by W. Winters
That’s no way to live. Not for me, and especially not for Ella. She has to have her life back, and not just with me. All of it. Friends at her house. Dinners out as often as I can take her. A life.
It doesn’t take long, maybe an hour or so before my stomach growls and I realize I forgot about dinner. “Anybody else want pizza?”
“You didn’t order the pizza yet?” Damon shoots me a look. “Order it. Now.” He points me out of the room with a stab of his finger, and Alex laughs.
“Somebody got hungry,” I say, and throw down my cards.
I go back into the kitchen to order the pizza and end up wandering down the hall while I’m on hold. All the way to Ella’s playroom.
There are windows high up on one wall, thin ones to let in a bit of light, but otherwise it’s equipped with necessary and custom furniture for play, along with a large antique dresser that I use to store toys in.
I have … a collection. Some of the more severe instruments will stay in the dungeon in the basement. Two locations for two different purposes. I’m hard again imagining Ella spread across the burgundy padded spanking bench.
I chose that design just for her. It looks expensive as hell and having her perched there, with her ass reddened as she pants, is going to be picture fucking perfect.
The St. Andrew’s Cross is in the dungeon, although I debated having it in this room. I think it’ll serve us better for punishment.
I took my time, making sure it would be perfect so when she enters this room all she’ll have to do is enjoy it.
Still on hold, I meander to the dresser and pull open the top drawer. Counting each accessory in the row of vibrators and dildos. All sizes. All intensities. I could spend an entire day using these on her. In fact, when she comes here, I will spend an entire day using them on her. It’ll take a few days to truly indulge.
Checking on my phone, she’s fast asleep. I hope it’ll be a deep, easy sleep for her. offering her nothing but comfort.
The other drawers are filled with riding crops, clamps and restraints. I have a separate rack for the longer implements.
Again it strikes me how torn I am with my little bird. She’s delicate in a way that holds me back. The first day we agreed, I would have shown her this collection. I would have already toyed with her.
There’s so much about her, our situation, about us in general that conflicts me.
Even the idea of bringing her here isn’t as easy as it would be with anyone else.
It would have to go through Cade. Until the courts dissolve her ruling, everything would require his approval.
If my brother agrees, then there’s a process we’ll have to follow. The Firm will have to modify my house to fit the judge’s orders, which I’ve taken into consideration, but cameras would be necessary.
However, the toys could fall into a different category regarding her physical health and access to any items that could be harmful. They would need to be involved to make sure no stone is unturned for every item in the establishment she resides in. It’s the same thing we did for Ella’s property, only I can’t do it myself, because it will have to be in compliance to the last letter. There would be no room for error if we made a change of this magnitude.
Shutting the drawer, I’m not clear on how this particular room would fare in that investigation.
We’d also have to request a full psych evaluation for Ella. Cade will need documentation proving that it is her choice, and that she made it of her own free will. He’ll also have to attest that he thinks it would be in her best interest, which might be a hard sell.
It’s one thing for me to be with her in her home, which has already been vetted and cleared and is a familiar location for providing care. It will be another thing entirely to move The Firm’s base of operations here. Even if it is only for a night here and there.
It’s a massive inconvenience, in other words.
“Nico’s Pizza,” a voice says on the other end of the line. “You there? The connection doesn’t seem great.”
“I’m here.” Clearing my throat, I remind myself that my friends are here, that tonight is a night where I don’t have to think of all these things. I can’t help myself, though. All I can think about, all night, is Ella and how best to handle her. How best to proceed with the concept of “us.”
Ella
“So would you say you’re happy with how things have been going?” Kam asks as we stop in front of the large paned windows so I can peek into the boutique shop.
The tissue paper peeking out from the thick, pearly black shopping bag tickles my wrist as I sway to face him.
He nods toward the bag. “Not the shopping. I already know you’re happy about the shoes for this weekend's social.”
Damon, Kam and, more appropriately, Kelly and Trish said I need to get back on the scene. So long as it goes well, everything else should fall into place. Kam said this weekend is the first piece. If my life is back to what it was, if everyone sees me and there’s no sign or evidence that I’m unwell, the judge should be moved to dissolve the initial ruling.
Hopefully. The weekend is step one and I’ll be wearing Manolos for the occasion.
“Seriously though, gorgeous.” I’m on a mission to pick out a dress that will knock Zander on his ass too. I also bought a small riding crop. It’s harmless enough and mostly a gag gift, but I intend to be playful after the party. I’m not exactly sure, but I imagine he’ll allow me to amuse myself and then show me what he can do with that riding crop.
My cheeks heat and I nearly trip in my heels. “It been ages,” I say, defending myself against Kam’s smirk when he catches my arm. “Leave me alone,” I answer playfully.
“So … are you happy?”
“Am I happy? I am.”
“With everything … are you …” he hesitates but with a deep breath, he presses on as we continue our walk down the storefront. “How are you doing with James’s …” He doesn’t say death. He doesn’t say it, but I hear it.
To anyone else it may seem like we’re a well-dressed couple, out for a luncheon or perhaps they can tell we’re only friends. To me, this feels like freedom. Although some thoughts and emotions still feel imprisoned.
“More than I have been. It still … it still hurts sometimes.”
“Are you nervous about anyone bringing it up?”
“Zander will be there,” is all I can answer.
“Right.” Kam nods. “He’ll take care of you, but I want you to know you’re handling it well on your own too.”
I wish I had a retort that wasn’t sarcastic. As it stands, all I’m thinking is that I can now add “grieves well” to my resume.
“If all goes well, we should be able to request a psych eval.”
His statement stops me in my tracks, although the bag hanging from the crook of my arm continues to swing.
A thought hits me that I haven’t considered. “The Firm would leave?”
“When you pass the eval, two things will happen. The first is that the judge can order their dismissal entirely.”
“What about Damon?”
Kam’s brow scrunches, not understanding for a moment. And then my concern registers, his eyes widening when it does.
“I want to continue my sessions. I’m not a fool. I’m doing better because of him.”
“We can continue their service even if it’s not judge ordered.
“The second thing … we can request a hearing on your conservatorship.”
“When would we schedule that?”
“Not until you pass the mental health check and The Firm agrees to their dismissal without complaint.”
My heels click on the sidewalk as we near the end of the row, with Tiffany’s perched on the corner and the sweet smell of pastries from a Brew & Cap coffee shop we just passed surrounds us.
“One thing at a time.”
Nodding, I feel more at ease.
“I’m glad we’ll be able to continue with Damon.”
“
Of course.”
“Then he can keep monitoring the weaning.”
“Weaning?” This time it’s Kam whose pace is troubled.
“From the antidepressants,” I clarify.
“I didn’t know you were stopping them,” Kam states, his voice lowered and obviously bothered by the discovery.
“Damon said some people renew indefinitely as long as there are no side effects since withdrawal can create more … well, it can make things much worse.”
“How are you feeling about that?”
“Good,” I respond in the same chipper voice although he arches a brow like he doesn’t believe me.
Stopping where we are, with the city at our back and couples surrounding us without seeing us at all, I grab ahold of Kam’s hands. “It’s all going so well. Just let it happen.”
“One last thing.” Kam’s business tone makes an appearance.
“Uh-oh, my PR is mad with me?”
He huffs a laugh, slipping his hands into his black jean pockets, an attempt to appear casual I would think.
“About Zander,” he starts and my pulse drops as a chill I hadn’t felt yet creeps through my tweed jacket. I pull it tighter.
“What about him?”
“Everyone loves a love story and you two are cute together.”
His comment is unexpected and the smile it brings me is genuine.
“Is he on the same page as you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw Kelly and Trish’s post, Ella.” He tilts his head down, his brow raising, like a father scolding his daughter and I laugh.
“Does he know that you’re hinting you’re together? Does he want that too? This life and … the things that come with it.”
Memories are a fickle thing. They creep back to me. I remember James confiding in me one night and then I told him everything. For us, it brought us closer. But he knows how it is.
“If you want to come out at this party, you can. If you don’t,” he says then sucks in a breath and looks off into the distance to the mountains, past the shining windowpanes of boutiques and designer shops. “Just make sure, whatever you decide, that you’re on the same page.”
“What if I want him to stay a secret? Or he wants that?” My heart does a painful flip. Just the thought of having this conversation with him makes me feel sick. I don’t know what Z will say.
“That would be a first.”
“We could say he is, without it being real,” I offer, taking another peek inside the coffee shop and tilting my head toward it.
Kam nods, leading the way, although what I’ve just said seems to concern him.
“He’s not really my boyfriend. You know?”
“I know. But no one knows that other than you and Zander, plus The Firm, who are bound by a contract. Because of their … purpose.”
His purpose has passed. He stayed because he wanted to. He stayed for me. The need to defend him rises inside of me, but I don’t. Instead I swallow it down and settle on something more simple.
“It’s just … for me … it’s more.”
“And for him?” he questions.
“He’s been blunt. He’s my Dom.” I’m surprised how much it pains me to say it. At the same time, I don’t think Zander is honest with himself. I think he’s holding back. No. I know he is.
“Have you asked him about being more?” I keep my lips firmly in place as I stand at the end of a three-person line, pretending to read off the list of cappuccinos like that’s more important. The truth is, I think if I push Zander for more, I could push him away and I don’t think I’ll be okay if that happens.
Kam presses me, saying, “Maybe you should ask him. You know others will be curious, they’ll pry. It’s important you’re both on the same page.”
Zander
The keys jingle in my hand, the car alarm confirming I’ve locked it as I make my way to the back door by the kitchen.
The pressed jacket feels stiff, but it’s tailored and, more importantly, Ella chose it. I allowed her to pick my outfit for this occasion. It’s a sharp look and well dressed. With black slacks, a dark brown belt, black collared shirt and the gray-blue jacket I’m wearing in this single look, the cost is equivalent to an entire paycheck.
But I promised her, I would stay on her arm, I would escort her and I would wear whatever she wanted.
It’s well past sunset and I’m eager to see what she’s chosen for herself. Checking my watch, I know we have some time in case she’s still running behind like she texted she was.
The lights are on in her kitchen and I let out a sigh of relief that surprises me. I understand what Damon meant about Ella needing time to be alone, but it’s damn good to get back to her, to be present and know I’ll be kissing her, touching her in ways that’ll make her shiver. It’s addictive and simply walking in the back door is like getting a hit of my favorite drug.
Every single time. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this.
The moment I close the back door, Kam enters the kitchen, none too quietly. It’s intentional, almost as if he was waiting for me.
“Kamden,” I say, greeting him with an easy tone that’s just as intentional. He opens his mouth, looking like he wants to question me, but I have one first.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you—when Ella was younger—you two were close?” Standing at the threshold between the small nook and kitchen, he stills, his eyes narrowing. Taking a few steps in, I meet him halfway. “I know she was good friends with your sister. Is that why you took custody?”
He blinks. “I took custody because she needed someone and our families have been friends forever. It was a great tragedy.” His mask slips on easily. Public relations 101. “I wasn’t about to let just anyone step in. You never know what will happen when someone gets control over a young woman like Ella was … and her assets.”
“Control?” My hackles go up, but I remain poised as he assesses me. Taking a few steps, I stop behind a chair at the table and grip the back of it.
“I mean regarding her assets. Custody is a tricky issue,” he tells me, pulling out a seat, but not yet taking it. His gaze reaches mine as he adds, “When you have as much money as Ella does, it’s shark-infested waters.”
“That’s understandable.” I’ve been waiting to ask him this, and it spills out of me before I can stop it. “Do you know if there’s any truth to the rumors that there was foul play with her mother’s death?”
Kamden shakes his head like this is the most bizarre conversation he’s ever been part of, which can’t be true. “Not at all.”
“There’s a number of theories—”
“Why would you look into that?” His voice is slightly raised and he seems to shake it off, laughing slightly although he doesn’t look me in the eye. “That doesn’t have anything to do with—”
“There were theories. Rumors that caught my attention after what she said the other day.”
That statement makes Kamden pause. He swallows thickly before looking back at me, his mask back on and firmly in place. He knows something. He damn well knows he does.
Ella’s kitchen is warm, and Kamden lets out a breath. He leans against the counter and looks at me. “People love a scandal. You know what I think?”
“I don’t. I would appreciate it if you told me.”
He chews the inside of his cheek. “I think it wasn’t her mother who killed her father’s first wife. I think he did it. I think she took the fall, and he had her murdered in prison.” Kam’s eyes narrow and his voice lowers. “I also think … that I’m glad he’s dead.”
“Zander.” Damon enters the kitchen, mid conversation. “Am I interrupting?”
“No,” I say and then swallow, not wanting to involve Damon in this. “We should talk later, though,” I tell Kam, my grip white knuckled on the back of the chair. There’s a cold sweat on the back of my neck.
Whatever happened, I’m almost certain Kam knows every detail. And a part of me wonders, what does E
lla know?
The other night, she was anything but okay remembering her mother. If someone hurt her or coerced her … I don’t know what I’ll do, but it takes everything in me, in this moment, to calm the rage that simmers inside.
“I wouldn’t look too much into it.” Kam attempts to reassure me as Damon rounds the corner of the kitchen, opening the fridge and disappearing behind the door.
“Just seemed like there might be something I should know,” I say, keeping Kam’s gaze as he slips on his jacket.
“We’re on the same side when it comes to this. And the part that matters, is that it’s over. It’s long dead and it should stay that way.”
There’s a moment between us, but the moment Damon closes the door to the fridge, bottle of water in hand, it’s gone.
Kamden addresses Damon first, and then me. “I’m on my way out. Have a good time at the party tonight.”
He leaves, and I watch him go.
“You all right, man?” Damon questions. Relaxing my posture and letting out a deep breath, I decide to keep what just happened between Kamden and me. That conversation isn’t over.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Don’t worry about the party. It’ll be packed and might be intense for the both of you. But you can always leave.” I stare at Damon, unblinking.
“You’re my therapist now?” I ask deadpan and instantly the tension in my shoulders lifts.
He laughs, setting the bottle down. “I’m just picking up on the tension is all. You look sharp, she’s excited and I think she’s ready.”
I can’t help but to smile at the idea of my little bird being excited. Everything about her is fuller, lighter, happier than she was when I first saw her in the courtroom. Nearly everything. The vulnerability is still there and she’s still so very breakable.
Damon adds, “There’s no reason to be concerned.”
“I’ll have a better time when it’s over and everything goes well.”
The thought of the party doesn’t thrill me. There’s a delicate balance between us right now and I’m certain she has the upper hand with what to expect with this party. This is necessary, though.
