Page 29 of Of Socialites and Prizefights

“A man?” Roz asked.

Deepa laughed. “Most likely, yes. But I don’t like my chances of finding a husband. I know there are good men out there — I’ve even met some — but they don't seem inclined to visit The Songbird.”

“You could look elsewhere,” Roz suggested carefully, continuing to brush Deepa’s hair. “Don't get me wrong, I love the thought of keeping you for myself, but if you wanted to find a good man…”

It felt like a test.

“Ah, but men don't buy their wives pearls and diamonds. Wives get to do the cooking and cleaning, and maybe they havea job outside the house or maybe they get a little allowance, but they don’t get the kind of money I want. A truly wealthy man would never look twice at someone common like me. I can only ever play mistress to the likes of them. Speaking of which,” she continued, before she could be accused of feeling sorry for herself, “there’s something I wanted to tell you.”

“What’s that?”

“There’s a man I’m about to start seeing, some noble by the name of Appleton. It’s very new. Don’t look like that,” she added, turning around when Roz’s hair-brushing stilled. Shuffling forward, she pressed their knees together, her hands finding Roz’s around the brush. “Everything is strictly professional between us, but I wanted to tell you about him as a courtesy. I don’t want you feeling slighted, or that I’m stepping out on you, because that's not what this is.”

“You can't step out on me if we’re not serious in the first place,” Roz pointed out. “If you and I are just to be a few nights of fun—”

“Is that what you want from me?”

“No,” Roz said immediately, squeezing her hands. “No, I want more.”

“Well, so do I. And I don’t want this man, this Appleton, to distract from that. I'm going to be spreading certain stories about him and I, salacious things, and I don't want you to fall for them. It’s all smoke and mirrors.”

“A nobleman,” Roz repeated. “I thought men like that wouldn’t look twice at the likes of you?”

“He’s not looking at me as a potential wife,” Deepa dismissed with a roll of her eyes.

“You’re getting paid,” Roz surmised. “What's he getting out of it?”

“Nothing more than the pleasure of my company at a few social events, and some tall tales to tell his friends. Do you trust me?”

“I do,” Roz said, studying her closely. “And this is what you want?”

“Yes, of course. It’s easy work, and enjoyable enough. It’s infinitely preferable to some alternatives I can imagine.”

“And…” Roz hesitated. “This Appleton. Smoke and mirrors aside, whatever that means, you think he’ll treat you right? You’re clearly not worried about him, and you can tell me not to worry, either, but I saw how the men in your club look at you like a piece of meat. Or is he too high-class for that?”

“It’s early days yet, but he doesn't give me that impression. What he and I are doing is entirely for the spectacle. In public, I'm to be his, at least for now. But that’s only in public.”

“And you’ll keep this act up for…a month? A year? Until he’s got what he wants and moves on?”

Deepa shrugged. “So it goes. When I can no longer use my looks to charm men into spending money on me, I’ll have to consider settling down with one of them. I don't relish the thought, but if I work hard enough now, I hope to avoid that fate altogether.”

For a moment, Roz was silent. She gathered a handful of Deepa’s hair, bringing it forward over her shoulders to resume her brushing. On the nightstand, the velvet box containing that pretty gold-and-glass bangle from the other night sat in the orange glow of the lamplight, a conspicuous reminder of Deepa’s work.

“I'm no prince, myself,” Roz said eventually. “I've got no peerage, nor much of anything to my name. Pearls and diamonds are a bit beyond my means.”

“I know that,” Deepa began. “I don’t expect anything—”

Roz silenced her with a kiss to her shoulder. “I’d get them for you if I could. I'd buy you whatever you wanted, and then some. I wouldn't keep you cooped up as a little housewife, either.” Leaning close, she lifted Deepa’s hair with both hands to bring it to her face. “What’s in that shampoo? You still smell of magic.”

“Just a little something to keep me looking my best,” Deepa lied. The shampoo had nothing in it but fragrance, soap, and oils. “Can you really smell magic?”

“Yeah. It’s not just your hair, either; it’s all of you. Could practically taste it when we were kissing. Even stronger when I had my mouth on you.”

Deepa went hot all over again at the memory. “Is it…good?”

“Bloody intoxicating,” Roz grumbled, dropping her hair to smooth it out with the brush again. “Just don’t recognise it. Magic doesn’t usually cling to a person like that unless they’re actively using it.”

“Maybe I’m special,” Deepa offered.

---