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Neither of them are all that far along, so no one would know otherwise that they’re both pregnant. They still look svelte and gorgeous, Caterina surprisingly in a dark red, tight sleeveless dress with a low-cut neckline that leaves most of her scars visible, her dark hair down and flat-ironed pin-straight. She looks younger like this, more her actual age, especially next to Sofia, who always looks youthful. Sofia is wearing a black leather mini pencil skirt and a silk blouse that ties at the shoulders, her dark hair falling in loose waves, and the two of them next to each other could nearly be sisters even though they’re not in any way related. There’s the slightest roundness at the waist of Sofia’s skirt, but it’s hardly visible unless you’re looking.
Something about it sends a small shiver through me. I’ve never questioned whether I would have children—it’s expected of me, and always has been—but I’d never really thought aboutbeingpregnant, or known anyone who was outside of my vague awareness of my mother’s circle of friends. I’d always assumed I’d have nannies to help with the actual act of mothering, like mine did, but the actual act ofcarrying and birthinga baby wasn’t something I’d thought about until very recently, when having Caterina and Sofia around more often made me very aware of the condition.
I like the idea of having a baby, of raising a child, of seeing part of Connor and part of me come together in a new human. I even like the idea of possibly being a more hands-on mother than mine was.Just don’t think about the pregnancy part,I tell myself ruefully as I sit down with Maggie next to me, and reach for the champagne.Enjoy the part that leads togettingpregnant, and look forward to the after.
For now, I don’t even need to think about it. I haven’t even lost my virginity yet. For now I can just drink champagne, enjoy my last night out before I become a bride, and look at the rippling abs that Maggie promised.
The lights go down as the champagne is passed around, and the women in the club start cheering as they brighten up the stage, music starting to pump through the air as sparklers go off and the men start to come on stage.
It’s all very predictable, all the men dressed in the tropes—cowboy, construction worker, fireman, businessman who somehow forgot his shirt, military officer, police, biker—the list goes on. It’s the biker that catches my attention, a dark-haired man with an eight-pack wearing nothing but tight black jeans and a black leather vest with patches, sunglasses on and his abs clearly oiled up for the stage. It’s verging on laughably cringy, but I can’t deny they’re all gorgeous as they gyrate and dance across the stage, moving in ways that could make a porn star blush.
It’s not until the next act starts, when the “businessman” comes out in only his suit pants and loosened tie draped over his impressively muscled chest, and unbuckles his belt that I start to feel as if the heat in the room has gone up a couple of notches.
“Christian Grey’s got nothing on me!” he calls out to the club full of cheering women, snapping the belt and swinging it, his entire performance a mimicry of spanking and restraining the woman lucky enough to be a part of his act.
And sure enough, it’s not long before another bachelorette is pulled up onto the stage, told to bend over a chair set parallel to the audience and grab on as her face flushes red and she laughs with shock and embarrassment while her friends cheer her on.Thank god Maggie has the presence of mind not to dothatto me,I think, cringing with secondhand embarrassment for her while at the same time I can feel my thighs clenching together as the stripper mimes spanking her with the folded-over belt.
He gives her one light hit with it, barely enough to make a sound, but it’s clear the girl is about to melt into the floor. He grabs her, spinning her around and putting her over his lap as she yelps, and then onto her knees, wrapping the belt around her wrists and pulling them above her head as he gyrates his hips in front of her in time to the music.
“Oh my god,” one of my friends whispers as she fans herself faintly. “I’m not even into that, but can you imagine?”
All too well,I want to say, but I don’t. I’m hardly going to tell anyone here, even Maggie, that this is a poor imitation of what Connor did to me in London, that I can imagine clearly what it would feel like to be bound and spanked, the flush of heat and the dripping, aching need that follows, that made me feel so crazed with arousal that I was willing to do anything he wanted.
More acts follow the BDSM one—a firefighter stripping out of his clothes to put out a “fire” and a cowboy roping another unwitting bachelorette from the audience, as well as the military officer ordering his cadets to strip and then following suit. The show finishes with another ensemble performance of all the men, by which time I’m three glasses of champagne deep and the bachelorette party is well underway. Angelica is perched next to Sofia, chattering away, and Brittanie, another of my friends, is carrying on a conversation with Caterina about her degree in fashion design. Maggie stays next to me, watching the show and occasionally commenting on the men in her quick, snarky fashion. It keeps me laughing, especially as the champagne goes to my head, and then suddenly the show is over, and the men are starting to move through the crowd.
Several of them appear to be headed in our direction, and my eyes go wide. “Oh no,” I say, looking at Maggie. “They arenotcoming this way—”
“Lap dances came with the package,” she says with a grin. “I know you said Connor took you for a spin on his motorcycle, but I call the biker.”
I flush. “I can’t get alapdance—
She shrugs. “You don’t have to. You can just enjoy the show.” Her eyes are sparkling as six of the men undo the rope to come into our section, all of them glistening under the dim lights and smelling of cologne, smiling seductively at us.
“Ladies,” the “biker” says in his deep, raspy voice, and Maggie eagerly gets up, swaying towards him dramatically.
“I already claimed you,” she says with a cheeky grin. “Those three—” she points at me, Caterina, and Sofia, “—they’re a little shy, but the others areveryexcited to meet your friends.”
“Well, maybe they can warm them up a little,” the “biker” says with a grin. “I’m more than happy to spend time with you.”
As one of the ones unsure about spending time with a strange man gyrating on me, no matter how impressive his abs, I wind up on the couch with Sofia and Caterina—though I make sure to sit next to Cat. I get a kick out of watching Maggie, though, as the stripper pushes her back onto the couch with one hand, running his fingers down the side of her face and giving her a truly impressive lap dance, complete with his hand in her curly hair as his hips jerk towards her. She looks flushed and a little out of sorts by the end of it, and while I’m still unsure about getting a lap dance of my own, it most definitely gives me ideas.
Ideas specifically related to the freedoms I might have after I fulfill my bargain with Connor.
I know I’m luckier than most. Most women in my situation don’t even get to think about having a lover—if they take one, it’s a fraught and dangerous situation that could very well end up with their lover or them dead or disgraced. Connor is willing to give me that freedom, once I do what I would have done anyway—give him my virginity and a child.
So why don’t I feel happy? I get it all—the rich and powerful husband, the influence and money, the family lineage continued, my own family proud of me, and the freedom to travel and take my pleasure as I choose in between producing heirs for Connor.Why do I feel as if I’m still losing something?
The answer—that I wantConnor, and not an endless parade of lovers to fill the gap he leaves behind, is one I can’t dwell on for too long.
By the end of the night, even though I never let any of the strippers do more than just dancenearme, I feel flustered and agitated, worked up by being around so much masculinity and sex all night long. The girls are on cloud nine, giggling and laughing, especially Maggie—even Caterina and Sofia have loosened up and are laughing with the others, although they decline to come back to the hotel with us.
“After seeing all those mostly naked men, you bet your ass I’m going home to Luca,” Sofia says with a giggle, and Caterina’s small smirk and arched eyebrow tells me she’s thinking the same thing about Viktor. I feel my chest ache as they get into the car that will take them back to the hotel where their husbands are staying, because I can’t see a future where I’ll go home from a night out, hungry for Connor and be welcomed home with the passion and pleasure that I know Sofia and Caterina are both anticipating.
My car is waiting for us too, but to take us to the suite that Maggie reserved in a luxurious downtown Boston hotel, for us to giggle and drink the rest of the night away. That, too, is a rarity—for my father to let me stay the night anywhere but within his four walls, but once again, I’m sure it’s only because he’s thinking after we’ve come so far and with only a week to go until the wedding, what could possibly go wrong?
Nothing,I tell myself as we pile tipsily into the elevator and go up to our suite, which Maggie has filled with gold and white balloons, penis-shaped confetti all over a table with penis-shaped cupcakes, more champagne and a huge banner that says CONGRATULATIONS SAOIRSE in glittery letters.
Looking back, I’m grateful she didn’t give me a bachelorette sash or tiara to wear.
