Corrupted Angel -A Mafia Romance

"You're right." I look back to the ceiling. "I'm just scared to start over."

"If life didn't scare you, it wouldn't be worth living."

"I'm sure that will be comforting in a couple of weeks, but at the moment, I just ..." I look over at her. "I don't know. I'm hurt."

Clara sits up, green eyes twinkling with something I can only describe as mischief. "You know what I hear when you say that?"

"What?"

"That you need a distraction," she says. "Let's go out tonight."

My eyebrow raises skeptically. "Out?"

"Yeah. Like to a club." She folds her legs under her, looking every bit the yoga instructor she is. "Yes, let's go dancing! I'll tell you the same thing I told my students today: if all else fails, feed your soul with deep stretches and heavy bass."

"You did not say that to your class."

"I did, too."

I chuckle. "Okay, sensei. All the same, I think I'll nama-stay home."

"Please come out with me?" She pouts her pink lips. "It'll be good for you. Now that you've kicked Grant to the curb, you can actually have a little excitement in your life."

Clara always thought of Grant as boring, with his long monologues and predictable patterns. He was the sort who adhered to a weekly schedule like his life depended on it-CrossFit three times a week, his favorite cop drama on Tuesday nights, fish for dinner every Friday. It's ironic that after years of being able to tell the time based on his movements, he would throw me a curveball so unexpected that it would knock me on my ass.

"Grant was boring, wasn't he?" I realize out loud.

Clara nods. "An absolute snoozefest. A pretty face, but very little going on upstairs."

"Very little going on downstairs either," I remark. "I can't imagine that floozy was with him because of his commendable ability to fall asleep almost immediately after ejaculating."

She snickers. "That's the spirit!"

"Ugh. Why was I even with him?" I scrub a hand over my face. "I think on some level I always knew I was settling. I'm just annoyed that it took this happening for me to realize it."

Admittedly, I was always curious about the concept of having a spark in a relationship. It was something I never felt that Grant and I had. I presumed that what we did have-comfort and security-was better. Stronger. More stable.

Clearly, Grant didn't think so. With my blinders off, I realize I shouldn't have thought so, either.

"Your dad likes him," Clara points out. "I think you've always been a little blind where your dad is concerned."

"Dad only likes him because he's also a lawyer," I reply. "He just likes having someone around he can talk torts to."

I haven't even told my dad the news yet. In fact, I've hardly spoken to him lately. He's been busy defending the innocent, and I've been busy looking for new ways to describe canine outfits. I always worry that my dad judges me for not living up to my potential. I hate the thought of disappointing him.

Clara shoots to her feet and goes to the island, grabbing the bags she brought before setting them down on the coffee table. "Let's do something fun. You remember fun, right?"

"I just don't know if I'm in the mood, Clara ..." I eye the bags suspiciously. "Plus, don't you think a club will just be a den of temptation to you?"

She waves dismissively. "Please. I am so Zen these days that the thought of alcohol doesn't even faze me. I just want to dance with my best friend and help dig her out of the misery spiral she's about to sink into."

"Who said anything about a misery spiral?"

"I see you glancing over at the freezer." She flattens her lips. "If I don't get you out of here, you'll end up watching terrible romcoms until you pass out in a puddle of melted ice cream."

I am annoyed that she has anticipated my evening plans so astutely.

"Fine," I sigh. "Let's go dance."

She squeals and perches on the coffee table, pulling items out of the bags. She has brought her entire makeup kit, as well as enough hair-styling tools to supply a pageant.

"What's all this?" I ask suspiciously.

"This is your future." She pulls a sparkly dress out of one of the bags with a flourish. "Gaze upon it with glee, for I am going to give you a makeover."

I eye the dress. "That's not going to fit me."

Clara is petite, with toned everything and an ass that defies gravity. I run on the curvier side, with a flat stomach but flaring hips, thick thighs, and generous cleavage. I have the kind of body that looks great in pencil skirts and form-hugging jeans, but I'm dubious about the slinky number that Clara has picked out for me.

"It absolutely will fit," she replies. "You can trust me. I'm enlightened."

"You're ridiculous."

"Ridiculously wise." She fans out a selection of makeup brushes. "Now... Where to begin?"

Clara pokes and prods at me for the next hour. By the end of it, my face is so caked with makeup and my hair so full of spray that I question whether I will be able to keep my head upright. Clara announces in a singsong voice that she is finished and somehow goads me into the sparkly dress. Then she guides me to the mirror, and the first thing I see is her hopeful expression.

And then... Wow.

Clara has coaxed my normally curly hair into silky waves that cascade over the tops of my breasts. My blue eyes pop under thick black false lashes, with gold and purple eyeshadow and thick black liner on the upper lids. My lips are light pink and shiny, and my skin is flawless, like creamy marble.

And the dress... Damn, the dress. It clings to me in all the right places, with a deep V accentuating my cleavage and a fringe at the bottom that tickles the tops of my thighs when I move.

"I don't even look like me," I comment, turning my face from side to side, entranced by my own reflection.

"That's not so bad, is it?" Clara brings the makeup to the mirror and bumps me out of the way while she starts on her own face. "Tonight you can be anyone you want to be."

She's right, I realize. I am transformed.

Maybe going out is a good idea after all.

Clara and I hit up a few bars on the Lower East Side before making our way to what she claims is the best club in all of New York City-Fiamma. Once we get inside, it is a veritable buffet of sights and sounds. Loud dance music pulses through the speakers and ultra-glam revelers pack the dance floor and wave their arms above them as neon lights slash through the crowd.

I had a couple drinks in the earlier bars, but I never drink to excess when I'm around Clara. She says it doesn't bother her, but it doesn't seem fair. I'm working with a bit of a buzz, so Clara and I skip the bar and head straight for the dance floor.

I don't know the song playing but let the beat flow through me as I start to dance, winding my hands toward the ceiling and rolling my hips. It feels good to dance. I lose myself in it, swaying and twisting and tossing my hair. Clara and I make eye contact and break into giggles. It is the first time all day that I have felt truly alive.