by Cynthia Dane
Monica poured herself another glass of tea. “He’s a bit more than a suitor right now.”
Ethan straightened his back. “That so? Was under the impression you’re merely dating.”
“Like I said. It’s a bit more than that.” Ice clinked against Monica’s glass as she drank.
Seconds passed. Ethan studied the look on Monica’s face, and she pretended that she didn’t notice him staring. Instead she focused on the sun shining on her skin and reflecting off the crystal they drank from. More things Ethan helped pay for.
When Ethan spoke, the frivolity of the previous moments evaporated with the tweets of birds. “Does he treat you well?”
Monica met his gaze across the table. He really is my older brother now. That meant she could roll her eyes and pretend there were no grounds for him to say that at all. Now, if he were looking at her like a friend, then maybe she would take it a bit more seriously. I guess he’s both. Now she had to answer.
“He treats me…” She suffered to find a word to say. “Like a princess.”
Her balled fist gently tapped the arm of her chair. A princess. That’s what he called her. The beautiful, gleaming girl Henry Warren doted on. The girl in the tower. The girl constantly harassed by a dragon.
A princess.
It was as if Ethan picked up on this. “There’s nothing wrong with being a princess. As long as he’s a prince worthy of you.”
“And what about you? Are you a prince?”
“I believe the technical term is ‘pauper douchebag.’ I come from the slums, unlike your Mr. Warren.”
“Not this New Money vs. Old Money bullshit.”
“I’m stating the facts. Men like me don’t become princes. You’re born one.”
Monica picked up the small bottle of wine and poured her ex-boyfriend another glass. “Then what are you?”
“A damn good imposter.”
Ethan turned down another glass of wine. Apparently someone was driving later.
“I don’t think Henry is posing.”
“Does he love you?”
“It’s too early for that!” Flustered, Monica folded her napkin on her empty salad plate with a huff. “We’ve only been seeing each other for… well, not long at all.”
“Uh huh. And that’s why you’re acting like this.”
Monica slumped in her seat. “It’s too fast, isn’t it?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“It’s true. I met Jackson and two months later I was practically moving in with him.” Back then Monica could blame her stupidity on naïveté. Not this time. She was old enough to know better… or so she believed. “I can’t help it, though. When I find a man who I think can give me what I need… I go for it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.” Ethan finished his drink and turned in his seat. “You’re talking to a man who used to pick women off the street to work for and sleep with him.”
“Worked out for you.”
“It may work out for you too. Live a little.”
Monica wished she could. She wished she could run into Henry’s arms and trust him with all her heart. Give herself over to him, completely and wholly. It sure felt like they did that sometimes. Then there were times like Wednesday, when Henry took the whole day off and spent the day with her in bed. No kink. No spanking. No orders and no “sirs.” Just two people curled up in bed until they felt like eating in front of the TV and then taking a shower. He washed my hair for me. Pros of having a boyfriend that much taller than her. For as much as Monica enjoyed serving her Dom, she also enjoyed being spoiled with affection.
“I saw Jackson at The Dark Hour.”
Ethan sighed. “I had heard that as well.”
Word travels too fast. Especially with men named James involved. “I spent the rest of the night crying.” Monica pulled out her phone, hoping to see a text from Henry. Nothing. “Will I ever get over that man?”
“No.”
Monica looked up at him.
“Ten years is a long time for a man to get to you. You loved him, Monica. Nobody has ever debated that.”
“Just whether or not he loved me.”
“Some men are monsters. Some men are saints. All men are complicated.”
Where’s Henry on that spectrum? “Sometimes it feels too good to be true. That this man happened to find me and decided to dominate me while being the sweetest man in the universe. I feel like I’m falling into a trap again. A trap I can’t stop myself from walking into because I’m a sad piece of shit.”
“Sounds like you need to be upfront with him about that. If he’s as generous as it sounds like he is… he’ll understand.”
“Will he? You just said that men are complicated.”
“Boy howdy are we complicated. One minute we’re throwing tantrums because we can’t get anyone to sleep with us, and the next we’re throwing tantrums because we fell in love with one person and now they’re saying we have some ulterior motive. What gives?”
“You’re right. I need to tell him how I really feel. I need to figure out what it is I want.”
“No. You need to figure out what you need.”
The balcony door opened. “This place is a maze,” Jasmine said, shuffling back to her seat. “On the way back here some girl taught me how to tie about five knots.”
At least the conversation went back to something she could handle. Too much talk about Henry, Jackson, and God knew who else would send Monica over the edge. When she had friends over, she wanted to talk about frivolous things. Especially when she didn’t get to see them often.
I’ll figure out what I need later. Monica already knew what she needed.
She needed to know that she wasn’t making a grievous mistake – again.
Chapter 8
Leaving The Nest
The confines of her chambers usually brought Monica comfort, but that Monday evening she could only think of her loneliness. Not the true kind of loneliness that would leave a man crippled on the floor, but the kind of loneliness that made her wish she could blow Henry’s phone up with messages even more than she already had.
He had yet to respond. Of course, it was Monday, and the man was probably working. All Monica knew was that Henry had an office in the city. One office. Unusual for a man of his means and various enterprises. He had shown her a picture of it the last day they were together. It was… exactly what Monica expected after hearing the man had one office.
Papers everywhere. Coffee stains on the desk. A permanent impression on one of the chairs from where his secretary sits and takes notes. His sixty-eight-year-old male secretary.
So Henry didn’t keep an impeccable office. Neither did Monica most days. She looked at the stacks of papers on her desk and smiled. At least hers was an organized chaos.
The curlers in her hair pulled against her scalp. Not big curlers, but tiny ones, meant to make her hair spiral down like springs. She hadn’t curled her hair in so long that she wanted to test it out before styling it for her date with Henry that weekend.
Yes, weekend, because she wanted to see him that badly. So badly that she would leave her Château to the mercy of Judith, who cleared her appointments that weekend in order to fill in for Monica. I need a reliable back up anyway. Really, it had been foolish to not think about that for over a year. What if she got sick? Had to fly to her family’s? Decided to take a real vacation? Henry was a convenient excuse to start training someone to fill in for her on the busy nights. Everyone liked Judith. She’ll be fine.
To take her mind off any regret she already had, Monica pulled one of her monogrammed papers toward her and took a ballpoint pen out of a drawer.
Before she saw Henry that weekend, there was one thing she had to make very, very clear. And Monica was not used to expressing herself and her needs out loud.
“Dearest Henry,” she began, her steady hand moving across the paper. “I’ve very much enjoyed our time together�
��”
Monica stopped writing. This was going to be harder than she anticipated.
The phone rang.
She jumped, her hand slamming down onto her phone anyway. “Hello?” she greeted, dropping her pen. The phone pressed against her curlers. “This is Monica Graham.”
“You really should set a ringtone for me. I hear that’s a thing you can do these days.”
Monica smiled at the sound of Henry’s voice. “Funny you should call right now. I was just writing you a letter.”
“As much as I love your beautiful handwriting, I have to say I much prefer listening to your lovely voice. Hence why I called.”
“Are you busy?”
“I should be asking you that. I’m calling, so I must not be too busy.”
“I’m not busy. Slow day.”
“Yes, Monday. You don’t know how much I would have rather driven down to pick you up again instead of talking shop with a bunch of stuffy nobodies. One of my companies is buying out Grand Wires. You know, that dying electronics store.”
“I may have heard of it.”
“Apparently we need more retail stores to sell smart phones and tablets in. Maybe I’ll get you one. Have it set up so the camera is always going and I can peek at you whenever I want.”
“Coming from anyone else that would be creepy.”
“Pretty sure it’s creepy coming from me as well.” Henry drank something on the other line. Bourbon? Water? Whatever it was, Monica wished she could pour him another glass. “How is my princess doing in her palace? No dragons, are there?”
Funny he should say that. Monica frowned. “No. No dragons.” At least Jackson had yet to send her another threatening letter. “There is something I need to talk to you about.”
A pause lingered on the line. “What is it?” Henry’s voice was soft for a hard working man at 4pm on a Monday.
“It’s about… well, us.”
Her conversation with Ethan the day before still bounced around her mind. “He needs to know what you need from him, Monica. Contrary to popular belief, we men don’t like to play mind readers. Just be upfront.”
Henry didn’t sound perturbed. “Tell me.”
Monica inhaled a deep breath, her resolve better suited for pen and paper than a phone conversation. “After what happened Tuesday night… you know, at The Dark Hour…”
“Uh huh.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking. A lot. Because I’m always thinking about him.” Somehow it ashamed her to admit it.
“I understand.”
“No you don’t.”
The silence permeating their line was almost deafening. Is he angry? Men didn’t like being told they didn’t understand something. Monica had a feeling that Henry couldn’t even begin to comprehend what Jackson had done to her over the years… it didn’t matter how much he tried. There were some things he couldn’t…
“I’m sorry,” Monica said, both elbows leaning against her desk. “What I meant was…”
“That you’re a guarded woman who has been through some… times.”
“You could say that.”
Henry sighed into his phone, and Monica heard the creak of his chair as he sat at his presumably messy desk. “I hope that I haven’t done anything to lose your trust.”
“Of course not. You’ve been an absolute gentleman.”
“Minus the part where I spank your ass raw and fuck you against public walls.”
To that Monica smiled. “Who said a gentleman doesn’t do that?”
“Nobody. But I’m not deluded into thinking I’ll make all your problems go away. What do they call it in those books and movies? The ‘healing cock’?”
Neither of them laughed. “You could help me. Maybe not get over him, but move on. Learn to love all those things again. Trust somebody.”
Don’t put too much pressure on him. Ethan had warned about that as well. “What things, Monica?”
The way he said it… purred her name right into the receiver… sent shivers of ecstatic hope through every neuron in Monica’s body. Her own phone shook in her hand, rattling against a curler. “You know what things.”
“I’m sure our imaginations are veering in different directions. I can’t read your mind. Look out your window and see your prince bumbling on a thin string of rope, and that’s me. Either throw me a thicker rope or start heaving me in with your own brute strength. Go on. Either method works for me.”
Monica wanted to laugh at the image. “Not here on the phone. Besides, you’ve already made me waste some of this paper. I’ll write you a list of the things I want to do with you.”
“Christmas isn’t for another few months yet. Santa Claus can only do so much right now.”
“I don’t want Santa Claus.” Monica cleared her throat. “I want you, Henry.”
Him, his body, his kindness, his dry wit, and the rough and easy way he made love to her. Even before he spoke again, Monica was already writing something down on her paper to mail to him the next day.
“You want more than me. You want what I do to you, Monica.”
“Yes. I want your domination.” Her mouth was dry. “Because I’m a sub, Henry. I want to serve you. And I want to know that I can trust you with my life and world.”
“Of course. Well, get that list to me. And I look forward to seeing you on Friday.”
He said it so easily. So casually. It was moments like those that made Monica wonder if he was that self-assured or not taking her seriously.
“I look forward to it too. I…” The words caught in her throat. “I’m quite fond of you.”
“And I’m quite fond of you.”
They hung up.
Monica stared at the paper in front of her. Just as she picked up her pen again, there was a knock at the door.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am.” It was Sylvia, helping herself into Monica’s chambers and office without being invited. Well, then. “I really need to talk to you.”
Monica flipped her paper over and sat back. “Sure. Have a seat.” Poor Sylvia had been begging for an audience for a while now, but their schedules had yet to sync up. The girl looked like she was about to burst if she didn’t get out whatever was eating her up inside.
“Sorry, again.”
“Anyway?”
Even with the curlers stuck in her hair, and her silk bathrobe covering not much of anything, Monica attempted to look like the boss she was meant to be. Not that she wanted to look intimidating… but Sylvia was a girl who responded best to a firmer hand. Or mouth, in Monica’s case.
“It’s about Mr. Carlisle, ma’am.”
“What about him? Did he do something unsavory?” This was it. The day Monica dreaded. The day a patron got himself kicked out.
Yet Sylvia was doing her damndest to contain a smile from blooming on her rosy cheeks. “Mr. Carlisle has asked me to marry him.”
If Monica were still holding her pen, she would have dropped it. “Excuse me?”
“Two weeks ago. He took me out on a date and, well, asked me to marry him!” Sylvia slapped her hand down on the table, revealing a monster rock on her finger. How long had she been hiding that? And how had Sylvia contained that piece of news from the other girls? “Isn’t it amazing? I guess dreams do come true sometimes.”
“Yes.” Monica forced a smile. “Congratulations. I will have to have a talk to Mr. Carlisle about these turn of events.”
Meanwhile, the smile on Sylvia’s face disappeared. “I thought it would be okay… look, ma’am, we won’t be getting married for at least a few months so you can find a replacement… and it’s not like I’m going to stop working…”
“No, no.” Monica drummed her fingers against her desk. “I’m happy for you. I simply need to work out the details between you and him.” Another forced smile. “Again, congratulations. I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”
Giggling, Sylvia hopped out of her seat and waved at Monica
before going back to the halls of the Château. Monica remained sitting at her desk, the paper still turned over and her brain exploding with memories of the day Jackson asked her to move in with him. Never to marry him.
Chapter 9