“She will,” Peregrine said.
At some point a man had appeared at the piano in the far corner. Peregrine left me standing before everyone and melted into the shadows. As the lights dimmed until I could barely see my audience, a quiet stillness crept over me. I had sung this aria dozens of times before and now I finally had the courage to perform it for more than just myself.
I turned, nodding. Overhead the chandelier spun and I took a breath as the music surged once. Then I launched into the explosive, rage drenched, notes of the “Queen of the Night.” It was a song of anger, of vengeance, of brokenness. And it filled the room with its power and brought me soaring into nothingness. Wrapping me in its dark beauty until there was nothing left but my voice and the music.
I was adrift in a hot, vengeful sea. Everything came bubbling up out of me. All of the confusion, the lust, the pain, and the obsession of the last several weeks culminated in that moment. My frustration and my persistent desire burst and I let it all out in each perfect note.
I let Peregrine feel this painful longing I kept bottled up inside. When the final note burst from my throat, the room rang with it and I swore I felt the walls shake.
I stood, sweat trickling down my back, in complete silence. Then the room burst into applause and euphoria washed over me in a great wave. Drowning me as my husband appeared, like a fallen angel from the dim light. The chandelier brightened enough I could make out the shapes of bodies. Heat moved through my stomach as I realized that Lucidius, one of Lucien’s underbosses, was fucking his wife in the corner. Slow and discreetly, her hips moving as she straddled him. Her head fell back, her eyes shut.
Peregrine was before me then, cutting off my vision. His hand closed over my throat, gripping me with so much tenderness it hollowed my chest. I looked up at him, desperate for his approval.
“You perfect girl.”
“Was I good?” I whispered.
He bent and kissed my mouth.
“You were astounding.”
Without waiting for a reply, he led me into the thick haze of the room and found a seat and pulled me into his lap. His hand was on my chin, tilting it up so I could wet my mouth with his wine. Then there was nothing but the sweetness of victory on my tongue and my husband’s mouth on my breasts.
“Who do you belong to?” he said harshly.
“You,” I gasped. “I’ve always been yours.”
“I’m going to fuck you,” he said, gripping my jaw. “And you’re going to take it like such a sweet girl.”
I was drunk on his desire, whimpering as he rubbed my clit through my panties.
“He said I was your ecstasy,” I breathed. “Was that true?”
His golden eyes flared. “Would you like to see?”
I hesitated, confused.
“Go up there and pull that cloth down from the statue,” he ordered.
“Peregrine—”
“Do as I say, Lia. But only if you want them to see you bare. To see you naked.”
Slow realization hit me. Trembling, I slid from his lap and picked my way through the bodies. Everyone paused and I felt their gazes on me as I stopped before the statue. I’d wondered what it was when I’d first entered the room, but the prospect of singing had driven the curiosity from my mind.
But now it was obvious. This was what he’d been working on all those late nights, this was what he’d kept from me that night in his studio. I turned slowly, my fist clenched, and met his gaze through the darkness.
Peregrine sauntered to the edge of the bed. “Do you want to see it? I call it the ‘Ecstasy of Rosalia Antonucci.’”
I lifted my hand, fingers trembling.
“Go on. See what tortures me every night, angel.”
My grip closed on the heavy velvet and I pulled, feeling as it slid over something smooth. The heavy fabric seemed to fall forever in a cascade of black, like a waterfall pooling at my feet. As it fell back, my heart stopped and my mouth went dry. I backed up slowly, my ears roaring and my body hot and cold all at once.
It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
Every feature was there, every likeness of my body, bared and arced in the throes of pleasure. The room went deadly silent, completely awed and perhaps afraid. I gaped up at the marble sculpture, at my face twisted with pleasure, at Peregrine’s face, terrifying in its desire. His marble likeness held me back against his chest by the throat and his cock was deep inside me, his other hand digging into my stone hip.