‘Okay, so we’ll go and dance. He’ll never find us on the dance floor. He’ll think we’ve left.’
‘Even I cannot dance all night,’ grumbles Charles. ‘I think we go. Just for a little while. I, for one, do not want to be fired.’
‘How could he fire us for not wanting to party with him?’
Fee’s fingers tighten on mine. ‘Do we really want to find out?’
23
Rose
So we go. We leave our drinks, and we leave our table on the terrace to go back into the club, though I do so with the protest that I’m only doing it for them.
Because they don’t have a Remy in their lives.
As this thought strikes, I wonder what will happen when I no longer have him. When our relationship runs its course, will I still have a job? I push the thought to the back of my mind. Living day to day, living for now needs to become a way of life for me.
There’s another heavy at the velvet rope at the entrance to the VIP suite, and I seriously hope we’ll be turned away despite the potential embarrassment. And there would be embarrassment because people seem to look as we approach that hallowed space. But no such luck. The rope is unhooked, and we’re ushered through the twinkly crystal curtain.
‘Leave our names at the door, my ass,’ I complain, following my friends. ‘What door.’
Inside, the space is dark and intimate, the décor echoing that of the main club. Black interspersed with pink and purple as the skull-shaped disco balls glittering above, the lights from the dancefloor catching the tiny mirrored tiles. And Charles was right; behind the bar is a wall filled with bottles of Dom Perignon champagne.
‘My friends!” Benoît approaches us with his arms held wide. ‘No boyfriend?’
‘He’ll be here later.’ I twist my lips in an approximation of a smile.
‘Then let me get you a drink.’
‘I’m good,’ I answer as my friends follow his direction to the bar. I flop onto the nearest seat, placing my purse next to my thigh as Benoît lowers himself to the seat opposite.
‘Help yourself to the champagne.’ A silver bucket sits between us on a tiny black table.
‘Like I said, I’m good,’ I repeat, folding my arms and deliberately ignoring him. But as I glance up, I notice Fee and Charles eyeing me warily. Their anxious looks remind me of what they perceive as a precarious situation. So I toe the line. For their sake, forcibly turning up the corners of my mouth as I add, ‘Thank you.’
‘A smile? I’m honoured. Fille qui rit, fille qui est à moitié dan ton lit.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ I answer with disinterest, wondering why Charles chuckled and why Fee is now frowning.
‘Let me introduce you to a few people.’ He stands, people nearby gravitating towards us almost as though by prior instruction. Charles is immediately drawn into introductions, but Fee hangs back.
‘It’s okay,’ I assure her, pointing at the small group of people behind her. ‘Go mingle. I’m pretty sure the guy in the black shirt was on the front cover of Vogue last month.’
‘Rose, fille qui rit, fille qui est à moitié dan ton lit. It means make a girl laugh, and she’s halfway in your bed.’
‘That’s what he said?’ She nods. ‘In his dreams.’ I huff unhappily. ‘Honestly, it’s all good. I’ll be good. I mean, I promise not to strangle him or anything.’ Or laugh at him, never mind with. ‘You can keep an eye on me just as well from over there.’
It’s not that I feel the need for supervision. I’m pretty sure I can shoot the man down just as effectively whether she’s nearby or not. But maybe it’s best that I’m the only one making possible enemies right now.
‘If you’re sure . . .’
‘What I’m sure of is, out of the three of us, Charles is the one who needs watching most.’ She follows the line of my gaze. ‘If he gets any closer to that redhead, there’s gonna be a little snake on snake action for sure, and I’m not sure this is the kind of place that would take kindly to that.’ Also, maybe he’s not a redhead. Maybe it’s just the pink lighting giving his hair that hue.
‘I’ll be sure to tell him this is a no-bone zone,’ she says, her attention turning back to me briefly, her smile almost reluctant.
She’s no sooner gone when Benoît slides into the seat opposite.
‘How do you like Monaco so far?’ he asks, sitting back in his seat, one long leg crossed over the other.
‘How do you know I haven’t been here for a long time?’ I counter, adopting a similar pose, though without crossing my legs.
‘Well, now,’ he begins, almost as though he’s a little shy. I’ll admit, he’s pretty good at this even if we both know this is just an act. ‘I have a small admission to make. I saw you on your first day. The walls in the office are mostly glass,’ he says, almost by way of explanation. ‘You were in one of the meeting rooms filling out forms, I think. You looked a little like, what is the saying? Like a fish out of water?’