Margot shrieked, “That’s my sharpshooter!” and ran over, slapped Callie on the ass. The first real smile I’d ever seen crept over Callie’s face, making her look like a small, delighted child.

After a robust round of martinis, Margot announced that it was time to change. Everyone else had garment bags with sleek dresses, so when I pulled out my top and flats, Margot briskly shook her head.

“Sophie. I don’t mean to be a bitch but that won’t do. Follow me.”

I trailed her down the hall to the master bedroom and into the walk-in closet. She flipped a switch, and overhead bullet lights illuminated the closet, which was the size of my bedroom. Everything was organized by color, and strands of jewelry hung in glittering rows next to Margot’s collection of handbags.

She stepped, barefoot, onto the plush white carpet and over to the corner where a row of little black dresses was dangling. She lifted one off the hanger and handed it to me.

“Try this,” she said. She turned to select her own outfit, so I slipped out of my clothes and tugged on the dress. It hugged my hips but otherwise fit perfectly.

“I’ll zip you,” Margot said, coming up behind me, lifting my hair out of the way.

“You have beautiful hair, you know it?” Her hands were warm against my neck, and her breath felt like a kiss. My skin tingled; I hoped she didn’t see the goose bumps rise over my arms. I swallowed the awkward lump in my throat and turned to face her.

“Gorgeous. I mean!” she said, her eyes zigzagging over me in approval.

She lifted off her own top, shimmied out of her jeans, and I turned to look away.

“Oh, please,” she said, “don’t be so old-fashioned.”

She slid into a low-cut, emerald-green romper. The neckline plunged to the waist, and the shorts barely hit the tops of her thighs.

I blushed and stammered, “Looks fabulous.”

She eyed herself in the mirror and slid her bone-thin wrist into what looked like a Van Cleef & Arpels pink gold bracelet.

“Want to borrow a necklace?”

I nodded. She looped her finger around one and pulled it down from a black velvet rack. A silver pendant with a simple diamond. She fastened it around my neck.

“You sure?”

“Yep. It’s just costume. So, if you lose it, no biggie.”

* * *

—

WE ALL PILED into Margot’s Mercedes with Callie behind the wheel.

“She could make this drive in her sleep,” Jill chirped from the back seat. “She has a condo in Turtle Creek. We sometimes make a weekend of it, shop, go out, and crash there. But we’re coming back tonight, right, Margot?” she asked, leaning into the front seat. “You know I have to take Brad to practice in the morning. He’s still not cleared to drive. Oh, and Abby—that’s Brad’s girlfriend,” she said, turning to me, “asked me to take her prom dress shopping tomorrow afternoon! Isn’t that adorable? Her parents are religious nuts and she doesn’t want her mom to pick something out so she asked me! Just love her.”

Margot gave her the thumbs-up and passed her an empty wineglass. “Refill, please.” No one else would have noticed it, but when Jill mentioned Brad and Abby, I saw Margot’s jaw tighten.

* * *

—

JILL PULLED AN icy bottle of chardonnay from the cooler and topped everyone off.

Callie wove through downtown Dallas, her eyes locked straight ahead onto the snaking traffic until we arrived in front of Club Havana. We left the car with the valet and hurried inside.

Inside, the club was a dark cave with multiple levels of dance floors and VIP areas roped off with red velvet cables. Loud, pulsing music. Latin music on steroids.

Margot nodded to the ma?tre d’ and we were shown to a private booth with a bottle already resting in a bucket of ice on the wide, circular table. We all slid around it, and Margot nudged in next to me. After we toasted our first glass of champagne, she slung her arm around me.

Callie fumed watching her, and after a few minutes, stormed off to the dance floor with Tina and Jill in her wake.

Margot refilled my glass, pushed it toward me.

“Fun place, right?”

“Very cool.”

Margot slipped a lock of raven hair—polished by the loud lights—behind an ear, and I felt her leg graze mine. My pulse jittered and my breath grew shallow. I wanted to turn to her, stare into her eyes, and try to read her, but Callie returned with a well-dressed group of men.

Margot slinked out of the booth and introduced herself. They were all Russian, they explained, in town for business. They crowded themselves into the booth while flagging down the waiter.

They ordered the most expensive bottle of vodka available, and for the next hour, we all did shots. I was surprised at how little like alcohol the vodka tasted, but my eyes were beginning to swim, so I switched to water.

* * *

—

MARGOT WAS SANDWICHED between me and one of the men—he said his name was Andre, and he was at least six foot two with jet-black hair and flecked hazel eyes. A strong chin and chiseled cheeks. Movie-star handsome.

At one point, Margot rested her hand on my knee and didn’t move it.

I could feel the violence of Callie’s stare, but when I looked up, she simply smirked at me as one of the Russians, blond and edgily handsome, nibbled at her ear.

Andre tilted the vodka bottle toward my shot glass, but I covered it with my hand, shook my head.

“I’m getting a little tired of the vodka, too,” Callie snorted, and floated up from the booth. She disappeared toward the bar.

Margot’s hand was still on my knee, and she leaned in and whispered, “Ooooh, Callie’s doing something nice for you.”

Heat flooded my body, and Andre watched us hungrily.

Callie returned with two slender tumblers stuffed with mint and sugarcane.

“Here, drink this,” she said, placing one down in front of me. “It’s a mojito.”

She took a sip, licked her mattered lips, and watched me.

I took a long pull through the black straw, and the sugary drink coated my mouth. It was a nice change from the vodka.

“It’s yummy, thank you!” I said cheerily. But she was already slunk back into the armpit of the blond man, who was now groping her hair.

As I drained the dregs of the mojito, Margot leaned over to Andre and whispered something in his ear. They slid out of the booth together, but Andre turned to me and held out his hand. I took it, and Margot grabbed his other free hand and led us upstairs to a darkened dance floor.

The lights were throbbing around us, and halfway up the stairs, the room seemed to flip. The floor became the ceiling and the ceiling became the floor. I looked up, and Andre and Margot were standing over me, mouthing words back and forth that I couldn’t hear over the crushing music. I was slumped against the railing and I clutched my stomach, felt like I was going to be sick.

Andre leaned down and tucked a shoulder under my arm and guided me up the stairs.

“You had a little spill,” he said in his richly accented English.

I let him lead me onto the dance floor. A slower, thumping song trickled from the speakers, and Margot was already dancing, swaying back and forth with her arms raised above her head, stretched toward the ceiling.

Andre circled her waist with a lanky arm and then pulled me into them. I tried to dance but I knew if I moved too much, I would stumble, so I let myself lean into his chest.

Margot moved closer to me, put her hands on my hips. Her charcoal eyes were steady on mine, and Andre slipped behind me, roping his arms around my waist.

Sweat beaded on my upper lip, and the room spun around me.

* * *

—

THAT’S WHEN MY memory of the night starts to falter.

* * *

—

I REMEMBER STAGGERING away from Andre and Margot. Leaning on a barstool against the wall. The lights flickering as if someone were flipping the on/off switch. The music getting louder, faster, more jittery.

I peered down the stairs at the booth and saw Jill sitting on top of one of the Russians. Moving up and down against him. Tina sitting next to them, drink in hand, arm slung over the back of the padded leather booth. Callie with the blond still at her ear, but gazing up at me, her eyes narrowed and dark.

Margot. Andre. Andre slipping a hand inside Margot’s romper, rubbing circles on a nipple. Andre leading Margot to a wall, hoisting her up. Sweat beading on my arms, clammy and cold. My eyes tweaking, my vision shifting.

Margot, eyes locked onto mine from across the room, as Andre had her right there on the dance floor, in the dark corner against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist. Margot seemingly breaking the second rule of the Hunting Wives. We don’t go all the way. Margot staring at me through all of it.

After that, I remember nothing.

* * *

—

I WRAP MY coat tighter around me. My whole body is racked with shivers. I rub my hands together to warm them, press them to my face, try and sober up.