10. Ten

Ten

W e head out of the main club and down a short corridor to the left, which opens into a wider room, divided into four seating areas with walls separating each section. Deep purple curtains line the perimeter of the room, and floor-to-ceiling mirrors face the seats. The room has a more subdued, private vibe compared to the open layout of the main club.

"This the VIP area," he explains.

I almost don't want to ask. "What happens in here then?"

"Private dances," Art replies, watching my reaction carefully.

"So, if a customer likes the look of one of the girls, he could pay for a private dance with her back here?"

"Yes. Of course, we have a no-touching policy with security and cameras everywhere to ensure the customers don't break the rules. The safety of my staff is always top priority."

I can't stop the next question from falling from my mouth. "Have you ever had a private dance?"

He looks at me for a few seconds before replying, "Ever? Yes. Here? No." He squeezes my hand.

"At Savage?"

"Yes."

I drop my eyes to the floor as my mind whirs at one hundred miles an hour. "With Tara?"

"No."

"Why did you stop going there?"

"Lots of reasons," he replies evasively, glancing around the room.

He clearly doesn't want to talk about it, but he's not ducking out of answering that easily.

"What reasons?"

"Things changed."

"What did?"

"The goalposts."

"I don't understand. For God's sake, just explain what you mean."

He frowns at the memory. "For me, it was purely a physical thing, but the woman who introduced me to the club and who I often partnered up with started hinting at more."

"More?"

"A relationship."

"And you didn't want that?"

"No. That's not what it was about for me." He shakes his head. "And I stopped enjoying it. When I'd first gone, I'd gotten a real kick out of it, but that changed, so I stopped going." He stares out into the room. "Come on. There's one thing left to show you."

His sexual past is just another layer I haven't even begun to scratch the surface of. But I will. For now, I accept the abrupt end to the conversation and follow him through a door marked Staff Only , which leads into a narrower corridor.

"That's the dressing room where the dancers get ready." He nods towards a door off to the left. "And this is the manager's office."

He pushes open a door that leads into a small room. A large desk runs the length of the right side of the room, and ten TV screens are mounted across the wall, each displaying different shots of the interior and exterior of the club.

"Wow, Big Brother's watching," I say, looking up at the wall of screens.

"This is where we keep an eye on things." He pushes his hands into his pockets and leans back against the desk. "If I'm ever here, this is where you'll find me."

"So, did you see me on one of those screens when we turned up on Saturday night, or did Big Steve tip you off?"

"Big Steve."

I thought as much.

I lean against the desk beside him. "I got to talking to one of the girls while you were on the phone," I say. "Red. She seems nice."

"She's been here a while. She's one of the most popular dancers."

I think back to our conversation. "She spoke highly of you. Said how the club had been a dive before you took it over."

"Like I said, I had to sink a lot of money into the place. It wasn't right to expect anyone to work in those conditions. Some people hear the words strip club and think of sleazy guys throwing money at strippers in exchange for whatever they want." He shakes his head. "It's not like that. Certainly not here. The dancers hold the power. If a guy asks for a private dance and the dancer doesn't want to do it, she doesn't do it. Simple. It's completely up to her. There's no touching, no extras; it's all above board."

It sounds empowering rather than in any way degrading.

"So, do the dancers work for you?"

"They're self-employed. They pay a house fee every shift, which rents them the use of the pole and stage for their dances. That's the best way for them to get noticed by customers. Then, a customer can request a private dance, which is where the girls earn the most money." He glances at me. "How do you feel about the club now?"

"Better," I admit. "It still might take me a while to get totally used to the idea."

What I've seen today confirms it's just a business, but the reason for buying it in the first place still puzzles me slightly. It's a big leap from gym owner to strip club owner even if he is a businessman and it came at the right price.

"Everything … it's all to do with his past, you know."

Barbara's words echo in my thoughts as I survey the room, and suddenly, everything clicks into place.

"You bought this place because of your birth mother, didn't you?" I say quietly.

Five long seconds pass before he answers, "I can't help wondering if she'd worked somewhere like this, where she was supported and looked after, if that would have meant she could have kept me."

"Do you have any memories of her at all?"

"A few. Some good, some bad. There were different men at the flat all the time. Sometimes, I'd hear screaming and shouting, and I'd be scared and hide under my bed. Some nights, she'd cry and get into bed with me, and I'd tell her I'd look after her. She'd say over and over, ' Ti amo .' Even though I was only little, I remember wanting to protect her but knowing I couldn't."

I want to wrap my arms around him but stop myself because he's talking. He's opening up, and I want him to carry on.

"They beat me." He looks at the floor, and my stomach turns over. "The foster carers who I lived with before Mum and Dad. The guy beat me." He pushes his fingers through his hair. "He'd been in the Army, a real disciplinarian. He thought he could make me behave by beating me with whatever took his fancy. It didn't work. Every time he hit me, it just strengthened my determination not to change."

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I don't understand how an adult could do that to a child. "Art …"

"I'm sorry." He pushes himself off the desk and stands in front of me. "I'm sorry for losing my shit earlier when I found out you knew stuff about my childhood. It's just … I don't talk about it. My memories from when I lived with my mother, being shunted around different foster homes … even now, it's not something I talk about. I don't like going back there."

He slides his arms around my waist and pulls me to him. I want him to open up to me. I want to know everything about this man, but I know it will take time. I try not to think about the things I still haven't told him about my own past.

"When you're ready, you can talk to me," I offer.

"I know, and I will … in time." He rests his forehead against mine. "Move in with me."

Although we've talked about this, I wasn't expecting him to bring it up again so soon – and certainly not here. I hesitate. I was all set to a couple of days ago.

"What's changed, Sophie?"

His lips brush mine, and I link my arms around his neck, his kiss weakening my resolve. "I want to drift off to sleep with you in my arms every night. I want to wake up and not know whether I'm dreaming or not because you're there." He kisses me again.

I smile. "Okay, but only if you promise to practice your cooking skills. I can't survive on toast and fruit salad."

"Deal." He grins.