CHAPTER ONE
(Months before He Said Never)
Jade
“Another round of shots?” Leslie, my soon-to-be sister-in-law, asked as she flagged the bartender.
I checked if my tiara was crooked before answering. “Sure.” I could use the courage it might bring. The lights had dimmed around all but a stage in the middle of the room. Lights began to flicker along the long runway that led from a curtained area to the stage.
“Smile, Jade. This is your bachelorette party. Loosen up for once,” Debra, Leslie’s best friend, said in a tone she probably thought took the sting out of her words, but it didn’t. She’d never liked me, but since Leslie had organized the trip, I didn’t feel I could say no to her presence.
“I’m having fun,” I lied as the waiter appeared again with drinks for all of us. When my fiancé, Robert, had suggested we celebrate in Vegas before the wedding, I knew neither of my closest friends, Sasha and Nikki, would be able to make it. Sasha was pregnant and all of her money was earmarked for the house she and her husband were saving for. Nikki was pouring all of her money into a post-graduate degree. Both had said they completely understood why I felt I had to agree to the trip.
Although Robert and I were good together, my relationship with his family was rocky. His mother thought he should have chosen someone from a better family. Once, when we’d first started dating, she’d even said as much to my face. I never told Robert because I didn’t want him to argue with his mother about me. One of the first things that had attracted me to Robert was how close he was to his family.
They were the classic, picture-perfect, two-parent two-child, middle-class family. Robert’s family manufactured fill valves for toilets. One day Robert would take on running that company and his dream was to have the same life his father had—with me by his side.
It was a beautiful dream and one I’d said yes to. My childhood had been full of uncertainties. I craved what life with Robert promised . . . stability, security, a home full of love and laughter.
All I had to do was learn to like the people around him. How hard could that be? I forced a smile. “Where is Daphne tonight?”
“She’s not feeling well, said she had too much fun last night.” Leslie shrugged and held up her glass. “She’s missing out. Do you know how difficult it was to get tickets for tonight? Invio’s shows are always sold out.” She made a toast. “To the best show we’ll all have to deny we enjoyed.”
“Invio?” I downed my shot after she and Debra did, then coughed at the burn.
“The headliner? The reason a ticket to this place costs as much as some people’s cars.” Debra rolled her eyes then leaned toward me. “Are you really that naïve or is it an act? If I didn’t know you’re fucking Rob, I’d swear you’re a virgin.”
A few nasty retorts came to mind, but I held them back. I hadn’t agreed to Vegas so we could fight. I was marrying Robert in two weeks. These people would be part of my life with him. What we needed was to find common ground. If that meant drinking with them and pretending to be excited about seeing men strip and grab themselves on stage, that’s what I’d do. Deciding it was best to ignore Debra’s comment, I said, “Invio. That doesn’t sound like a stripper’s name.”
Leslie cackled loud enough to confirm that she’d already had too much to drink. “He’s not just any stripper. He’s untouchable.”
Debra nodded and her lips twisted in a smile. “It’s true. The men who come out before him will work the room and if you have a little cash all you have to do is nod and they’ll come over . . . for whatever. He won’t. He stays on the stage. They say he can’t be bought and that more than one woman with money has tried.” She exchanged a look with Leslie. “When you see him, you’ll understand. If I didn’t think my father would kill me for it, I’d trade some of my trust funds for a few minutes alone with Invio.”
“Let’s hope it would take more than a few minutes,” Leslie joked.
I laughed along.
The lights flickered then a buff man in a tuxedo came onto the stage. I expected his intro to sound something like one to a monster truck event, but he spoke in a low, cultured tone. The room filled with anticipation. I looked around and recognized more than one person in the crowd from television. Men in suits and women in expensive dresses, all too sophisticated to do more than clap.
When the first act came out, the stage filled with six men in cowboy hats, plaid shirts, and jeans. Each was above average as far as looks and impressively muscular. I felt a little guilty as I watched them shed their shirts.
I wasn’t a virgin, but what Debra sensed in me was that I’d been brought up in a very conservative household by grandparents who prayed every day I wouldn’t end up like my mother. I’d done my best not to.
They wouldn’t approve of this, but there isn’t much they do approve of. Debra’s right, I need to loosen up.
I blinked a few times quickly when the men shed their jeans in a way that revealed they were designed to come off with one good tug. I swallowed hard and tried to look more comfortable than I felt.
As the music played some of the men jumped off the stage and made their way from table to table, gyrating for the pleasure of both the men and women. This was a high-class version of scenes I’d seen in movies. The bills were large, the prompts were subtle, and the graphic nature of the moves was off the charts.
When I’m uncomfortable I often withdraw to the analytical side of my mind. First, I clarified to myself there was nothing wrong with just looking. Then I came up with scenarios for the people I saw interacting with the male dancers.
An unsmiling man paid for one of the dancers to practically mimic having sex with his scantily dressed, much younger companion. I wondered if the steamy exchange was for him, her, or both. Did it add fire to their sex life or was it compensation for an inability to please her? Either way, I couldn’t look away.
Robert was a Saturday morning sex guy. Weeknights were for working late or going to the gym. Sundays were for family and catching up on work. We had a perfectly good sex life . . . better than whatever that couple had. Exciting was overrated.
It could have been the rounds of shots that kept coming to our table, but by the third or fourth act I was beginning to enjoy the show. Leslie tried to get me to interact with one of the dancers, but I refused. Still, I wouldn’t say it was difficult to sit and watch attractive men bare almost everything over and over for us.
There was a pause between acts, and I could feel a hum of excitement wash over the audience. The lights dimmed again, and a man walked out dressed in dark slacks and a dark T-shirt he filled out like he’d been poured into them.
He wasn’t necessarily bigger than the men who’d performed before him, but he had a presence that brought silence to the room. Jet-black hair, angry steel-gray eyes, and a body that was sheer perfection.
Unlike the others, he wasn’t there to seduce or tempt. Loud music pounded the room while he walked the stage like a panther claiming his territory. His moves were powerful, athletic, and deliberate.
When he did a flip, it was executed with acrobatic precision and beauty. His landing brought him to a crouched position on one arm. When he thrust his hips toward the floor beneath him, I wasn’t the only woman in the crowd who gasped.