Now I was truly living my slavery.
And if I ever stepped out of bounds, I'd lose my baby.
She won't be a baby forever, I reminded myself. She's already almost two.
My sentence would last another sixteen years. After that, I'd be free to see her whenever I wanted.
The thought made me ache for fresh air, so I stumbled over to the window and opened it.
A cool breeze floated in, caressed my raw cheeks. The world outside was insensible of the evil that had taken place earlier. Maybe being away from home as often as possible would help.
My very first thought was of the bookstore, and then of Drake.
When your heart has been hurt, it feels everything more intensely—both pain and happiness. And as I stood there thinking of the handsome man behind the black thick-frame glasses, the man with the smudge of flour on his cheek, the man who had kept me from collapsing, I realized that I'd allowed him into my heart.
If only I'd met him first, I thought.
With his lies, Jack had changed our marriage and my life forever. And even after all that change, Drake was the only part of my old life that made me happy. When I'd met him, he'd made me smile. He'd reassured me. He'd made me feel things that Jack hadn't even tried to make me feel in a long time.
No lovers. Jack's words burned into my head.
He could have two and I could have none. So rotten. So ugly, rotten and unfair.
Fuck. I sniffed back tears, ones that kept coming back despite the fact that I'd already cried them.
Life seemed so bleak, and as I stared into the long, empty, and busy years before me, I wondered if I'd ever be happy again.
Toward the end of our fight, Jack had appeared interested in recovering our sex life. Though the idea still disgusted me, I wasn't sure it would forever. He said he loved me, but exactly what kind of love he had for me, I wasn't sure.
In my naïve little heart, I wondered if things had truly gone too far for us to recover.
Was our marriage salvageable?
Could I convince him to stop seeing other women and be content with me?
Was even thinking about that possibility stupid of me?
I had to consider that I might be grasping at straws.
After all, we'd made vows to each other and he'd broken those once.
Nothing said he wouldn't just do it again.
Sigh No More
(Jack)
Things progressed exactly as I'd hoped they would.
The event planner contacted Drake, and had lured him (at my expense) to a meeting where they would discuss the particulars.
I sat back against the limo seat and fished the small Tiffany's box out of my coat pocket.
I didn't know Chastity well, but I could tell she was a no-nonsense, practical woman. A lot of subs were. Many enjoyed sensual extravagance, but preferred everything else remain simple.
Carefully, I opened the box as we crossed the bridge. A gold bracelet gleamed up from its wrappings. On the delicate chain was a single diamond charm.
The car came to a stop in front of the bakery, and I quickly closed the box and tucked it back into my pocket.
Dante opened the door for me. I got out and straightened my lapel.
The building had a different life in the daytime. I pushed the door open and both savory and sweet smells floated up to greet me.
I approached the register, where a kid was organizing baked goods in the tall antique case behind the counter.
When he didn't notice me, I cleared my throat.
“Oh, sorry.” He wiped his hands on his apron and turned. “What can I get you, sir?”
“Information, I hope.”
The kid's chin tucked into his neck as he gave me the once-over. “You a member of the mob?”
I grinned. “Maybe.”
The kid put his hands up, as if in surrender. “Look, whatever it was, I had nothing to do with it.”
“Don't worry. It's not information about you that I'm after.” I chuckled. “Does a pretty woman ever come around here, kind of petite, brown hair, brown eyes, tan skin?”
“Dude, you just described half the women on the island.” The kid shook his head. “You'll have to be more specific.”
“She's a friend of Drake's.”
“Oh. Well, it sounds like you're talking about Chastity.”
“So, you know her?” I smiled in triumph.
“Yeah, man. She works here.”
“Works here?” I quirked a brow. “At a bakery?”
“She's a chocolate maker—shoc—chocola—whatever the French word is.” His brown cheeks flushed pink when he put himself on the spot. “Anyway, she never does that. She makes wedding cakes.”
“Is she here today?” I asked, attempting to look through the tiny kitchen window.
“Nah. She's been sick for a few days. Drake says she'll be out for a while.” He shuffled uncomfortably.
So, it was that bad I thought to myself.
“Is there something I can get for you? Coffee maybe?” the kid asked.
“I think I'd rather give you something—” I checked his nametag. “—Jerome.” I pulled out my wallet and fished out a hundred-dollar-bill, then set it on the counter. “That's for you.”
Jerome's eyes bugged out of his head. “For what?”
“Two things. First, for the information, and second, for a delivery I want you to make. Can you handle that for me?”
“It ain't drugs, is it?” He leaned in. “I mean, I'll still deliver it, but it'll cost you extra.”
My brows dropped low over my eyes. “It's not drugs.”
“Oh. Yeah. I mean, yeah, man. Of course, it ain't. I don't do that kind of stuff anyway.”
I pulled out the blue box and handed it to him. “Give this directly to Chastity. I'd prefer if you took it straight to her now, but if you have to wait until you see her again, that's fine, too.”
“You got it.” He swiped the bill and stuffed the box in his pocket. “Who should I say it's from?”
“She'll know who it's from.” I looked him in the eye. “And make sure Drake doesn't know about this. Got it?”
He answered me with a nervous nod.
I realized I might have intimated the poor kid, so I relaxed my shoulders and smiled. “Thank you, Jerome. Have a nice day.”
It was all I could do to resist bursting into song as I left the store. For the first time in a long time, I could genuinely say I was excited about something.
I'd tucked my phone number into the box in hopes that I might hear from her. All she had to do was call and I'd come running.
(Emily – A Week Later)
“Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more.
Men were deceivers ever,
One foot on sea, and one on shore,
To one thing constant never.
Then sigh not so, but let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into hey nonny, nonny.”
“I thought you might be here.”
I turned around in the recliner to see him standing there. “Drake.”
He smiled. “How are you? I haven't seen you in a week or so.” He took the seat beside me.
“I'm fine.” He would've known I was lying if he'd witnessed what had happened with Jack a few days before. It'd been a blessing that Jack and I had avoided each other.
I turned my eyes away from Drake and forced them back down on the copy of The Collected Works of Shakespeare in my lap.
“Shakespeare, huh? You like Renaissance literature?” He grinned.
I cleared my throat. “Yes. I do.” I was surprised that it hurt to look at him. Somehow my infatuation had run away with itself. And despite my attempts at restraint, whenever he came to mind, those feelings took flight all over again. I should have been concentrating on Jack, on how to fix our marriage, but instead all I thought of was my one day of escape—and the embarrassment that had come with it.
I sighed, contrary to the orders of Shakespeare. “I'm not mad. I have no right—I mean, no reason—to be mad.” I flushed at the slip of my tongue.
“Chastity is a very close friend of mine. She likes to talk, but I promise, behind her teasing, there were good intentions. Bringing strangers to the bakery isn't something I do all the time.” He chuckled nervously. “I was hoping to have you back again sometime to hang out.”
I'd been staring at the rest of Much Ado about Nothing, but hadn't read a word. “I'm sorry. I'm busy.”
“What, forever?” He sat back in his chair.
My cheeks turned hot and I suddenly found it hard to breathe. This rejection was going badly. “Yes.”
“I see.” He smiled and stood up. “I really shouldn't have come in, but I hoped to catch you so I could let you know I mailed your purse back. You should be getting it soon.”
I couldn't keep from looking at him after that. I was too happy. “You did? Thank you!” It was one of my favorites, but I'd forgotten about it in the wake of the drama.
“Well, anyway, I just got done with lunch, and have to head back to the bakery. We're pretty busy lately.”
When he started to leave, I spun around. “You're going already?”
God, that sounds desperate. I managed not to wince at the realization.
He laughed, his eyes filling with light as they settled on me. “We've got a few big orders coming in, but I'll be back here later this week. If you're not busy forever one of these days, maybe we can try making another batch of cookies—this time together.”
I moistened my lips. “Maybe.”
Something about his genuine smile cracked my hardened facade, and I couldn't help but reciprocate with joy equal to his. I remembered the bakery, where Anna, Leroy, Margot, and Jerome were hard at work, baking and yelling and skittering around. Though I had no place there, my heart ached to go back.
I was sure there was something I should say, but no idea what. The opportunity passed, and he gave me a short wave before disappearing down the iron staircase.
(Drake)
I didn't bother going downstairs to the club that night. I let Rock, my bartender, hold the reins for the night. He was remarkably adept at handling the club when I couldn't make it. I would have been bored without Chastity. After all, I wasn't interested in seeing anyone else.
My thoughts wandered as I drove home, to Emily's flustered face. She'd seemed disturbed when I decided to leave. It was cute.
She had no way of knowing that I'd stopped when I heard her reading and relished the sound of her voice as she recited the poetry. I'd never really listened to the words until then. It seemed like such a sad, yet encouraging and cautionary word to women about inconsistent men.
It made me wonder if she was facing some hidden struggle.
No happy person read Shakespeare like that.
My nose caught a whiff of the donuts in my passenger's seat. I'd made them specifically for Chastity since they were her favorite. She'd barely been out of bed in the past few days and I hoped they would cheer her up.
The day had been hectic for me. Orders were pouring in.
I'd guessed that the word had been passed along to one of the larger fortune 500 companies in New York. They wanted us to cater the desserts for a major weekend-long event. No matter the reason why, I was happy that the bakery was doing well. It hadn't been doing badly, but a little extra revenue never hurt. I'd definitely be putting some of it away for Christmas bonuses.
Chastity and I lived in Brooklyn at my parents' old house. They were in nursing homes now, and I saw them as often as I could. Both were happy as long as they had each other.
Their situation wasn't wholly unlike my own.
I was pretty happy with Chastity, even though ours wasn't necessarily a romantic relationship. I couldn't even say it was sexual. I was definitely attracted to her. I still found her sexy, especially during our sessions together, but something was lost in between the stage and the bed.
The magic was gone as soon as she was untied. I took on the role of a Master on stage and caregiver off. I watched out for her. I still had some feelings for her, but knew enough about her to keep them carefully tethered.
Margot worried I gave her too much, that I let her take advantage of me.
There were things I got from Chastity too, though. I knew myself better because of her. After we'd begun dating, we shared the stories of our past. She could see immediately that I disliked my chosen path and was instrumental in my decision to quit psychology and enroll at the International Culinary Center. Without her, I wouldn't have fulfilled my real dream. Until I found out the truth about her, I thought she'd eventually be part of that dream.
The only way to get over her was to tell myself I was okay with it. No matter how much I loved her, I couldn't live my life being stuck in a relationship where the other person felt nothing. And in the end, I'd decided that putting emotional distance between us was better than letting my heart break.
It became obvious to me later, that if she'd pretended hard enough, she could have gotten me to do anything. I would have married her in a heartbeat.
I clung to her in a lot of ways, convincing myself we could still be involved. I could still be her Master, and I could still protect her. I could still love her as a friend.
The guardian role was open, since no one else had properly filled that for her.
She was an orphan, several times over. Her mother had abandoned her at the age of three. Her father had left her with his sister. After her aunt died, she'd been alone in the world. Through the years, people who professed to love her and want the best for her continued to abandon her. Foster parents claimed she was cold, uncaring, returning her to the orphanage like a defective coffee maker to a department store.
It was my guess that she'd learned how to fake it, because by the time I got to know her, she'd mastered that sweet smile. And I'd fallen for it. I'd believed in the mask.
She couldn't be the person I needed. The case was the same with me for her. Knowing that truth didn't make it any easier to reduce my emotional attachment to her. And even though I'd initially wanted to blame her for my suffering, I couldn't.
As I pulled into the driveway, I reminded myself that it wasn't her fault. She was a pebble turned unevenly by the sea of life, a creature of an entirely different shape than most.
I bounded up the front walk to the two-story Victorian-style house and unlocked the door.
She was in the living room, stretched out on the leather couch in front of the television. Law and Order blared out through the sound system, the muzzle flashes from detective Benson's gun lit up her eyes, which were just barely visible over the brim of her snuggie.
“Hey. You're out of bed.” I brought in the box of donuts.
She smiled after sniffing the air. “Are those my favorite chocolate cake donuts?”
“They are.” I walked down the hall into the kitchen. It was clean, despite the fact that I'd left it a mess after cooking dinner last night. “Did you clean?”
“A little.”
“You must be feeling better.”
“What?!” she called out from the living room.
“Nothing.” I checked the fridge. No leftovers. “Did you eat today?” I shouted over my shoulder.
“I had some toast a little bit ago!”
“How long ago?”
“Noon! … Dad!”
I rolled my eyes. “Don't you want something substantial?”
When I heard her walking down the hall, I shut the fridge.
“What are you going to make?” she asked, taking a seat at the bar, still wrapped in her snuggie.
I leaned on the counter. “I have a lasagna in the freezer.” She scoffed. “Meatball sandwiches?” She repeated the face. “Breakfast for dinner?”
; She smiled. “Sounds good.”
I took out the eggs, bacon, cheese, jelly, and butter.
As I fried up the savory parts, I popped some English muffins into the toaster oven.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, not looking up from the eggs bubbling in the pan.
“Fine. I should be back in tomorrow.”
I pursed my lips. “Are you sure? You can easily take off another week.”
“No, I'm fine.”
She'd been anything but fine after Doe had finished with her. Due to his apathy when it came to aftercare, she'd developed cold symptoms, and had been in bed for a week.
I'd experienced a monumental amount of guilt. I could have, and should have, advised her against going with a guy that had rubbed me wrong, and obviously treated his slave like an object instead of a partner. I might have used the excuse that his humiliation of her was part of their session when I first met him and Julia, but I'd witnessed his subsequent bad behavior, and should have called him out on it.
Part of a Master's responsibility was to ensure his slave's safety. And even though the ultimate decision was Chastity's to make, I'd failed to protect her from seeing him again after he'd proven to be awful.
“You're burning the eggs,” she complained.
I snapped back to reality and turned over the crispy egg. “Sorry. I'll eat that one.” Behind me, I heard her sniff and shift a little in the silence. “Something bothering you?”
“I was wondering whether he … ” She trailed off, but I could easily guess what the lost end of that statement was.
“No,” I lied. “He didn't come back. He must have gotten what he wanted out of you that night. I have a feeling he won't be coming back ever again.” I scooped my over-hard egg onto a plate and began cooking hers.
“You're such a bad liar.”
I could hear her smile.
“Is it such a stretch to believe me? He was an asshole, a stupid one at that.” My stomach growled as I finished her sunny-side up egg with a dash of pepper.
She snickered. “You're right.”
I turned around with the loaded-up plates, and served her. She stared at her food, looking neither happy nor sad.
“Did you want him to come back?” I slathered my English muffin in strawberry jelly, eyeing her quizzically.
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