Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

“I think they liked it,” he says. “You dancing for me.”
Yeah, okay. I smile, backing away toward the dress shop.
He shifts the car into gear, takes off, and I spin around, wiping off my
mouth.
I hate kissing. Wet and slobbery tongue like a damn slug flopping around
my mouth.
I pull open the door to Lavinia’s on the Avenue and stroll in, tossing the
wipe out on the sidewalk behind me.
The streets of St. Carmen still buzz with foot traffic, cafés, and local hot
spots swarming with people enjoying a quiet night with friends al fresco. The
parade ended more than an hour ago, and even though it took us that long to
get our gear cleaned up and Amy’s father to get the float clear of the gridlock,
I’m still not done for the day.
I walk into the boutique, gowns displayed on mannequins as I cross the
white carpet and pass the reception desk, my mother sitting in the lounge
area.
She spots me. “Talk tomorrow,” she says into her phone.
“I’m here now,” I tell her, knowing she’s going to whine.
“I’ve been waiting over an hour.” She rises from the white-cushioned,
high-back chair and sticks her phone into her handbag. “Call next time.”
I chuckle under my breath as I keep walking and she follows. “Like I can
control how fast the parade moves,” I mumble.
Her chunky gold and pearl bracelet jingles as she enters the dressing area
behind me, and I set my bag down next to the chair near the floor-length
mirrors. I glance at her in the reflection, noticing my gold necklace draped
across her tanned chest, visible in her flowing, deep V-neck blouse.
Coiffed golden hair, perfectly tailored black slacks that hug her threespinning-classes-a-week
ass, and squeaky clean, right down to her trimmed
cuticles. My mother’s body hasn’t seen a carb other than champagne in at
least twelve years. Pretty sure it’s in cryo-freeze at this point, simply relying
on eggs and hair spray to animate.
In ten minutes, I’m on the riser in front of the mirror and wearing the
debutante gown my mother had designed for me.
“Oh, Lavinia,” she says, holding her hands to her cheeks as she circles
me. “You’ve outdone yourself. It’s exquisite. I love it. The detail…”
I look away from my image in the mirror, clenching my jaw as hard as I
can to contain myself.