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1
HOLLY
Ipull up to the gates of The Palace and my stomach twists in knots. As the security guard emerges from his booth, I see that he’s wearing a Santa hat. It’s enough of a jarring distraction to make me giggle.
“Name, miss?” Does he know everyone who’s supposed to be here tonight? He doesn’t carry a clipboard or hold an iPad with a registry only he can see. He just looks at me with cold, hard eyes.
“Holly Snow,” I reply anxiously. The cool evening air whips into the car and the hair on my arms stand straight up.
He nods his head and backs away. “Have a good night, Ms. Snow.” He returns to his booth and presses a button. The gate starts to open and I’m met with a festive sight.
The Palace has gone all out. As I drive forward to find a parking spot, I see everything from Christmas lights strewn from the rafters to the inflatable cast of Peanuts. When they said they were celebrating the holidays, they weren’t kidding.
Holiday music plays over the outside speakers as I climb out of my car and head toward the entrance. I shiver in the cold December air and regret wearing this ridiculous getup. But the card said to dress festive and a naughty Mrs. Claus costume was all that I could find. Despite being a BDSM club where any sort of dress is allowed, people loiter on the porch smoking cigarettes and wearing ugly Christmas sweaters. I wonder if they’re here for the party or here for the favors.
I smooth out the red crushed velvet skirt and feel the tickle of the white fur lining against my thighs. I almost think that the goosebumps are from the adrenaline coursing through my veins, but they’re probably from the cold.
A few people on the porch of The Palace give me a head nod as I make my way up the stairs. All I had were patent black heels that I wear to work functions, but they draw every eye in the nearby area as they click against the hardwood. The butterflies return.
I’ve never seen myself as the kind of girl who’d go to a place like The Palace. My interest in BDSM has never run too deep. I like a little rough sex as much as the next girl, but some of the stuff I’ve seen on those forums scare me. I can’t imagine wanting someone to drip hot wax on me or dressing up in leather and latex. I don’t understand those fetishes, they just aren’t me. I’m probably what they call BDSM-lite,reallite.
The entrance of The Palace has two large, wooden doors ornately carved. This was a mansion for the upper class back in the day, but when it was foreclosed on by the bank, how was anyone supposed to know that a group of entrepreneurial fetishists would buy it and turn it into the hottest BDSM club in a hundred-mile radius?
Right inside the door is a smiling young woman with a clipboard. She keeps her eyes on the door while talking to people milling about and the second she sees me, she flutters over as quickly as a bunny. “Name, miss?”
My stomach is twisting again. You would think there wouldn’t be any other ways it could contort after all the knots it tied itself into on the way here. “Holly Snow,” I whisper to the woman so that the other guests don’t hear.
She takes a peek at her clipboard, dragging her pen down the line until she comes across my name. “Perfect,” she says with an even brighter grin. “You will be in the Mistletoe Room. Santa has already arrived.”
Perfect,she says, as if she’s not leaping out of her skin in excitement and fear. “There’s a bar, right?” I ask her before moving on.
The cheerful hostess points toward a wide arc past the stairwell that leads to a parlor. I can hear laughter and music coming from within. “Through there, miss. There is a two-drink maximum, of course. We don’t wish for any of our patrons to engage in unsafe behavior while inebriated.”
They don’t need to worry about that. I just need a glass of wine to calm my nerves and give me the confidence to go through with this. “Thanks,” I mumble as I walk toward the parlor.
The room still has the antique wood floors that came with the house. They’ve been refurbished and well-maintained given that half the clientele of The Palace frequently wears stiletto heels that could scratch up the surface. Standing around in little groups are people in all stages of dress. The only thing The Palace hosts requested was that all the bits and bobs were covered when you were downstairs. The rooms above, even the social space, are a different story.
“What can I get for you, miss?” A friendly bartender asks with a smile that sends waves of calm through me.
There’s a generous array of liquors on the shelf behind him, but I don’t drink the heavy stuff unless I’m at a bar with friends. “A Riesling, if you have it. If not, any white wine will do.”
His smile broadens as he nods his head in my direction. He isn’t a particularly handsome man, but his easygoing confidence does wonders for him. “A Riesling it is.”
I turn my head to stare at the people in the room, searching for my Santa. He will make my fantasies come true tonight, at least that’s what it said on the card. But I don’t see him anywhere.
“Here you are,” the bartender returns after a few moments. “Name?”
I wonder if the bartender ever looks his customers up on social media. “Holly Snow.” He walks over to a clipboard and puts a check by my name on the list. Will he search for me later on Facebook? Will he find out that I’m a lawyer? Will he tell my law firm that I’m here?
Don’t be absurd,I remind myself. The attendants of any Palace party sign non-disclosure agreements. Anyone we see or meet is kept strictly confidential. If it gets out that we told other people about their presence here, we face litigation. There has to be something equally in place for the staff. This man probably won’t even remember who I am after a couple of minutes. He won’t go home and look me up and he definitely won’t contact my boss.
I bring the cool glass of wine to my lips and take a sip. Riesling is a mildly sweet white. This one has notes of peach and apricot. It has the perfect bouquet.
If I were a more outgoing person, I might try to ingratiate myself into one of the groups surrounding a cocktail table. Or I might sit at the bar and wait for someone to come up to me and start a conversation. But I have been an introvert since I was two years old and I refused to sit on the Easter Bunny’s lap at the mall. I take my glass and wander back toward the staircase that leads to my destiny.
2
HOLLY
