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“Maybe this will work better.” He holds me to his front, my face now level with his, and ups the ante, spinning and whirling off again. Right now, I’m glad he’s carrying me, because there’s no way I could keep up with his current pace without face-planting.
I drop my head back, looking up at the gorgeously decorated ceiling, and laugh, the patterns above me blending together, the music blurring. I breathe in, close my eyes, and let Luke spin me into an oblivion as I link my arms around his neck and hold on.
And drift off to another world, a world far better than this one.
Peace.
Carefree.
No pain.
I’m brought back into my body by the sensation of us slowing, and I peel my eyes open and drop my head as Luke lowers me to my feet. The brightness of his smile momentarily makes me dizzy. “Your lesson for today is done,” he says quietly, holding me while I regain my balance. “You’ll be Ginger Rogers in no time.”
I snort, fixing my dress. “Your expectations are way too high.”
Luke offers his arm, and I slip mine through, and then he starts to walk us off the floor as a lady on stage announces the auction will be starting soon. Matthew appears through the crowds looking very disgruntled. “Oh, here’s my work friend,” I tell Luke, accepting the glass of champagne he hands me. “He’s for sale.”
“In that suit?” Luke laughs, and I nudge him in the side as Matthew joins us. “Hello,” Luke coughs.
“Luke, this is Matthew. Matthew, meet Luke.” I motion between them and take a sip of my third glass of champagne. It’s the most I’ve had to drink in a long while.
“Nice to meet you.” Matthew gives Luke a firm handshake. “Nice tux.”
“Thanks,” Luke replies graciously, gesturing down Matthew’s front with his glass. “Nice . . . what is that?”
I glare at Luke, and Matthew rolls his eyes behind his glasses. “This, my friend, is a classic C&A piece.”
“C&A? So it’s vintage?”
“Vintage,” Matthew muses, nodding his head agreeably. “Yes, it’s vintage.”
“Vintage is all the rage these days,” I pipe up, peeking up at Luke on a small smile. “You’re trendy and you didn’t even know it, Matthew.”
“That suit just doubled your price.” Luke points to the stage where Hilda is waving a gavel, shouting for all men offered in the auction to step on stage. “Time for us studs to raise a few quid.” Luke smacks Matthew on the shoulder. “Ready?”
“What?” Matthew baulks at Luke in horror.
“Yes, what?” I parrot, unable to prevent my shock from revealing itself in my tone. “You’re being auctioned too?”
“Yep.” Luke wanders off toward the stage.
“Oh, great,” Matthew mutters, trudging along behind him. “I’m up against Mr. Perfect.”
I laugh and watch as they’re welcomed on stage with a few other daunted-looking men, who I know haven’t volunteered for this. Which makes me wonder if Luke has. He did mention that he had some business thing that he couldn’t get out of. At least I know he declined my invite for a good cause. The crowd pipes down as Hilda introduces each of the men and explains how the auction will work. Basically, if you like what you see and want a man slave for the rest of the evening, as well as a dinner date on a mutually agreeable date in the coming weeks, then you bid. I watch on with the rest of the guests as three men are sold off to rapturous women in the crowd, and I laugh as each guy is showcased, being ordered to walk up and down the stage to show themselves at all angles for the bidders. The space is buzzing, people clapping, cheering, and wolf-whistling.
When Matthew is called forward, he’s asked to remind the crowd who he is, where he’s from, and what he does for a living. He clears his throat, leaning into the microphone, looking every bit as uncomfortable as I know he is. “My name is Matthew, I’m fifty-two, I live in West London, and I like computers.”
I snigger under my breath as Hilda asks him about his “jazzy” suit. “It’s vintage,” he declares proudly, making Luke cough behind him.
“We’ll start the bids at five hundred pounds,” Hilda shouts, gliding her gavel through the air across the heads of the crowds. “Who will give me five hundred for this fine specimen of a man?”
Poor Matthew looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole as he waits with bated breath for someone, anyone, to bid on his geeky arse. I’m dying for him, the room’s silent, and I wish more than anything that I had that kind of money so I could buy him and save him from this public humiliation. I scan the crowd, willing someone to bid.
“Five hundred!”
Everyone’s head turns toward the back section of the room, hushed whispers starting. I look with them and spot a lady smiling at Matthew on the stage. I grin from ear to ear and return my attention to Matthew, finding him craning his head to try and get his bidder in his sights. I know the moment he spots her, because his shoulders straighten and push back, and a little glimmer brightens his eyes.
