to sit with you. I'm Nina." She rubs her hands down her apron as she smiles sweetly in my direction.
With a cute pleated upper lip and violet-blue eyes that are circled by dark lashes, she is very attractive.
I cross my legs. "Okay, well, you don't have to if you don't want to."
She nods. "Yes, I do."
"Okay." I bite my lip idly. "What's back there?"
She tilts her head towards the door, questioningly. "There? The cigar lounges."
"Cool. Can anyone go back there?"
She leans on the table and taps her nails. "No. It's just for VIPs."
I feel a wave of excitement. "Can I go back there?"
Her lovely eyes shift around. "I guess. You're with Max."
A wicked grin takes over my face. "So I could get up right now and walk in there and you'd let me?"
She sighs. "Yes. I don't know why you'd want to though."
"Why?"
"Because it's just full of businessmen talking shop. And skimpies. Not the right place for a girl like you."
I blink at her. "Excuse me? A girl like me?"
"Calm down." She shuffles slightly and her breasts move beneath her shirt, voluptuous and heavy.
She's striking. I imagine outside of her work attire, she'd be a showstopper.
"I didn’t mean to offend you. You're Max's date.
He's not back there to see them. He's out here with you.
You're better than them and he's very protective of you. "
I try to listen to the intent and appreciate the words, but I can’t help but feel uneasy when a total stranger gives me insight into my boyfriend's intentions and feelings. "I'm sorry, what?"
She smiles despite my tight face. "He will want to keep the world beautiful for you."
"What?" I sip my port. "How do you even know this?"
"Because I can tell. I've known Max for a very long time."
My brows draw together. "How long?"
She's had sex with my boyfriend.
I feel sick.
She deflects my question. "When you see men drunk and surrounded by women who will do anything to get their favour, you see things that make you realise how perverted the world is.
How sick men can be. He doesn't want to taint you with that scene.
But clubs that bring in an aristocratic demographic also need a private retreat for them to handle their business. That's the cigar lounge."
I roll my eyes and wrap my arm around my stomach protectively. "I'm not a delicate little flower. I know men."
Her head tilts. "Do you?"
I swallow. "Yes."
She smiles at me again. "You don't know these men."
My arm tightens around my stomach as it rolls with nausea. "How well do you know Max?"
"Very well. I used to live next door to them," she states emphatically. "For many years."
"And?" I stare at her questioningly. "You've slept with my boyfriend."
She laughs. "No."
"Why don't I believe you?"
She laughs louder. "I used to sleep with Bronson. Not Max."
Suddenly, I can breathe again and the wave in my belly calms. Bronson. "Oh. Wow. What happened?"
She shrugs and tries to smile, but her forehead is tight as if she's forcing it. "Nothing. He just never really liked me."
"Oh." I sigh and feel a tingle of compassion for her. The Butcher Boys are addictive. If my love for Max was unrequited—and maybe it is—I'd never be a whole person again after we split. I find her sad but resolute gaze. "But you liked him."
She laughs as she flicks her hair around. "Liked? I'm still in love with that crazy son of a bitch."
"In this case, you actually can call her a bitch too!" The words just tumble out.
We both laugh and share a knowing grin that only girls in love with a Butcher boy could understand. That love is consuming. I'm sure Bronson is just as intense to be in love with as Max. Just as overwhelming. "Go find him. He's single!"
She releases a little sigh, but a smile still plays on her lips. "He'll probably always be single."
I nod. "I've noticed. He's alone a lot."