Chapter 13
CHANTEL
My break between the opening ensemble and my mid-show solo is forty minutes. Normally, while the other acts are on stage, I’d be hydrating, catching my breath, and touching up my makeup before a costume change.
Right now, all I can think about is the fact that Cristian is out there, and he’ll be watching me perform.
An entirely new set of stage nerves takes over as I try to prepare myself.
I’m tempted to text Abella and ask her how they all showed up here together, but it will have to wait. I still need to do my vocal warm-ups, and I’ve wasted too much time as it is.
Other dancers spill into the dressing room after they wrap up their performance, which means I have about fifteen minutes left to hustle.
“Hey.” Kenzie grabs her water bottle, eyeing me as I shimmy into my cheeky shorts. “You okay? You look frazzled.”
“Totally good.” I nod a little too enthusiastically.
“You need a hand? It looks like you’re running behind.”
“Can you help me with this?” I gesture to my corset that still needs tightening in the back.
“Sure.” She gets to work on it, and I clip my garter straps to my pantyhose.
The entire costume for this act is black, which is meant to be a symbolic rebellion to the lyrics. I usually have fun with this one because I get to sing, but it’s completely different when people you know are watching.
“You want to do some warm-ups together?” Kenzie asks.
I nod, and we start with lip trills, only to end up laughing at each other in typical fashion. There’s never a time when it isn’t at least a little bit funny. After that, we hum a gradual progression of scales as I pull on my opera gloves, then we move on to sirens.
Kenzie drapes the long, layered strands of pearls over my head and adjusts them for me while I finish with some diaphragm breathing.
“You’re going to kill it out there.” She helps me into the silk robe with feathered cuffs. “You always do.”
“You sure you don’t want to go on for me?” I joke.
“There can only be one good girl around here.” She smirks. “It definitely isn’t me.”
“Chantel!” Meredith bellows from the hallway. “You’re up.”
I release a shaky breath and tell her I’m on my way.
“Knock ’em dead,” Kenzie sings as I leave the dressing room.
I approach the stage as the other dancers filter out into the hallway and the stagehands prepare the set. The entire process is surprisingly efficient, and within a minute, they’ve fitted me with a discreet ear-set mic.
This act opens with me sitting at a prop vanity, kitten heels crossed, the silk robe draped behind me as I show a little leg. I get into position, and Meredith checks everything over before she gives me a thumbs-up.
As the curtain rises, I gaze at my reflection, dabbing perfume onto my wrists while silence fills the stage.
The first few lines of “But I Am A Good Girl” spill softly from my lips, as if I’m alone, lost in introspection. Then I glance at the audience in the mirror, pausing as the opening notes filter through the speakers.
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 na?ve.”
“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.
Cristian isn’t taken, so it shouldn’t bother me. He might be my fake live-in husband, but the entire reason the joke is funny is because that would never in a million years happen.
“I call dibs.” Tiffany smacks her lips.
“He’s sitting with four other women.” Kenzie points out. “How do you know he’s not with one of them?”
“He’s not,” Jackson supplies. “He’s here for Chantel. Word around the VIP tables is that you’ve been officially marked as Vitale property.”
“Oh, God,” I groan. “Viktor is going to blow a gasket.”
“It’s not good for business having a performer who might get customers killed,” Tiffany snipes. “I’ll be surprised if you still have a job tomorrow.”
“Don’t listen to her.” Kenzie shoots Tiffany a glare.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Jackson reassures me. “Even Viktor isn’t dumb enough to piss off the Vitales.”
“You’re probably right about that,” I agree, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.
I should have known Cristian would pull something like this.
Tiffany shoves her breasts up and fluffs her hair. “I’ll tell you what, Chantel. Because I’m a girl’s girl, I’ll do you a solid and loyalty test him. You know how men like that are. It’s better to find out now before you get too invested.”
Jackson snorts, presumably at the remark about her being a girl’s girl, and I use the distraction to compose myself. The thought of her with Cristian makes me feel nauseous, but it shouldn’t. It’s not my business.
“Do what you want,” I tell her. “We aren’t together.”
“It’s never going to happen.” Jackson rolls his eyes.
“Oh yeah?” Tiffany huffs. “A hundred bucks says I’ll have his dick in my mouth in the next twenty minutes.”
With that declaration, she casts me a diabolical little smile and saunters off as we all stay glued to our spots to watch it unfold. I should be prepping for the final act right now, but some twisted part of me wants to see what Cristian does.
Tiffany is about as subtle as a train wreck as she slides onto the seat beside him, leaning close as she tries to get his attention. But for what feels like an inordinate amount of time, Cristian’s gaze stays locked on me—and he looks pissed.
“Oh god, the secondhand embarrassment is killing me.” Jackson winces. “That girl is delulu as hell.”
Tiffany says something, and Cristian turns his icy gaze to her. Her smile falters briefly, but when he finally responds, she seems to recover.
“We need a lip reader,” Jackson grumbles. “I can’t handle the suspense. Is he into it or not?”
“Well, it looks like she’s giving him her number,” Kenzie observes.
Tiffany removes a slip of paper from her corset and slides it onto the table in front of Cristian.
“Does she just keep a stack of those on hand?” Jackson sounds equally fascinated and horrified by the idea.
“She probably has business cards,” Kenzie quips. “1-800-Mistress For the Night.”
“Savage.” Jackson laughs. “But painfully accurate.”
Tiffany rises from her seat and sashays back to us with a smug expression on her face. But of course, she keeps us in suspense until Jackson presses her for an answer.
“I don’t see you on your knees, so do you owe me a hundred bucks or what?”
“Oh, I will be,” she assures us. “It’s a good thing you aren’t with him, Chantel. I’d definitely give him an F for failing the loyalty test. But he’ll be an A plus when I get my hands on him.”
Satisfied with her performance, she barges past us and walks away.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Jackson calls after her.
“I’ll give you all the juicy details when the deed is done,” she sings.
“Do you really think he went for it?” Kenzie frowns.
“Who knows with that one.” Jackson shrugs.
“Okay.” I force some levity into my tone. “I need to go get ready.”
“I’ll come with,” Kenzie says.
“I’ll paint you, then I’m going to flirt with the bartender,” Jackson announces.
The three of us traipse back to the dressing room, and I do a quick costume change while Kenzie and Jackson gossip about the latest drama.
Last week, it was a mysterious lipstick thief making the rounds.
This week, two of the ensemble dancers realized they were both dating the same wealthy patron.
It happened mid-act on a night they weren’t usually working together, and a fight broke out on stage.
The patron tucked tail and ran, and Viktor ended up firing both women.
“Somehow, I always manage to miss the juicy stuff,” I remark.
“That’s the luxury of being a headliner,” Jackson teases. “You’re only here three nights a week, so I guess you’ll just have to live vicariously through us.”
“I’m good,” I grumble. “It’s not like I need another reminder of how disappointing humanity is.”
“Someone’s jaded.” Jackson grabs the body shimmer and starts painting me for the final act.
“I’ll own it.”
“Speaking of jaded…” Jackson launches into a story about his ex, getting so carried away my body ends up looking like a disco ball.
“I think we’re good, Jackson,” I interrupt him. “You can put down the shimmer.”
“Eh.” He sets the brush aside to assess me. “You can never have too much sparkle. It’s giving untouchable goddess in a gilded bath.”
“Every rich client’s fantasy,” Kenzie muses.
“Okay, well, my work here is done.” Jackson brushes off his hands and blows each of us a kiss. “I’m going to catch me a hot bartender.”
“Good luck,” I call after him.
He waves as he disappears around the corner, and it takes all of three seconds for Kenzie to shoot me a questioning glance.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“What?” I organize the clutter on my vanity.
“Why are you under Vitale protection?”
“Oh, that.” I grimace, more annoyed by that development every second. “Probably because they found out about my number one fan.”
“You mean the stalker?” Her eyes widen.
I nod, and she releases a breath.
“Okay, I know Andreas says the Vitales are like the Greeks’ mortal enemies for some reason, but honestly, I don’t hate this. I’ll sleep better at night knowing someone is looking out for you. Who knows, maybe they’ll even figure out who it is.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
I’m sure that’s why Cristian’s sitting in the audience right now, undoubtedly clocking every customer in here tonight.
“I still think it’s stupid we have a no-cameras policy,” Kenzie says. “I understand the dressing room, but the hallway should be a safe zone.”
“I think secrecy is the whole point.” I shrug. “The Society is big on that.”
“True.” She checks the time with a groan. “I have to go back on in fifteen. You need any help with hair or makeup?”
“I think I’ve got it, but thanks. I’m just going to do a quick touch-up.”
“Easy peasy champagne tease-y.”
“You are such a nerd.” I laugh at her.
“I know.” She does a little kick as she tosses her hair back. “But you love me.”
“Have fun out there,” I tell her. “I’ll see you after?”
“Definitely.” She smiles. “Enjoy your bath.”