37. Neomi
The first thing I notice when we step through the doors isn’t the music pulsing beneath my heels. It’s the way the room changes when Lars walks in.
I’ve been in exclusive spaces before. High-stakes tables, private lounges and rooms filled with men who think they run the world. I know what real power looks like when it enters a room.
Lars doesn’t have to command power, they willingly give it to him.
The hostess straightens before we reach her. The manager appears from somewhere behind the bar as if summoned. Security shifts. No one makes a spectacle of it, but the air adjusts around him.
“Mr. Marchetti,” the hostess says warmly. “Are you here for business or would you like to be seated at a table?”
“Hello, Heather. This is my wife, Neomi.”
Heather smiles warmly. “Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Marchetti.”
I return the smile as Lars speaks, “We’ll need a table this evening.”
Heather picks up her phone and shortly after, a waitress appears. “Mr. Marchetti, right this way.”
Lars nods and places his hand lightly around my elbow as we’re guided through the main floor.
The club isn’t like the ones I’ve visited in other cities. It’s dripping with elegance. Black lacquered walls catch and reflect the gold light that spills from sconces and chandeliers. Velvet chairs cluster around low, gold-rimmed tables. The air smells of perfume and expensive liquor.
At the front of the room, the stage glows under a warm spotlight as a woman swirls around the pole. Behind it, spanning nearly the entire back wall, a massive monarch butterfly stretches its wings—black veined in gold, lacquered to a shine that makes it look almost alive.
It’s stunning.
We’re led to a table in the corner of the main floor with a clear view of the stage and the rest of the room. Lars pulls out my chair before taking his own and I sink into the plush seat. Our server asks what we would like to start the evening with.
“Champagne,” Lars says. “The reserve. And two tequila shots.”
“Yes, sir.”
I fold my hands in my lap and glance around again, trying to look unaffected. The club is beautiful, and the dancers are just as gorgeous. They’re graceful, composed, dressed in tasteful lingerie.
I’m not the jealous type. I know my worth but knowing he works alongside a parade of beautiful women when he’s here makes me wonder about dangerous things.
“You’re quiet,” he says, watching me carefully.
“I’m observing.”
Our drinks arrive within minutes, the cork of the bottle of champagne released with a hissing pop. The server fills two chilled flutes and disappears as gracefully as she appeared.
I lift the flute, watching the bubbles rise. I can feel Lars’ eyes on me.
“Do you have any questions? About the club or anything else?” He raises his glass to his soft, plush lips.
I escape his eyes, focusing on the main stage. “Have you ever slept with any of the employees?”
He answers without hesitation, “No.”
I turn to him, my knees touching his thigh. “You honestly expect me to believe that you don’t partake in after-hours activities? Lars, these women are—”
He reaches forward and places a finger lightly against my lips, stopping my assumption.
“Bella, I’m not lying.” His voice is reassuring. “These women deserve a safe place to work. We have a strict non-fraternization policy. For everyone, including me. So yes—you should believe me when I tell you I haven’t slept with any of them.”
He removes his finger from my lips and lowers his hand to my thigh.
“Okay, I believe you.”
He squeezes my skin. “Good.”
Reaching for the shots, he slides one of them in front of me. I pick it up, the scent of the lime flooding my senses.
He tips his shot glass to mine. “To causing trouble tonight, Bella. We already committed the worst drunken mistake, and I want you to know that I think it turned out wonderfully.”
The corner of my mouth tips up and I clink my glass to his. “To trouble.”