Page 34 of A Certain Appeal
“The potatoes were excellent,” he says, more to himself than me. He shakes his head. “That’s not what I was asking. I meant if your involvement in burlesque bothers the men you date. Presuming you date men, that is.”
At last, we have reached the inevitable. Other iterations of the question flood my memory, sneers from guests at Meryton, all male, asking, “Does yourboyfriendlet you do this?” The idea that I need any man’s permission to do whatever the hell I want withmygoddamn body...
Even worse, ithasbeen a problem. Sure, men get excited when they learn I’m involved in the scene, but the novelty wears off. Either I’m a hypocrite for refusing to bring my Kitten persona into the bedroom, or the guys see me in action and suddenly there’s no difference between my kittening and literal solicitation. One such fellow took particular offense to my hip-checking a Russian blocking the curtain-call stampede. He interrupted the show to berate me and challenge the Russian to “take it outside” with him. It was mortifying.
I draw in a slow breath, willing myself to calm. Perhaps this is all some elaborate setup for Darcy’s own forward-thinking views on female liberation.
“I date men. And it has bothered some. It turns out most like the idea but not the reality.”
He purses his lips as though I’ve confirmed his suspicions.
The gesture gets my hackles up, but I press on. “However, I don’t imagine it would be a problem to anyone worthwhile.”
He frowns. “Is it inappropriate that a man prefer his partner not be partially naked in front of strangers?”
“He might have hispreferences,” I say tightly. “But it’s not his decision. It’s not his body.”
“That isn’t what—”
“Y’know,” I interrupt, “I think I understand that ‘trust’ issue of yours. In your experience, a woman takes off her clothes in front of you and you’ve only ever seen the action as something she’s doing for you. It’s never crossed your mind that getting naked is fun or exciting for those women. It’s only been a prelude to sex. In burlesque, stripping isn’t about sex at all. It isn’t about bringingyoupleasure. You can’t get your head around that, so you don’t trust it.”
Darcy opens his mouth to reply, and I step closer.
“Just because burlesque appeals to men doesn’t make it an appealtomen,” I say, my tone shaded dark by every aggravating past conversation I’ve had on the subject. “We all have our reasons for performing—”
“And what’s your reason?” He asks it like he’s been waiting for the opportunity.
I don’t miss a beat. “Knowing I can.”
He lets out a huff. “How is that a reason?”
“How is it not?” I counter. “When is a person more vulnerable than when she’s naked? Then amplify that by however many people are in the audience. It’s not something everyone can do. It’s not something that everyonewantsto do. But it matters to me. I see strength in it. And joy. I found it at a point when I needed those things.”
“And then what?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“You know you can be naked in front of a crowd. So now what?” His dark eyes are intent.
I shake my head. “There doesn’t have to be anything else.”
“You’re saying it’s some kind of personal benchmark of bravery. So, what is there for you to be brave about?”
My lizard brain lashes against the inquiry. However, a part of me a few rungs higher on the evolutionary ladder concedes this is a very good question.
“You said you found it at a point when you needed it,” he continues. “Did it fix whatever that was? Fulfill that need?”
This is an opening. More of that bravery of Jane’s. I could explain to him what the scene means to me. How it gave me a reason to get out and explore the city, turned into the creative outlet I desperately needed, and made me feel whole again—
My stomach twists.Whole. Invincible.But what have I done with that strength? Because if I haven’t used it to get back to design, then all this is little more than a rhinestone-studded crutch.
The realization stings like betrayal.
Darcy’s dark eyes soften, like he’s picked up on the fact that his question just undid two-plus years of emotional scaffolding. I could be flattered that he’s tuned in to me enough to notice the shift, but I ride the unsettling vulnerability straight into anger.
“Why are you even here?” I growl.
He takes in a breath—
