Chapter 20 Lila
Lila
Istare at my reflection in Mia’s full-length mirror, barely recognizing the woman looking back at me.
The emerald green baby doll dress hugs my curves in all the right places, making me look softer, more alive than I’ve felt in years.
The matching mask frames my eyes, turning them into mysterious pools that hide the nervousness flickering behind them.
I adjust the delicate gold filigree along the edge of the mask, my fingers trembling slightly.
Tonight feels different, dangerous, like I’m stepping into one of my book worlds instead of just reading about it.
“Holy shit, you look hot,” Valerie says, appearing behind me in the mirror. Her red dress matches the style of mine, the same cut but different color, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders in loose waves.
“You think?” I ask, smoothing the fabric over my hips. “I feel like I’m playing dress-up.”
“That’s the whole point,” Mia calls from the bathroom where she’s putting the finishing touches on her makeup. Her dress is a sparkling sapphire blue, matching beautifully with her black hair. “Tonight, we can be whoever the fuck we want.”
Whoever I want. The thought sends a thrill down my spine.
Eli left yesterday morning, another “business trip” that he refused to explain.
His absence feels like freedom, and I hope he’s gone for longer.
Usually his shorter trips are three days, but I never know for sure. Sometimes he’s gone for over a week.
“Here,” Valerie says, handing me a shot glass filled with amber fluid. “Liquid courage.”
I down it in one go, wincing at the burn. “Jesus, what is that?”
“Tequila,” she grins. “The good stuff.”
Mia emerges from the bathroom, her mask already in place, a stunning blue creation that makes her eyes look even more striking. “I called the Uber. Five minutes, ladies.”
We take selfies while we wait, posing with exaggerated pouts and sultry stares that make us collapse into giggles. It feels good to laugh, to be silly with my friends without constantly checking the time, calculating when I need to be home before Eli gets angry.
“I can’t remember the last time we did this,” I say as we pile into the back of the Uber, a cloud of perfume and excitement filling the small space.
“That’s because it’s been too fucking long,” Valerie says, squeezing my knee. “Tonight, we’re making up for lost time.”
The club is already packed when we arrive, a line stretching down the block.
But Mia knows someone at the door, she always does.
Then we’re ushered inside without waiting.
The bass hits me immediately, vibrating through my chest as if my heart has synced to its rhythm.
Lights flash across the dance floor, turning masked faces into flickering apparitions.
“Drinks first?” Mia shouts over the music, already heading toward the bar.
We follow, weaving through bodies pressed close together. The bartender slides three colorful cocktails our way, and we clink glasses before taking long sips through thin black straws. The alcohol warms my insides, loosening the knot of tension that’s lived between my shoulder blades for years.
“Come on,” Valerie grabs my hand, pulling me toward the dance floor. “I love this song!”
I let her lead me into the crowd, Mia following close behind.
We form a small circle, moving to the beat, our hips swaying in sync.
The masks create a strange sense of anonymity even among friends, I feel bolder, less self-conscious than usual.
I raise my arms above my head and let the music take over, closing my eyes briefly.
When I open them again, I catch a flash of something familiar across the room. A dull green X on each eye of a mask, the lower portion cut to expose the mouth. My heart stutters, then races. It’s him. My stalker. My masked man.
“You okay?” Mia asks, noticing my sudden stillness.
I nod, not trusting my voice. My eyes scan the crowd again, but he’s gone. Was he ever really there, or am I seeing what I want to see?
We dance for what feels like hours, pausing only to get more drinks. Several men approach, asking for dances, but we decline them all with polite smiles and firm nos. Tonight is for us, at least that’s what I tell myself as I continue to search the crowd for him.
As the night wears on, I begin to think I imagined him.
The disappointment sits heavy in my stomach, souring the sweetness of the night.
But then the music changes, shifting to a slower, more hypnotic beat.
A voice cuts through the melody, “Stalker” by Stevie Howie.
I freeze, the lyrics washing over me like a premonition.
And that’s when I feel it, a presence behind me, the subtle shift in the air that raises the hair on my arms. I turn slowly, already knowing who I’ll find.
He stands there in a perfectly tailored black suit, the mask with its green X’s covering the upper half of his face. His mouth, that mouth I’ve thought about for weeks, curves into a slight smile.
“May I have a word?” he asks, his voice carrying that same tone I remember from the bookstore, from my back steps, and the sushi bar. He gestures toward the stairs leading to the VIP section.
Mia grabs my arm, her fingers digging in slightly. “Lila,” she says, her voice low and urgent. “Is that...?”
I nod, unable to tear my eyes away from him.
“You don’t have to go,” Valerie says, stepping between us like a shield. “We can leave right now.”
“Did you request this song?” I ask him, ignoring my friends for the moment.
His smile widens slightly. “Yes.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest, a strange mixture of fear and flattery and desire.
“I’ll be fine,” I tell Mia and Valerie, finally turning to face them. “He can’t murder me here. Too many witnesses.”
“That’s not fucking funny,” Mia hisses, but I can see the curiosity in her eyes, too. The part of her that wants to see how this plays out.
“Go,” Valerie says finally, surprising me. “But we’re checking on you in twenty minutes. And remember—”
“Fluffy,” I mouth to her, our code word. “I know. I’ll be fine.”
I turn back to him, taking a deep breath. “Lead the way.”
He offers his arm, a surprisingly gentlemanly gesture from someone who’s been watching me through windows for months.
I take it, feeling the solid muscle beneath his suit jacket.
We climb the stairs together, his hand coming to rest on the small of my back as he guides me toward a door at the end of a dimly lit hallway.
The VIP room is smaller than I expected, just a black couch positioned along the back wall facing the door. The music is still audible but muted enough that we can hear each other without shouting. Through a large window, we can see the dance floor below, a swirling mass of bodies and lights.
“Your friends are protective,” he says, closing the door but not locking it. “That’s good. You should have people looking out for you.”
“Are you?” I ask, remaining standing even as he gestures for me to sit. “Looking out for me?”
He tilts his head, studying me. “In my way, yes.”
“Most people would call what you’re doing stalking, not protection.”
“Most people aren’t married to Eli Fischer.”
The sound of my husband’s name from his lips makes me flinch. “How do you know about Eli?”
“I know a lot of things about Eli,” he says, his voice hardening slightly. “Things you should know, too.”
I cross my arms, suddenly feeling vulnerable despite the crowded club just beyond the door. “Like what?”
He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small envelope. “Like the fact that he’s been cheating on you. Regularly. With paid companions.”
I stare at the envelope full of photographs and receipts, but don’t take it. “Prostitutes,” I say flatly. It’s not a question, I’ve suspected for a while now.
“Yes.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
“I’ve been watching him too,” he admits. “Following his movements when he leaves you alone in that house.”
I should be horrified by this, by all of this. But all I feel is a strange sense of validation. Someone has been paying attention. Someone has been seeing what I’ve been afraid to look at directly.
“Why?” I ask, the question that’s been burning in me since that day in the bookstore. “Why me? Why all of this?”
He takes a step closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne, something lightly floral, cedar and linen. “Because from the moment I saw you, I knew you deserved better. Because something in me recognized something in you.”
It sounds insane. It probably is insane. But standing here, in this small room with the man who’s been haunting my thoughts for months, it feels like the most honest thing I’ve ever heard.
“Fuck it,” I whisper, and then I’m moving toward him, closing the distance between us.
I pull him down to my level by the lapels of his jacket and kiss him, hard.
He makes a surprised sound against my mouth before his arms wrap around me, pulling me flush against his body.
The hard edges of his mask press into my skin, but I don’t care.
All I care about is the heat of his mouth, the taste of him, butterscotch bourbon and something woodsy, rugged.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard. His eyes behind the mask are dark with desire.
“I want this,” I tell him, surprising myself with my boldness. “But no penetration. Not until I’m divorced.”
He nods, his hands sliding down to my hips. “Whatever you want. However you want it.”
I step back, creating space between us. “I want to see you. Take your shirt off, keep the mask on. I want to see what you’ve been hiding under that suit.” I say, feeling emboldened behind my own mask.
Even if I know who he is, I don’t want to see his face just yet. As if he would disappear as soon as I find out.