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CHAPTER ONE
‘To live is the rarest thing in the world.
Most people exist, that is all.’
—Oscar Wilde
Olivia
HOWRIGHTCANone man be?
Wilde would definitely lump me in with the ‘most’.
And do I care...?
I throw back a shot of vodka and wince into the mirror beyond the bar, my blue eyes sparking back at me as the answer burns with the alcohol.
I care.
And I’m doing what I can to make up for it. To make up for forty-five years of just existing. Of giving my all and coming out the other side, like this.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not bitter...I’m not.
I’m angry.
I’m angry that my husband of twenty years has gone. Taken away from me without any warning. I’m angry that we spent our entire lives together dedicated to our work, to our charity, and we never found a balance.
I don’t resent the work we did. Especially the help we gave those who needed it. Those without homes, without money, without family or support. Those living lives that we could barely bring ourselves to imagine.
Just existing isn’t a choice for them; it’s all they can do.
I had a choice, and I chose badly.
So no, I’m not bitter. I’m angry. Angry with myself for not living. Angry that we ploughed so much time into everything else that we never hopped off the treadmill long enough to actually live. Never saw the world with our eyes wide open. Had fun. Adventure.
Cue me. Now.
Sitting alone. Propping up the bar of the exclusive DareDevils club. The sultry beat to the music pumping through my veins, the soft white lights mixing with the vibrant strobes that work through the crowd, deepening the mood and highlighting the suspended dance cages above. Women and men locked within, their lithe bodies twisting and turning in movements that scream sex.
The same kind of allure thrums off the bodies below. People hanging out in varying states of dress. Subs crawling on leashes, led by their latex-clad Doms. Others, much like me, wearing club gear designed to entice, to seduce, to have the elusive fun I am so desperate for...
Hedonistic. Wild. Abandoned.
‘Your room is ready for you, Sky.’
I swallow a surprised laugh at the young bartender before me. My pseudonym is something I came up with on the spot and having it repeated back to me triggers a little rush of embarrassment. I may be forty-five, yet something about this has me feeling childlike and foolish and way out of my comfort zone.
But then, isn’t that the point?
I palm the cool bar-top with both hands like it will somehow steady me and return the bartender’s smile that’s so perfect I can easily believe him a model by day, a successful tip-gainer by night.
‘Lead the way...’
Because, no matter how ridiculous or silly or foolish I feel, what lies in wait upstairs has not only the nerves but the anticipation clambering up my throat and Ineedthis.
Another tick in the many, many boxes I have yet to fill...
Valentine
