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“You know the country club is notorious for always being hot.” His eyes darken with concern.
“No, I didn’t know. My family’s not in the membership.”
I have him chuffing at the irony in my voice. The Shelby Country Club is the last haven for the old money in these parts. It’s still lily white, save for the Spencers and maybe one or two Black politicians.
“Yeah, I guess not. I love the dress, but I know you’re going to be too hot.” After going over to his walk-in, he takes his evening clothes out and starts disrobing.
“You’re not going to shower?”
He looks at me, puzzled. “No.”
“Ugh, dirty white boy.” I crinkle my nose.
“You like this dirty motherfucker.” He winks, tossing his clothes on a chase across the room.
“Humph.” I’m rolling my eyes, but our banter makes me I feel like I have my best friend back.
Turning from him, I pick up my shoes and bag. “I going to go wait out front.”
“Alright.” He looks me over one more time. “Just don’t faint on me.”
“I didn’t want to show too much skin.” I roll my eyes again.
“Why are you worried about that? You always look sexy and classy. You know I’m not a knuckle dragger who gets jealous over what you wear.” He pauses while doing up a couple of buttons on his shirt.
“Well, these marks on my neck will cause more questions than we need right now. We only have, what, two more weeks until the election?” Immediately I see my mistake when his hands drop to his sides.
“Marks? Let me see.” He sounds gutted.
“It’s nothing.” I sidestep him to go to the living room.
Cupping my elbow, he stops me. “I need to see what I did to you, Nik.”
Turning my back on him, I lift the hair off my nape and wait until he unzips the back of the dress.
Once he’s done, I turn back to face him and pull down the front, giving him an unvarnished view of last night’s ravishment.
His face loses some of its color. “Are you okay?” He looks haunted.
No, I’m not okay because we aren’t okay, but that’s not what he’s asking. I rush to reassure him. “Yes, I’m fine. It looks worse than it is. I don’t even feel it.” Maybe I should’ve taken Mimi’s advice and told him I don’t feel well.
“What about other places? Did I hurt you?”
I look away. Does my heart count? Again, not what he’s asking. “I’m fine, Mathias.” Dropping the emphasis on his name making sure I say it the way he demands, I give him my back and wait; after a few seconds, he zips me back up. I can’t call him the nickname I made up anymore. And it’s fine. He hates me and it’s fine. I hate it here.
He’s pensive as I leave and on the drive to the Shelby County Country Club.
“The future senatorof the great state of Alabama, Mr. Mathias Shelby, and Mrs. Shelby.”
“Wives don’t have names here,” I whisper with wry amusement to Mathias as we enter, garnering me a smirk from him.
I hope this is an improvement on his attitude. He seemed shook by the marks he saw. I wanted to remind him that at no point last night did I tell him to stop. I wanted to tell him how much I liked what he did to me. But I held back, not really understanding why until we were halfway here—I don’t want him to have more power over me. What does it say about us if the person I’m supposed to trust most in this life isn’t my safe space? That I can’t tell him I don’t regret last night?
We walk in the multi-chandelier ballroom that has French doors on all sides.
his is the singular whitest event I’ve been to; most of the nonwhite people here are servers . It reeks of old money and good ol’ boy energy. Ugh. Everywhere I turn I see flushed faces and avarice. I don’t know what Mathias senses, but he pulls me closer, letting me know he’s here and not to leave his side.
He doesn’t have to worry. I won’t be wandering off by myself at any point.
