I take the exit to downtown SLC and glide down the familiar streets that lead to Townsend Tower, pulling into the basement parking garage and into a designated spot Dane had texted me that morning. I sent him a text before we left the house, when no one was looking, and he shot me back instructions to meet him here in one hour or less and to park in spot fourteen.
“Get out,” I instruct, shifting the car into park. My stomach responds with a flurry of butterflies when I spot Dane’s limo two spots down. The trunk pops, and Waverly glances in.
“Why are there two suitcases?” she asks.
I’d stuck mine in there a few days before when no one was looking. It’s mostly filled with trinkets and mementos, the only things I care to take with me from this life to my next.
Bronson steps out of the limo, walking around to open Dane’s door. I take back what I said about Clark Kent earlier. Right now I’m staring at a bona fide Superman in a three-piece suit doing his part to help save the day.
Dane checks the chrome watch on his hand and steps toward me, leaning in to graze his lips across my cheek. “You’re on time. Very good.”
“Bellamy, are you going to tell me what’s going on now?” Waverly plants her feet as Bronson transfers the bags.
I turn toward Dane, breathing in his cologne, which will forever smell like freedom to me. “This is Dane Townsend, my boss. He’s going to save us.”
***
Jensen arrives on the second day, shortly after breakfast. My sister practically pummels him over when she runs into his arms. Dane gives them space, time to acclimate, and free reign of the estate. They’ll be living here until Waverly goes to college in the fall, and much to my surprise – and hers – he’s sponsoring her at a local private college.
“How do I look?” I slip into the suite Jensen and Waverly are sharing later that night, the fabric of my evening gown gathered in my hands.
She sits up on her bed, rubbing her eyes. “Who are you?”
“Oh, stop.” I wave my hand, flicking my wrist where diamonds rest in the form of a tennis bracelet.
“Who is Dane?” Waverly asks.
I fight the smile instantly elicited by the mere mention of him. “He’s my boss.”
She arches her brows. “Just your boss?”
“It’s complicated.”
“He loves you.” She scoots back on the bed, folding her legs and resting her elbows on her knees. “That part is obvious.”
“It’s not that kind of relationship.” My smile fades, evaporating the second I heard the L-word. That word is contraband in this house. “I don’t expect you to understand. It’s a… consensual, adult relationship.”
Waverly reads me with a cockeyed smile and squinted eyes.
“Sometimes we do what we have to do in order to survive, and sometimes we surprise ourselves when we realize how far we’re willing to go to set ourselves free. Because of Dane, we get to live our lives exactly the way we want. No polygamy. No AUB. No sneaking around, hiding from the public. Our lives finally belong to us. This is freedom, Waverly. We’re finally free.”
The shower shuts off in the bathroom. Jensen will be out any minute.
“How’d you know about Jensen and me?” she asks.
“Because you look at him like he’s the greatest thing in the whole world. Amongst other things…”
Her cheeks flush deep pink, and she buries her face in her palms like I read her diary.
“It’s okay,” I say. “You don’t need to be ashamed anymore. We only get one life. If being with Jensen makes you happy, then that’s what you should do. And he’s not even technically our stepbrother if you want to get into the logistics of it.”
A voice buzzes through speakers built into the walls.
“Mademoiselle Miller?” Mathilde’s French accent cuts through the room. “The car is ready.”
“Where are you headed tonight?” Waverly takes me in from head to toe.
“I’m accompanying Dane to a private dinner party.”
“Let me see your shoes.”
I pick up the train of my midnight dress, revealing rhinestones covering the four-inch heels on my feet.
She smiles. “Gorgeous.”
I slip my arms around my sister, holding her tight.
“Have fun, Bell.” She hugs back, squeezing harder than I’ve ever been squeezed before.
I back away, gathering the silk fabric of my dress and floating out the door and down the stairs to where my date is wearing the most debonair all-black tuxedo I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“Stunning.” He reaches for my hand when I get to the landing only this time he threads our fingers together.
THIRTY-FIVE
DANE
I wake next to Bellamy this morning for the second time in a row.
Our weekend was packed with rescuing and debriefing her sister, ensuring her sister’s boyfriend made it here all right, and then I whisked her away to a party thrown by one of my senator friends.
Men stared at Bellamy all night, and why wouldn’t they? A slinky black dress dripped off her curves, and she was iced in more diamonds than a De Beers heiress. She stole the show, and she never left my side once.
“I had some of your clothes transferred here,” I call to her as she struts to the bathroom.
“You really did think of everything,” she calls out over the spray of the shower a second later.
We get ready for work side by side like some ordinary, vanilla couple, and for the first time, I don’t particularly mind it.
Matter of fact, I think I could get used to this.
I stare at the strange man in the mirror and give him a wink, just to make sure he’s real because I sure as fuck don’t recognize him or his unfamiliar thoughts.
***
An email from the Crystal Swan arrives the second I get to the office. It’s automated and one that kicks in if you haven’t been by the club after a certain amount of time. It’s the first time in two years that I’ve received this email, and the only thing about my life that’s changed in those two years is the introduction of Bellamy Miller.
Within ten minutes, I’m knocking at the black door, my keycard in hand. I’m cancelling my membership today, but first, I have a bit of business to tend to.
“Welcome back, Master Townsend,” the hostess dressed in all white coos. She scans my badge and glances down at the screen. “Looks like we haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Is Jenessa in today?”
The white swan smiles. “Why, yes she is. She’s about to perform in the Hayworth Room.”
The Hayworth Room is named for the founding member of the Crystal Swan. There’s a small stage and seating for no more than eight. It’s where I first met Jenessa Dubrow, and it’s where I’ve been coming for the last two years to remind myself over and over not to make the same mistake twice.
Every time I see her, I remember.
And every time she sees me, I hope she remembers too.
I turn down the west hall and set out toward the Hayworth Room. This time of day, there’s hardly more than a handful of men sitting in on her show.
Today, it’s just me.
She sits on a barstool, center stage, dressed in all white leather with a white, feathered mask hiding her eyes. But I don’t have to see her eyes to sense the weight of her stare.
The doors close behind me, indicating it’s show time, and I take a seat directly across from her. If evil were a creature incarnate, she’d be wrapped in beautiful lies and called Jenessa.
“Haven’t seen you in weeks, Master.” She breaks her silence. It’s the first time since we ended our relationship that she’s had the gall to speak to me. Maybe the fact that we’re alone again for the first time in years gives her the nerve to try and strike up a conversation. “I missed you watching me.”
“For some reason I doubt that.” My arms fold, and I press my back against the chair. Today marks the first time in forever that I can look at her and feel nothing but numbness. The sharp b
ite of regret and the sting of deception suddenly feels stale.
Her fingertips trail down her backside, teasing me. “I mean it. I miss you. Despite everything.”
“Despite…everything.” I spit her words back at her, twisting them across my tongue slowly.
“You’re the only master who could ever push all the right buttons for me.” She pokes a long leg straight out, pointing her toe and dragging it back like a graceful ballerina. A feather-covered basket rests next to her. Props mostly. She glances down at them and back at me.
“No.”
Her berry lips pout, and she coils a strand of icy blonde hair around her manicured finger. “What if I begged?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Why are you here?”
It’s a damn good question, but I’ll be damned if I ever give her the answer she craves.
“I’m not here because you turn me on. I’m not here because I want you back,” I say. “I’ve been coming to remind you, on a weekly basis, what a disgusting person you are.”
Her dark lips curl into a wide smile. “So you’ve been punishing me all this time?”
My jaw clenches tight.
“You should’ve told me. I may have enjoyed it a bit more.” Her words lack an ounce of remorse in their playful undertone, and I’m quite certain she’s not capable of feeling shame for any of her actions.
“You have to regret the crime to appreciate the punishment.”
“I regret a lot of things.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“I never meant to hurt you.” Jenessa pulls her swan mask off, but I refuse to meet her siren gaze.
She didn’t just hurt me.
She destroyed me.
Every part of me.
“Is that an apology, because it sure as fuck doesn’t sound like one.” My jaw tenses, refusing to release.
I gave Jenessa Dubrow the part of me I’d never given a single woman in my entire adult life, and in return, she filled my head with promises and life-altering lies. I may have dominated her physically, but she dominated me emotionally and otherwise since the day she begged her way into my life.
To this day, I’m not sure how something so artificial could feel like the realest thing in the world. My entire experience with Jenessa served only to teach me that love is an illusion.
I rise, adjusting the knot of my tie and clearing my throat. “Tell Dane Junior I said hello.”
Jenessa opens her mouth to speak, but I leave the room before I have a chance to hear her out.
What she did was unforgivable.
Fucking me, worshipping my mind, body, and soul, and then declaring that she was carrying my child when all along it belonged to her fucking husband. The only man who truly dominated her and the only man to whom she ever truly belonged. It was all an act. A ruse. A way of manipulating a man with more money than God to cough up enough coinage to keep them living in the lap of luxury until the child was five months old.
Five whole fucking months I had a son. They even went so far as to name him after me.
Jenessa may have obliterated my happiness in the past, but I’ll be fucking damned if I let her steal my happiness in the future.
I storm out of the Hayworth Room and pass the membership office, grabbing a cancellation packet.
But before I head back to work, I make one more stop.
THIRTY-SIX
BELLAMY
“You have tens of thousands of dollars to your name now and a wardrobe easily worth six figures.” Dane’s words come out of nowhere as I climb into his bed Monday night wearing nothing but his favorite velvet lingerie and an untied satin robe in a shade of deep scarlet. His hands drag across my stomach, but he refuses to look at me. “I suppose it’s only a matter of time before you’re done here.”
Is this his way of pushing me away?
“You make it sound like I’ve been using you,” I say, climbing under the covers and slinking up next to him. Last night, I woke up from a bad dream to find his arm wrapped around my side. I stayed paralyzed not wanting to move or wake him just so I could enjoy it a bit longer.
“Isn’t that what we were doing?” he asks. “Using each other?”
“I’d like to think it was deeper than that,” I say.
“You just said was…” He rolls to his back, slipping his hands behind his head and staring at the ceiling.
“It wasn’t intentional,” I say. “I don’t want us to be a ‘was’ just yet. Unless you do…”
“I’m not quite ready to be done with you yet. If I’m being honest.”
“I knew you were testing me.”
“Always.”
“Your honesty is noted and appreciated.” I want to lean across the wide bed and kiss every part of him from his deliciously curved jaw to the bow of his upper lip to his perfectly straight nose.
Instead, I refrain from ruining this moment by acting like some cutesy girlfriend, because the next thing I know, he’d be calling Mathilde to pack my things and call me a cab.
“I’m still waiting on that notebook,” he says. “Your deepest, darkest fantasy. I want to bring it to life for you. You’ve done that for me already, but I’d like to return the favor.”
I bite my tongue, unsure of how to tell him this.
“I threw the notebook away.” My hands fly over my face.
“You did what?” The low tone of his voice and the storm brewing in his eyes suggests he’s angry enough to punish me, and that hasn’t happened in a good, long while. He rolls to his side, facing me, and props himself up on his elbow.
I sit up in his bed, peering at him between my fingers. The day after we returned from Nashville I tossed it out after having spent all weekend asking myself what my ultimate fantasy might be and finally getting an answer.
“Why would you do that?” His dark brows meet in the middle.
“Because what I want…what the deepest part of me wants…” I draw in a long breath. “It’s not something you’re capable of giving me.”
“I’m capable of giving you anything you want.”
“Not this.”
“I find that extremely hard to believe.”
“Believe it.”
“Tell me what it is. As your master, I’m ordering you.” His expression darkens, and his hand slides between my inner thighs until it reaches my sex where he rubs me through my lace panties. “Tell me, Bellamy.”
Just thinking about telling him makes me cringe because I know how he’ll react. It won’t be good. And I don’t want him to look at me like some silly schoolgirl.
“Please don’t make me say this.” I clasp my hands together and playfully beg though my face is winced and blushing.
His eyes drag from mine toward the pillow between us, his hand motionless between my thighs now. “You don’t feel like you can open up to me?”
“Not with this.”
Lingering silence consumes the space between us, and Dane’s expression falls somber.
“I was raised FLDS. I grew up at the Zion Ranch about fifty miles north of Claxon, Utah.” He clears his throat, pulling his hand from me, his eyes still glued to the pillow. “My father had eight wives and fifty-six children. I was the twenty-first son. Beckham was the twenty-second. We were born six months apart to two different mothers.”
I’m still as a statue, clinging to his every word.
“When I was sixteen, my father came for Beckham and me and walked us out to one of the compound’s Suburban’s, which was already filled with five other young men, like myself.” He swallows. “We were each given a sack lunch and a twenty-dollar bill and dropped off in the middle of the country. Most of us had never set foot outside the compound border.”
“Dane.” My hand flies to my mouth. I want to hold him, comfort him.
“Some of the lost boys headed straight for Vegas. Drugs. Prostitution. They did whatever they had to do.” He shakes his head, keeping the far-off look in his eyes. “My brother and I got a
job bussing tables and mopping floors at some rat’s nest diner we came across on our walk into a nearby town.”
He smirks.
“The owner of the diner, Leo Fickbaum, was a spirited old bastard. I suppose he took pity on us, so he put us up in this old 1955 Airstream he had sitting in his backyard. That’s where we lived for a couple years. Working at the diner, living in a camper.”
Dane’s layers upon layers are momentarily translucent, and my aching heart is replaced with nothing but admiration.
“Uncle Leo, as we came to call him, came into some money after a few years from some inheritance,” Dane continues. “He was a humble man. Didn’t want much. Didn’t need much. He was an old bachelor who never settled or had kids. Leo decided to give the money to Beck and I, but only if we promised to invest it.”
I nod my head side to side. “Makes sense.”
“Beck had all these grand ideas,” he says. “But I suggested that we invest it in ourselves first. We got our G.E.D.s and attended a local community college, studying alternative and renewable energy. Within three years, we bought out a fledgling solar panel company based out of Salt Lake City, expanded it, and renamed it Townsend Energy Holdings.”
“And now here you are.” A smile resides in my tone. I’m sure there’s more to his story, but he’s never opened up to me like this before, so I won’t dare go prying just yet.
“I don’t enjoy discussing my past,” he says. “It’s difficult at times, and I tend to give the condensed version.”
“Understandable.”
“But now that I’ve opened up to you,” he says. “Common courtesy would suggest you should return the favor.”
Wow. All that just so he could get me to tell him my deep, dark secret.
“It’s not dark,” I say. I’m not sure how I can listen to him pour his heart out about his younger years and then deliver some silly fantasy of mine. It’s certainly not an equal exchange.
“Okay.” His fingers slip between my thighs again, massaging me with quick, steady circles as he moves closer to me. “Tell.”
“You’re going to laugh.”
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