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Then, there was her dress, red crushed velvet with mini-sleeves—perhaps they were called cap sleeves?—and a button right at the throat. Just under that button was an opening, or maybe more accurately a slit, in the drapey fabric that opened nearly to her waistline.
The effect was mesmerizing with the dark red fabric against her pale skin. The opening revealed the tiniest sliver of inner breast, jiggling slightly when she walked. It pulled in at the waist with a belt and flared out again, swishing around her legs as she crossed the room.
Oh, mio dio.
But what really got me was the elegant way she carried herself, head held high but not so high she looked full of herself. That wasn’t so easy to do when your personal life was all over the news.
“Gio!” Blu patted me on the back. “Lovely, isn’t she?” he said, apparently having caught me staring. “Go say hi. I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.”
“Blu, thank you. But I don’t need anyone to push me to speak with a beautiful woman. I’m quite capable of doing it on my own.”
Blu threw his hands in the air in surrender. “Okay, Gio. Calm down. Christ. Or Cristo. Whatever your people say.”
He slunk off, too sensitive for his own good.
So I approached Avril. Which I was about to do, anyway, with or without Blu’s urging.
“Buona sera, mia cara. I can’t stop looking at you,” I said when I finally had her to myself.
“Gio, thank you. It’s good to see you again.” She looked down, all modesty.
You had to love that, too. So many of these society wives—or in this case, ex-society wife—are so damn full of themselves, it’s embarrassing. Like having access to your husband’s millions makes you better than the next person? I think not. In my life, I’d had access to nearly infinite riches and at other times had to scrape by, paycheck-to-paycheck. Neither situation had ever made me a better or worse person.
“Will you turn around for me so I can see your entire dress?” I asked.
She tilted her head at me and with a small smile, spun in her mile-high stilettos. And damn if that dress didn’t have the same slit that exposed her back just like the one in the front.
“Stunning. Just stunning. Care to show me around?” I held my arm for her to take and let her lead the way.
While we walked, I wondered if she understood the full extent of the allegations against her husband. I figured she didn’t, seeing as the nitty gritty details had yet to be made public and were known primarily only to people in the finance and investing world. But her husband was in big trouble, and if he wasn’t staying up at night worried about his future, he was a bigger idiot than I’d already thought for bailing on his gorgeous wife.
Avril hooked her arm in mine as we made our way through the maze of seating areas, tufted cushions, and floating curtains. The party was full of its usual suspects, good-looking men and women come together to express their sexuality. It was odd to try to get to know her in such an unconventional setting, but nothing about my life had ever really been that normal, anyway. We walked past a couple going at it, moaning as loudly as I’d ever heard two people.
Just another day at the office.
“This is where I spend most of my day,” Avril said, taking me into a very light room with white overstuffed furniture, a glittery chandelier, and a huge glass desk.
“Wow. It’s like a girl clubhouse.”
She threw her head back and laughed, a sound I could easily get used to.
“I guess it is a little over-the-top girly, but I’d always wanted something like this, and it’s the perfect contrast to the rest of the gallery.”
And it suited her completely. We settled into the soft sofa.
“Cheers to you,” I said, bringing my bourbon to her champagne.
“Thank you. Same to you.”
“Well, you are doing a good service for Kink Lab, letting us hold our party here.”
“I’m getting paid handsomely for it,” she said.
“Is that the only reason you’re doing it?” I asked, studying her. I had to know more about what made her tick.
“No, not exactly. But if I hadn’t found a way to make the gallery profitable, I likely would have had to close it.” She looked down at her drink. “Not a lot of galleries make money. They’re often hobby businesses for those passionate about art.”
“How did you get by before?” I asked.
