25. Twenty-Five

Twenty-Five

L ucy grabs my hand and squeaks in delight as she jostles us through the black wooden doors and into the club. A corridor with black carpet and dark walls lies ahead and the beat of music filters towards us from the other end. Lucy pushes open the door to the ladies' toilets off to the right. Black, polished tiles line the floor and walls and three white, pristine ceramic hand basins sit below a large rectangular mirror with a gilded frame. They're spotless and modern and a floral fragrance fills the air. I'm not exactly sure what I expected the ladies in a strip club to look like, but it wasn't this.

Lucy sets her black clutch bag down on the shiny black marble counter, pulls her dark pink lip gloss out of her bag, and runs it over her lips.

"Big Steve's so burly. I bet he could show you a good time."

I shoot her a disapproving look. I hope it's just the wine talking. "How are things between you and Mark? "

"I can look," she says defensively. "And I'm not talking about bloody Mark on my hen-do."

"You're getting married in a month," I remind her, opening my handbag and tugging out my mobile. "You shouldn't feel like this."

There's a text from Art, sent an hour ago.

Are you okay? I miss you xxx

My heart swells and I can't help but grin as I text him back.

I'm fine. Stop worrying. Miss you too xxx

"Don't tell me. A text from Mr Italian Stallion," Lucy teases, catching my reaction. She rubs her lips together and gives me a knowing look. "You're in love with him, aren't you?"

I take a deep breath and examine my reflection in the mirror, tweaking the soft curls over my shoulders. "Totally," I admit. "He asked me to move in with him."

"What did you say?" Lucy shrieks.

"Yes, I'm moving in tomorrow. He's given me a key to his place. You don't think it's a bit soon, do you?"

"No. You love him and you can tell he loves you, too."

He hasn't said it yet.

"Do you think so?"

Lucy shoves the lip gloss back into her bag and fixes me a no-nonsense look. "When I caught you two dancing together today, I could tell he adores you by the way he looked at you. He's besotted."

I fiddle with my skirt. I really want her to be right. I really hope that she is right. Since Theo I've kept away from relationships, not wanting to risk getting involved in case history repeats itself and I end up getting hurt again. But that was never going to be possible with him. Art's swept into my life like a tornado, pulling me into the eye of his storm. I never stood a chance of getting out of his path in time. It was inevitable, he told me. And he was right .

"This is a rather serious conversation to be having in the ladies in a strip club," I laugh.

"I've always wanted to see what it's like in one of these places," Lucy says, fixing her hair in the mirror. "Come on, we'll get drunk, so we won't care that there's naked ladies."

We exit the toilets and venture down the dark corridor which opens up into the rest of the club. My visions of a red-lit, dry ice-filled room with crowds of baying men at the feet of some naked stripper are quickly squashed. At first glance, it could pass for a normal club and a sophisticated one at that. The walls are clad in deep purple, plush velvet drapes and the black carpet carries on throughout. The lighting is soft and low above the tables and booths are dotted about the room, occupied by both men and women. A bar sweeps round to the right, and to the left is a stage that juts out into the middle of the room like a runway. On centre stage is a leggy blonde, wearing nothing but a black sequined thong, winding herself round a pole like a pretzel. Apart from the almost naked pole dancer, the club has a low-key, relaxed vibe. It's not as bad as I'd imagined… but it's still a strip club.

We perch ourselves on black-leather stools at the bar. "Two glasses of white wine, please," Lucy says to the barman, dressed head to toe in black. She casts a glance around the bar. "It's not that bad in here, apart from the naked woman twirling round the pole."

"To work somewhere like this, or to visit these clubs," I wrinkle my nose. "It's still seedy though, isn't it?"

The barman places two glasses of wine on the bar. "It's not that bad," Lucy says, picking up her glass. "Stop being such a prude."

"I'm not a prude, but come on, Luce…" I look around at the mainly male-dominated club. "Would you be happy if you found out Mark visited places like this?"

She heaves a sigh, which indicates all is still not well between the two of them and takes a swig of wine. "I dunno, Soph. It might help fire him up in the bedroom department to be honest. "

Before I can ask any probing questions, her phone beeps from inside her clutch bag, and she pulls it out.

"It's from Sarah. She and Claire are calling it a night. I'm not surprised. I don't know why she bothered bringing her, she's such a bloody light-weight and the rest of them." Lucy rams her phone in her bag. "Anyway, it doesn't matter, the important ones are left."

I pick up my glass and take a sip of the cool, dry wine, and we swivel around on our seats and look out into the room. The tempo of the music is rising and beneath the spotlight on centre stage, the stripper is upside down on the pole, thrashing her blonde mane about as her act reaches its crescendo.

"After that prick, Theo, I'm really glad you've found Art," Lucy muses. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm completely jealous because the man is sex on legs, but I'm happy for you."

I'm happy too. The type of blissfully, stupid happy that I've only seen in romantic movies. A grin spreads across my face and I can't help it. I hold out my glass. "Here's to the future." We chink glasses and I take a long drink of wine.

I swivel back around and place my glass on the bar as the music comes to an end and I hear a round of applause erupt behind me.

"Oh my god, that's the blonde woman," Lucy gasps.

I haven't the faintest clue what she's talking about. I frown in confusion and look at Lucy, who's staring at the stage. "Who are you talking about?"

"The stripper. It's that Tara woman you hate."

My eyes snap to the stage as I twist round. As the woman straightens, my fear is confirmed. The familiar platinum blonde hair is twice its normal size, coiffed and bouffant, and her dark smoky eyes are completely over the top. Other than the black, sequined thong, she's wearing nothing but black-patent sky-scraper platform heels. Her scarlet lips twist into a self-satisfied smile at the applause she's receiving as she turns to exit the stage. As she glances back over her shoulder to cast one final look at her audience, I'm sure she sees me, but I can't be certain.

Lucy sips her wine contemplatively. "She's got great tits, though. "

I stare in stunned silence at the stage as the lights dip and the music changes to a pop track. I lift my glass of wine to my lips and take a long drink to try and wash away the horrid gnarly feeling in my stomach. "Art said she works in his gym… and Big Steve. He said both of them work in one of his gyms."

Lucy shrugs. "Judging by her figure, she probably does. People can have more than one job, you know, Soph."

I suppose Lucy's right, but I find myself draining my glass of wine and the gnarly feeling is still there and growing by the second.

"Do you mind if we go? I've had enough of it in here." I put my empty glass on the bar.

"Okay, but we're going to another club," she insists.

As I slide off the seat and pick up my bag, I'm suddenly very aware of movement in the corner of my eye and glance up to see Tara approaching me.

"Are you here getting tips?" she spits, folding her arms across her chest, pushing up her breasts and making them nearly pop out of the black bikini top she's wearing.

Anger simmers in my blood. She's got a bloody nerve. "What are you talking about?"

"You, I saw you watching. Have you come to get some tips to keep him satisfied?" she sneers.

That does it. "I don't think he'd be interested in anything so seedy."

Tara cuts her eyes and takes a step towards me. "Oh, you poor cow. You need to know the truth."

"Tara!" A man's voice shouts over the din of the music and uneasiness prickles at my flesh as I recognise it instantly.

Art and Big Steve are glaring at Tara.

My eyes dart between the two men as my brain struggles to work out what the fuck is going on. "What are you doing here?"

The line on Art's forehead deepens and his jaw clenches. His dark eyes slide to mine, and he looks worried. "You shouldn't be here. "

Something clicks, and a horrid realisation takes hold of me. "Please don't tell me you visit these places."

A cackling erupts from Tara. "He doesn't visit these places, love. He OWNS the bloody place, and he was about to branch out before you convinced him not to sell your precious bloody hotel."

The world tilts in front of my eyes and I freeze, holding my breath as what I've just learnt sweeps over me. She's stirring up trouble. Telling lies. She's got to be. He doesn't own a place like this, he wouldn't own a sleazy place like this. He's a successful businessman. Besides, I've told him how Theo lied to me. He wouldn't hurt me like that.

I look at Art, willing him to say it isn't true, but he's motionless, staring at me. The hope I felt about this all being part of some malicious plan of Tara's to cause trouble between us is extinguished.

He lied to me. Does this mean he lied about everything?

"Keep out of it, Tara," Big Steve grunts.

"Oh, come on!" Tara cries. "Someone's got to tell Pollyanna the truth about what he's really like and what he really likes and it ain't Little Miss Girl Next Door." She stabs her finger in my direction. "You don't have a clue. Who do you think paid for that brand-new apartment you're living in, eh?"

My stomach flips. Another lie.

"Shut the fuck up, Tara. You have no idea what you're talking about," Art shouts.

My chest tightens. The thud of the music is echoing through my skull and I can't think. Or be here any longer. I'm not giving that cow the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

I push past Big Steve and hurry down the corridor towards the exit. Tears spring in the corner of my eyes as a soul-destroying realisation rips through my heart. I don't know the man I've given my heart to. I don't know him at all.