by Cara Dee
Rein it in?
To hell with that.
I pass Gemma on my way to the car, and I take the cigarette from her as she’s about to take her first drag from it. “No smoking on my property.” I throw it to the ground, causing it to fizzle as the snow puts it out.
“Hey!” she protests from behind me. “What the fuck?”
I say nothing in response and quickly unlock my car, which makes me a little curious about where Gemma’s car could be. Perhaps it’s inside the garage—where mine would’ve ended up had I not been in a rush to enter the house last night.
“Get in the car,” I tell her, getting in myself. It’s incredibly cold outside, and how she’s surviving in a skirt and sandals is beyond me. Instead of a real jacket, she’s pulled on a heavy sweater.
She slams the door shut after getting in. “I was gonna smoke that, Mr. G.”
“Not on my property,” I repeat.
We’re silent for quite a while, though I can see her in my periphery, looking like she wants to say something. Since she doesn’t, I put on the radio and listen to the weather report. That’s how I find out it’s going to snow heavily over the next few days. It’s why I eventually break the silence.
“If you leave the house, please be careful,” I say, making a turn. “Especially on the private road.” Snowstorms have kept me inside many times over the years, but I’ve never complained. I have what I need in that house, and aside from a few trips to town to restock the kitchen, I have no plans on leaving.
The Sundance Festival at the end of the month—and at the end of my stay—would be the exception.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she replies quietly, looking out the window. “I came here to veg out in front of the TV, pretty much.”
To make a mess, as well.
I don’t say that. “And you’ve done this before?” I ask instead, remembering she told me yesterday that she “usually comes in March.”
“Um, yeah.” She fidgets in her seat. “The past three years.”
Looks like I’ll be calling Lily and Alec later today. If nothing else, I want to know why they’d tell her I wouldn’t be here now.
“Why didn’t you call me?” I ask, unable to shake the worry I carry for her. It’s understandable she avoids most of her family, but I never thought she would feel the need to avoid me. We were so close when she was little; I’d hate to find out that something has destroyed our connection, or whatever I’m now supposed to call it.
“Easier to call Lily,” she mumbles, still facing the window. It’s at that point we reach Ogden, and since the grocery store is closer than the coffee shop I want to take her to, I decide we should buy the food first and get that over with. “Plus,” she chuckles mirthlessly, “I wouldn’t wanna risk Tina picking up the phone.” She faces me, a forced smirk in place. “How is my dear mother, anyway?”
A million responses come to mind, none of them appropriate.
She’s very well, working hard to keep her spot in the limelight, but at home, she has a knack for pissing me off.
Oh, Tina is great. Very busy, always smiling at the cameras. Though when the last picture is taken, she’s pestering me about either ending our relationship or planning our wedding.
She’s doing fine, but she has changed a lot over the years. Or maybe my feelings have changed, and I’m finally beginning to see her for who she really is, only…I’m not doing much about it.
“How are you?” she adds, as if I weren’t already struggling to come up with a good answer. The last question is almost harder to reply to than the first. “Mom told me you’re busy as always.” She uses “Lily” and “Mom” interchangeably, I realize. I hope she doesn’t feel the need to call Lily anything other than Mom for my benefit. Lily has earned the title many times over. Same can’t be said for Tina.
As for her questions… I clear my throat, seeing my escape. A pathetic response, albeit true. “Work does keep me busy, indeed.”
Traveling for the better part of the year has made it disgustingly easy for me to ignore issues that now weigh heavier than ever. In the worst times, I feel I’m near my breaking point. I’m disappointed in myself.
“And Tina?” Gemma prompts.
I stifle a sigh and rub a hand over my jaw. “She’s…Tina.” A living, breathing roller coaster. “She has a new movie that starts filming soon.”
*
The trip to the grocery store is a relatively quick one, yet we manage to fill two carts that should sustain us for at least two weeks. We don’t speak much, aside from a few conversations about dinners, what snacks we enjoy, drinks we prefer, and simple pasta dishes we can throw together for lunches. In the event of a power outage, I make sure we have necessities like batteries and candles, as well.
I learn that Gemma hates to cook, and she claims she isn’t good at it. “I’m okay with the microwave,” she chuckles.
I hum in thought, waiting for the lady at the register to give me the total. Almost four years missing. Four important years, I’d say. Between seventeen and twenty-one, a lot happens. Has Gemma lived alone the entire time? She does have a hefty inheritance, so she wouldn’t exactly be forced to learn how to fend for herself.
I remember Lily was concerned when Gemma left Savannah after high school, particularly when the gossip rags began revealing the state Gemma was in.
“Excuse me?”
Glancing over my shoulder, I see a young woman looking shyly at Gemma. Recognizing her.
“Are you Gemma Delaney?” the woman asks.
Gemma grows uncomfortable and nods with a dip of her chin. “Yes?”
My mouth thins. I could never get used to being around people who live in the spotlight. With Tina as an actress, Gemma’s grandmother once a famous singer, and a handful of other family members in the entertainment industry, most people have heard of the Delaneys. Gemma’s own reputation as a party girl isn’t exactly flattering. Perhaps that’s why she looks uncomfortable.
“Ah, cool.” The woman smiles brightly. “I only wanted to say your work on the Hell Hath No Strings album was wonderful.”
Whereas my brow furrows in confusion, Gemma’s visibly surprised.
“Oh. Um, thank you.” Gemma offers a stiff smile and blushes.
Well, that was…mind-boggling, to say the least. I pay for our food and keep quiet while we pack up the SUV, though my head is spinning. Clearly, she wasn’t recognized for being a former jet-setter. She must be in music, yes? God, I hope.
“Just ask, Mr. G,” she groans and gets back in the car. “You look like a question mark.”
Fair enough.
“Mind explaining that?” I start the engine and drive out of the parking lot.
Gemma flushes bright red again, something she tries to hide by facing the window. I have to look away as well, my new reaction to her telltale blushing disturbing and—fuck, arousing.
I cringe internally. I can’t go there. Too wrong. Sickening.
“It’s nothing,” she says quietly, dismissively. “Just something I did last summer.”
“It didn’t sound like nothing,” I counter patiently.
She sighs. “Um…I helped out a friend when his band recorded their new album and needed a cellist. Like I said, it’s nothing. And I really don’t get recognized often anymore. That back there was a…I don’t know…but it doesn’t happen often.”
I nod slowly to myself, letting the information sink in. While I’m thrilled to hear she’s still into music, I wish she’d open up more. Maybe it’ll come in time, though. I can be patient.
“Hungry?” I change the topic.
She nods. “Fuckin’ starving.”
Here we go with the language again.
*
After breakfast—or brunch, really—at a quaint coffee shop, we head back to the house. While we ate, Gemma asked a little about my business and the new hotels I’m opening this year. I have to admit it was refreshing to talk about my work without getting the impression that it was just p
olite conversation. Gemma seemed genuinely curious, and my answers led to follow-up questions. It was…nice. Very nice, actually.
As we unload the car, I tell her, “I can take care of this. You go clean up in the living room.”
“Oh, shit. I forgot about that.”
“Mmhmm. Good thing you have me to remind you then, huh?”
She rolls her eyes and grins lazily. “Whatever, dude.”
Sigh.
“By the way,” she says, stopping on the second porch step, “why does my smoking bother you? It’s not like I do it inside, and I only smoke, like, four cigarettes a day.”
I arch a brow at her and walk toward her, two grocery bags in my hands. “It bothers me because it’s dangerous, of course.” She harrumphs at that, and I go on. “It’s not good for you, and I won’t stand for it while you’re living under my roof. End of discussion.”
“So bossy,” she mutters as we enter the house. “I’m not really used to rules, you know.”
That’s what I feared. Even though Lily and Alec stepped up to the plate and became good parents for Gemma when Tina had her…meltdown, for lack of a better word, they were too lenient in my opinion. I believe people need rules. Always being allowed to do what you want isn’t healthy, and I see total lack of restrictions as a sign of neglect. Lily, especially, has coddled Gemma.
“Well, there are rules here,” I say, leaving the two grocery bags in the hallway before going out to get the rest.
Chapter 3
Once I’m done in the kitchen, I grab a bottle of beer and tell Gemma—who is busy tidying in the living room—that I’ll be in my study on the third floor. It’s time to call Lily.
“Hey, is this clean enough?” she asks, out of breath, at which I stop and turn around. And…no, it’s not clean enough. There are DVD cases on the floor in front of the flat screen, the carpet is not lined up in front of the couch, she still has her makeup bags on the coffee table, and what looks like torn-up napkins are littered over the couch cushions. “Um…some vacuuming?” She backpedals upon catching my expression.
I shake my head in amusement. “You’re not used to cleaning either, are you?” These days, neither am I. But I wasn’t born into wealth. “The other years you’ve been here, you’ve let the cleaning crew take care of things, am I right?”
She averts her eyes. “Maybe?”
I can’t help but laugh as I walk up the stairs. “Get back to work, missy.”
*
“She needs structure and stability,” Lily responds over the phone as I power up my laptop. “Someone who can talk to her—someone who isn’t afraid to speak their mind when Tina and her sisters get started. I wholeheartedly admit I’ve failed in providing that structure, and that’s why I wanted her to reconnect with you. It would be a good first step in reuniting our family.” She pauses and takes a breath. “She’s mine, Dean. I love her like she were my own—Hell, she is. But it’s not wrong of me to wish peace within our family. And if you’re willing to help, perhaps I can discuss things with Tina—”
My sharp chuckle cuts her off. “Apologies, but Tina’s incapable of having a discussion. If you’re looking for a yelling match resulting in slamming doors, be my guest.”
She sighs heavily. “Maybe…” It’s not that she doesn’t believe me. I’ve been where she is. She wants to believe this can work out, and so she fools herself, however briefly. “It’s barely on the horizon, though. My main concern is Gemma and helping her get back on her feet. I do think she’s ready.”
“And you want me to do what? Talk sense into her?” I ask as I log in. “I sincerely doubt I can be of help here, Lily. I haven’t seen the girl in years, and given my history with the woman who was supposed to be her mother, I’m unsure Gemma would even listen to me.”
“You’ve always been clear about where you stand,” she counters. “You’ve defended Gemma. For that, I believe she would listen.”
I sit back in my chair, thinking about my options, and there aren’t many. First of all, I can’t hold Tina accountable for all the problems, because at one point, she was innocent. Everyone knows that. She was too young to make those major decisions on her own. She was only sixteen when she had Gemma, and her boyfriend wanted nothing to do with them. It’s how Tina handled the situation afterward that began to split the family into two camps. But before that, I certainly stood on her side.
Second of all, I’ve been trying to resolve this issue for so long already. When everything was falling apart—around the time Gemma was nine or ten—Tina made it abundantly clear that this was between her and her family. I went from testing the waters of being a stepfather to sitting on the sidelines. I could either push my luck and have Tina walk away—and then I’d never see Gemma again—or I could stay and do my best to impact her decisions slowly over time. And now, years later… Fruitless doesn’t come close to describing my attempts. Tina and Gemma don’t want to reunite on any level. As I’ve stated before, the opponents have stepped off the field.
“I have to be honest here.” I release a breath and scratch my jaw. “I don’t see why Gemma would want to be close to her family.” And there’s no way I alone can drown out the voices that make her feel less than welcome. I’ve fucking tried. We have our limits, and I tell Lily as much. “I believe it’s a losing battle.” That said, there are those of us who care for Gemma. “I’d prefer to mend the relationships that can be salvaged. I, for one, would very much want her in my life.” For God’s sake, it’s only what I’ve been trying to achieve since Gemma moved to Georgia.
“I understand, dear.” Lily grows quiet and thoughtful. “Would…would Tina accept that? I ask because otherwise, I wouldn’t have focused so hard on ensuring you and Gemma met at the lodge. I don’t want you to hide—when push comes to shove.”
Well. When push comes to shove, I’m not certain it matters what Tina would accept or not. With the way we left things in Los Angeles, we’re hardly even an item. She threatened to walk out and declare us done; I told her to lock the door after herself.
“That’s irrelevant,” I decide. Because in the unlikelihood that Tina and I work out our issues, I’ve had it with my cowardly ways. I will no longer cave simply so she’ll shut up. I will no longer be the referee on an empty field. There’s no game to play at all. No tactics, merely the hope to have that sweet girl back in my life. “I’ll do my best and speak with Gemma.”
It’s time for me to reevaluate my personal feelings, too. I’ve avoided it since the question arose two years ago and I had a minor anxiety attack at the thought of marrying Tina. After so many years together, I should be damn sure about us. Instead, I talked myself into it and figured it was the right thing to do.
“I appreciate that, Dean.” Lily sounds relieved. “I think you’ll be a good influence on Gemma.”
Somehow, I doubt that.
*
With that call out of the way, I head to my bedroom to grab a book and my reading glasses. Then I end up in the library next to my study. I bring my laptop, too, because it’s time to indulge. I fear if I don’t, I’ll put the wrong face to the fantasies I crave, and I’ve been doing okay so far. Perhaps two or three slips, that’s it.
It doesn’t take long before I have that particular blog popping up on my screen.
There are new entries, all of which elicit the same reaction in me. Desire, need, want. To be in full control.
After ensuring the door is locked, I make myself comfortable in one of the plush chairs.
Why I bothered to bring the book, I haven’t the faintest clue. Once my reading glasses are on, there’s no way I’d read a thriller when I can read this.
“Will you show Daddy your panties, baby?”
“Mmhmm,” you hum before bending over. I bunch up your dress, revealing a pair of light pink panties with ruffled hems. I groan lustfully and cup your ass roughly.
“Dirty little girl,” I whisper in your ear. “Can you feel how hard Daddy’s getting?”
I curs
e under my breath, wishing that reading about this was enough.
It used to be enough. About eight months ago when Tina and I stopped sleeping together, I stumbled upon BDSM by accident. I was only searching for regular porn, but since then, I’ve been mesmerized by the things I’ve seen and read about. The problem is, this yearning has grown of late. I indulge too often. Several times a week, I find myself seeking out another blog, another community, another online journal, and I get lost in protocols, articles on titles and respect, kinks, and personal journeys.
The day I saw a video clip where a woman called her partner Daddy rather than Sir, I came embarrassingly quickly. It led me down another path, one filled with structure for submissives who preferred to let go of their grown-up realities every now and then to become small, childlike, and depend on their Daddy Doms.
I considered bringing it up with Tina, however momentarily, then decided it felt utterly wrong. The whole idea lost its appeal around her, yet I return to these sites and constantly want more.
A knock on the door startles me, and it’s quickly followed by Gemma asking if I’m in here.
“Just a moment.” I place the laptop and my glasses on the table. Then I adjust my semi-erect cock and walk over to the door, opening it for Gemma. Jesus Christ. With all the thoughts swirling in my head, seeing her in pigtails isn’t exactly helping. “Something wrong?”
“I’m done cleaning.” She smiles up at me and fidgets with one of the pigtails. “Wanna come look?”
I swallow, resisting the urge to look where her hair lingers on her…
Snap out of it, for heaven’s sake.
“Um, yes, sure,” I mutter for no reason. I’m not an overseer from colonial times, nor am I her babysitter. If she says she’s cleaned, she probably has.
I follow her down the stairs, and I curse myself. I can’t cave on this one. I can’t let my thoughts—or my gaze—stray. I can’t start looking at Gemma as I would with…oh hell, the women in those videos. Stop it. She’s supposed to be the cheeky little girl I call family. She’s not supposed to be all grown up.
“Look!” At the bottom of the stairs, she beams proudly at the living room that’s finally spotless. I have to tear my eyes away from her adorable expression so I can take it all in.
