Page 15 of Gilded Dreams

“Oh, I see. I was just wondering because I don’t see anyone else.”

The doorman takes my winter shawl and drapes it over his arm. “Special guests are seen through the red door. You, my dear, are a special guest.”

“I see.” Genius idea keeping the regulars and the one-nighters separate, I suppose. Wouldn’t want to water down the quality for permanent members.

I let my gaze find anything it can land on to ward off the awkwardness of this whole situation. A large chandelier hangs from the center to cast a soft glow over the small space, and a melody filters through a set of double doors in front of me.

“As a formality, name please.”

I pull out the invitation from my small clutch and pass it to the gentleman who immediately signals to someone standing off to the side.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

“As intended, ma’am. Ms. Charlotte will see you to your room now. Enjoy your stay at The Society.”

I like the abbreviated version. It’s sexy. And there is nothing weird at all by being told by someone who looks like George Clooney’s doppelganger to have fun knowing what is about to happen once I step through those doors. Surreal much.

I stroke the pads of my fingers over the golden butterfly hanging between the swells of my breasts for a boost of confidence and to ground my chaotic thoughts that have been kicking around in my head since this morning.

“This way please, Ms. Lockhart,” she says in a thick British accent. She raises a manicured hand and crooks a pink-tipped finger my way. Her easy smile is understanding and the tension between my shoulders loosens by a couple of degrees. She must do this countless times an evening. No way I can be the first or only virgin to walk through those doors. I take a deep breath and fall in behind the raven-haired beauty with supple brown skin. She too wears a formal gown, only I am certain she outshines every woman to grace these halls.

“I’m sorry, where are you taking me?”

“Your room is through these doors and down the first hallway. If you’ll follow me, we’ll get you settled for your evening of play.” She throws me a wink and pushes open heavy mahogany doors.

My heart stops half a beat. Oh, my God. Everything is covered in gold and black. From the midnight carpet to the wallpapered walls to the dark, vaulted ceiling. No detail went unnoticed, and the dark tones set a mood of self-indulgence and decadent sin. I’m really starting to dig this private section of the club.

A low-bass thumping rhythm pipes into the entryway and it works at melting the remaining tension in my muscles. To my left is a small round table with a gorgeous arrangement of white roses in the center. My gaze draws to a golden tray of bubbly champagne to the side.

“To help with the nerves?”

Fortification! “Yes, please.” I almost ask for a double.

Charlotte offers the tray. I release my butterfly pendant and gladly take a flute.

“Your room is this way.” She turns and practically glides on impossibly high stilettos.

Carpet masks the sound of our footfalls as we walk deeper into the club. Chandeliers suspended high above us offer a muted glow of golden light and before I have a chance to ask where the nearest exit is, we come to a stop in front of a red door with—you guessed it—golden letters marking it as my final destination.

“Here we are.”

Every cell in my body jumps to life and starts to tingle. She slips in a key and turns the knob. I half expect hands to reach out, ravish me and suck me inside to do bad things with me. But we’re met with a soft wave of classical music and the scent of fresh roses instead.

I swallow thickly and follow Charlotte.

Massive and richly decorated is the only way to describe what greets me on the inside. Another ornate chandelier. This one is made up of a thousand teardrop crystals and is about three times the size of the ones in the corridors. Sconces dot the walls to offer more subdued lighting in places the overhead light can’t reach, and they all work together, offering a sense of comfort.

Until my eyes land on the main attraction. A bed large enough to fit a football team holds down the middle of the room. The large expanse of space is covered in shiny red silk and not much else. Only a single white robe hangs over the side to break up all that red.

“Um, I think I’m supposed to be meeting someonehere. Has he arrived yet?”

I suddenly wish I’d asked more questions about this whole arrangement before agreeing. I did a little research during lunch. Noone is called a member. It’s either key bearer or key master. The difference between the two is lost on me though. I discovered they have a secret key tattoo that gets you through the door, but since information is sparse, I don’t know much more than that. Frankly, I have a running list of questions I might find the answers to if I stay long enough.

Off to the side of the bed there’s a sitting area with a plush leather couch and a couple of antique chairs upholstered insumptuous black velvet. A table sits between them and Charlotte gestures me over to join her on the couch.

“There’s the small matter of signing in and then I’ll leave you to your shower.”

She moves an aged, thick leather bound book across the table and holds out an elegant fountain pen for me to take. Multiple names are scrowled in midnight blue ink over ivory colored paper. Other key bearers, I presume.

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