My lips are a shade darker than my cheeks when I decide that’s enough. I like the soft contrast of my face against my dark hair and eyes.
Then I go for the dress. I slip it on. It fits like it was tailored for my curves. Makes my hips round and my waist small. My nipples are already peaked against the mesh of the bodice.
I drag my fingertips over the beads. They are glass and they sparkle.
The box had shoes too. Silver, to match the dress. And jewelry. Nice jewelry. Drop diamond earrings, a silver cuff that is probably platinum, lined with pavé diamonds, and a matching necklace that looks more like a collar than a choker.
There is no ring.
At exactly eight-twenty I swing the black velvet capelet with silver fox-fur trim that Jordan bought me for Christmas over my shoulders.
Hmmm. I wonder if he was always planning on bringing me to this party. It matches my dress suspiciously well.
And then I grab the small silver clutch, also a Christmas present from Jordan, and walk out the door to meet him downstairs.
I don’t expect him to be waiting, since I’m a few minutes early and he said he didn’t want to come up, but when I step off the elevator, he is waiting. Black tux framing his perfect body. Smile on his handsome face. One hand outstretched to take mine and lead me down the half-flight of steps to the main lobby.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say, leaving off the ‘sir,’ since we’re in public and the lobby is filled with people. That’s something, I think. He’s not so controlling that he wants me to play in front of strangers.
He doesn’t do this for ego. Neither do I.
“Are you nervous?” he asks as the doormen nod their heads to us and we pass through the doors and out into the frigid night air.
“Should I be?”
“Yes,” he says, opening the passenger door to his car and holding my hand until I’m seated in the soft leather seat. I look up at him, wondering how far they’ll go tonight. But he just smiles and pushes the door closed with a soft thunk.
The engine is running so the heat is on, but the warmth is only momentary because he opens his door, letting the cold in, and a breeze of it flashes past my face when he pulls it closed.
“We’re going to have a lot of fun tonight, Nadia,” he says, putting the car in gear and pulling away from my building.
“Did you miss me last night?”
“No,” he says. “I was thinking about someone else.”
Chapter Fifteen - Bric
I spend the day thinking about Quin as the workers bustle around the lobby setting up for tonight’s carnal proclivities. Smith too, but not as much as Quin. I think his absence at the New Year’s Eve parties these past two years was a symptom of the disease eating away at us that I failed to recognize.
And I miss him. We spent almost the entire year apart and I should’ve seen all this coming, but I missed it.
I missed it.
I have an urge to call him. Them. Ask how Christmas went. Did Adley have fun? Did they take pictures? Can I see them?
But it’s a stupid excuse. Adley is too young to know what Christmas is. And while I am interested in all those things, she wouldn’t be the reason I was calling.
I don’t even know why I’d be calling. For Rochelle? For Quin? For both of them? All of them?
I just don’t know.
It hurts to think about it. But then I see Nadia and Jordan coming through the revolving doors. All dressed up, looking sexy as hell, and ready for whatever this night brings.
Jordan is wearing a tux, but it’s a nice tux. Not the usual I-wear-this-to-the-Club-every-Saturday-night kind of tux. It’s slim-cut trousers and perfectly tailored jacket. It’s black on black on black and accentuates both his youth and his strength.
I find myself smiling as I watch him come inside, Nadia on his arm, his eyes searching for mine.
We meet from across the room. Hold the moment. He smiles back.
Nadia is wearing the silver dress we sent. Tight, hugging her small curves, and long with a hint of a train that drags across the floor as she takes a few tentative steps into the lobby. She is showing skin on her shoulders, between her cleavage, and a hint of leg from the ankle to thigh from the side slit in her dress. She looks around the room too, but doesn’t immediately find me upstairs in Smith’s bar. So I enjoy the fear in her face. The wondering of what will come next. Almost hear the beating of her heart as her chest rises and falls.
She has her arm hooked into Jordan’s and she pulls him closer to her as people approach to say hello.
She finally looks up and sees me. Just the barest hint of a smile as she looks away.
I get up, button my suit coat, and check my watch as I walk to the stairs, hop down the half flight that leads to the second-story elevator landing, and take it all in.
The waiters are looking up at me and when I nod my head, they begin the ritual of closing the outside shutters while others pull the curtains closed on the inside. There’s a net filled with black and silver balloons hanging from the ceiling. Confetti will fall, the lights will dim, and we will ring in the New Year at midnight moaning and writhing.
We have a few more minutes until nine o’clock, so I clear my throat and take a glass of champagne off a tray being held by a waiter at my side.
The thrum of lively conversation dims to a low hum, then falls off completely as I wait. Every head turns up to look at me.
Power is the word in my head at this moment. I don’t wield a lot of power in this place. I’m just a player among players most nights. But this night belongs to me and they all know this.
“Welcome back to the Turning Point Club New Year’s Eve Party,” I say, smiling down at everyone. “We have no new members this year, so you all know the drill.” We had one new member, but I withdrew his membership after his mistress confronted Rochelle a couple weeks ago. “Please take a mask off the tray and put it on.”
The waiters are there now. The trays of champagne they were carrying a few minutes ago have been replaced with trays of black eye masks. Trimmed in silver lace for the women. Trimmed in black leather for the men. Every hand reaches for one. Every face is covered.
I look at my watch again, realize it’s time, and give another nod. The steel shutters are pulled closed on the outside of the revolving doors and we disappear from the rest of the world.
Every man wearing black, on black, on black. Every woman wearing a silver gown just like Nadia’s. And when they look up at me again, they are faceless. Anonymous for all intents and purposes. They are equals.
I find Nadia and Jordan, standing off to the side, and slowly descend the stairs. Everyone is quiet when I join them in the lobby. Every face on me. Every man wondering if I will choose his woman as this night’s sacrificial lamb.
But I don’t choose their women. I choose our woman.