So, this was really bad.
“Neil. You know that’s not true. You—” She stopped short at the murderous expression he cut her. To me, she said, “Stephen is a television presenter now, and he’s somewhat well-known here. And, as such, he’s an object of some interest to people.”
“I’m following,” I assured her.
With one more glance to Neil, she told me, “He’s planning to write a memoir. It will include some chapters about his involvement in the BDSM lifestyle. A large portion of that section will cover the time he spent with Neil. There are details—”
Neil exhaled an impatient breath. “He’s going to reveal intimate details of our brief sex life,” he finished for her.
“Neil, if I had any control over this—” Valerie began, and it seemed like they’d already covered this part.
Neil interrupted her again. “You had better find some way to control this. He’s your brother.”
“And it’s not being published through an Elwood and Stern company. My hands are as tied as yours.”
I snorted, but my unintentional mirth was quickly silenced by two nasty glares. “Sorry,” I tried to explain. “Tied hands, BDSM…”
“Yes, Sophie, I understood your joke.” He turned his ire on Valerie. “He is your brother. This is your mess to clean up.”
“How does he even have enough to write about Neil?” I had struggled to flesh out my book, and I lived with the man. “All these years later, what could he possibly have to say? So, people will know that you’re into the whole domination and submission thing. So, what? Aren’t people okay with that now, what with that spank-me book that was everywhere?”
“With the concept of it, yes,” Neil said. “But it is still humiliating to have your personal proclivities described for an audience. Especially when those descriptions won’t be entirely accurate.”
“Wait, what?” I asked, but he gave me a slight shake of his head, as if to say we’d discuss it later.
“I’ve tried to reason with him on this point, but he won’t budge,” Valerie explained apologetically.
I still wasn’t grasping why it was such a big deal. I mean, I wouldn’t shout to the rooftops that I liked to be spanked and slapped during sex, but if someone found out, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. “Neil, there are like four unauthorized biographies about you already. None of them seem to have hurt you. Why would this one?”
“This one will have a wider readership,” he explained tersely. “The only people reading those four books you’ve cited are likely biography enthusiasts or young professionals who think they’ll learn the secrets to my success.”
“This one has celebrity buying power behind it,” Valerie continued. “Stephen is in the public eye, more so than Neil. The salacious memoir of a television personality will sell much better than a cancer narrative about a rich man who’s only slightly on the radar.”
I suppose I should have arrived at that conclusion on my own. But it wasn’t until Neil said, “And that rich man is about to get married. Perhaps his fiancé’s family wouldn’t be thrilled to imagine their young relative being tied up in the bedroom.”
I almost argued that he was overreacting, that his relationship with Stephen had been years ago, and people would naturally assume that he’d been going through a phase. But before I could say it, I knew how wrong that was. People never forgot stuff. People never assumed that others could change.
If someone—my mother, for example—read that book…
“We’ve got to do something.” My eyes grew wide as I stared at Valerie. “You have to get him to take those chapters out.”
She shook her head. “I’ve tried. Believe me, I’ve tried, Sophie. Stephen says that I have to stop ‘clinging to the past.’ He chalks my objections up to a matter of decades-old unrequited love.”
“What about… Could we sue him? For libel?” I looked from Valerie’s grim expression to Neil’s.
“It’s only libel if it’s not true,” he reminded me. “And I did sleep with him. A lawsuit will only bring more attention to this.”
“Our best course of action would be to buy Splendor publishing, if we can, and put a halt to the book entirely,” Valerie explained. “I’ve already put the lawyers on it.”
“Reynholm Media will never part with the publisher.” Neil rubbed his hands on his knees then stood. Sitting was inertia, and he wanted action. The tension vibrated off him.
I also hated the feeling that nothing was being accomplished. “Okay, let’s take a look at the situation. You’re going to try to buy the company. If it works, no problem, the book gets squashed. How does that happen? You just don’t publish it at all?”
“There’ll be a clause in the contract guaranteeing the return of rights if the book isn’t published in a certain time frame.” Valerie sighed, as though all of this was too much to explain to an outsider. I was pretty sure she’d forgotten that I used to work in the media—at least, in an arm of the media—and had relegated me to official trophy wife status. But she went on. “If the rights are returned, he can simply sell it elsewhere. But we could draw it out, reject the manuscript, demand revisions, and remove the chapters.”
“Okay, then…problem mostly solved, right? If it doesn’t work, we go a different route?” I asked.
Neil had paced to the window. He looked out as though he could see all manner of my enraged relations marching down the street toward our house. “Our problem, right now, is that it takes a long time to buy a company. It might take them considerably less time to put this book on the shelves.”
“And, once it’s out, the only thing left to do is damage control, which runs the added risk of calling more attention to it,” Valerie said. “Public perception is important to our jobs. We’re not celebrities, but if a business rival or potential partner forms an unsavory opinion of Neil, it could damage the company.”
“Even if he’s not working there anymore?” I didn’t understand. Neil had retired. He didn’t need to worry about his perception in the business world, right?
“It appears that if we make this possible purchase, I may need to come out of retirement. At least for a time.” He swore under his breath. “I can’t believe he’s doing this to me.”
“Call him,” Valerie urged, and it didn’t sound like the first time she’d suggested it. Was that why he was so angry when I’d come downstairs? “I’m sure if you talk to him—”
“Talking to him never did any good for me before!” he shouted. Neil didn’t like losing control in front of people. This seemed to be shaking him up more than it should. Not that I knew how upset one should be when discovering that their former lover was writing a tell-all about them. But a cold chill crept up my back, a feeling that this wasn’t all about our upcoming wedding and how my family might view him.
My stomach turned over. I think I knew what was upsetting Neil. Pure horror replaced the blood flowing through my heart at the thought that I might be right.
I stood up abruptly. “Thank you, Valerie, for letting us know about this. Neil will be in touch.”
She didn’t even acknowledge me. “Neil, do you want me to go?”
My back teeth ground. This was my house, too. I could kick her out if I wanted to.
Before Neil could answer, I said, “We need to have some time alone to discuss this. How long will you be in London?”
“I’ll be here through the week.” She sounded bewildered that I would presume to make a decision for Neil.
“We’re leaving the day after tomorrow. If we need anything, we’ll call.” I wasn’t mean, but firm. I had to talk to Neil right away, and I didn’t want Valerie to be here for this conversation.
She stood awkwardly and reached for the black wool coat she’d tossed over the other armchair. “Neil, you will call me, won’t you?”
He turned from the window. “Of course I will. At the moment, though, it sounds as though you have things in hand.”
As I walked her to the door, I coul
d tell that she really did feel badly over what was happening. She cared about Neil—more than I was comfortable with, that was for sure—and I understood feeling helpless and wanting to help at the same time. But, aside from the business aspect and her possible intervention with her brother, this wasn’t about her and Neil. It wasn’t even about me and Neil. It was about Neil and Stephen, and I was pretty sure I knew exactly what had happened between them.
When Valerie was gone, I went back to the sitting room. Neil wasn’t there. I went to the kitchen and found him already finishing off one of Michael’s beers.
“Hey,” I said cautiously. “You know it’s, like, one, right?”
He grimaced and set the empty bottle on the counter. “It’s not before noon, Sophie. And I am in no mood.”
“You seem really upset,” I began, wondering how I would broach the subject if he was “in no mood.” I leaned against the refrigerator and crossed my arms. I didn’t say anything when he opened the beverage cooler and pulled out a bottle of red wine.
At least it wasn’t whiskey, although I was sure that would come into play at some point later.
“I am upset.” He paused to twist the corkscrew in. “Please don’t patronize me, Sophie. Anyone would be upset at this news.”
I nodded in agreement. “But you seem…shaken. Is there anything you want to tell me that you couldn’t say to me in front of Valerie?”
The look he gave me was one of dark understanding. I knew, without having to ask. But I did, anyway. “Neil, was Stephen the Dom who raped you?”
He made a noise of disgust. “Don’t use that word. It’s so melodramatic.”
“Fine. Was he the Dom who wouldn’t stop?” I didn’t know why he felt there was a distinction between the two. “He was, wasn’t he?”
He took a wine glass from the dishwasher and filled it. “He was.”
I was pretty sure the feeling in my chest was what it felt like to get shot with a paintball gun at close range. “He can’t do this,” I blurted, as though saying it would undo it.
“He can.” Neil swallowed half the wine in his glass in one gulp. “Stephen never admitted to any wrongdoing.”
“But, if he writes about it, people will know—”
“Do you believe he’ll write about my experience, or his?” Neil demanded. “Stephen believes he’s an excellent Dom. He never believed his behavior was abusive. He told me the problem was that I was naturally dominant, and I didn’t understand what it was like to be submissive.”
Neil’s hand shook as he lifted the glass again.
I didn’t know the specific details about what had happened. If Neil wanted to tell me, I would listen. But I wouldn’t press him, right now.
At a loss, I asked, “Do you want a hug?”
That was my default comforting move, but he flinched at the very mention. “No. Please, just…don’t touch me. Until I calm down.”
Whatever that asshole had done to Neil to make him like this, I wanted to track him down and squeeze the air out of his throat. I was killing mad. My usually unshakeable Neil was fractured and falling now. Because of Stephen, because of Neil’s memories of him, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I had to watch helplessly as the damage the asshole had inflicted continued to victimize the man I loved more than anyone else in the world.
“Can I do anything for you?” I asked.
“You can let me drink myself into a stupor,” he snapped. “Without judgment or lectures about my supposed problem.”
While one part of me thought it was totally reasonable for someone to have a drink in this situation, another part recoiled at his defensiveness. It meant he knew his behavior was self-destructive, he just didn’t care.
He took the bottle and left the glass, stalking from the kitchen in a huff. His anger was only directed at me, I knew, because if he were angry at Stephen, he would have to remember everything that had been done to him.
I followed him. “I know you want to be alone, right now. But I can’t let you.”
He stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Don’t be histrionic, Sophie. I’m not going to harm myself. I’m angry, not suicidal.”
“You shouldn’t have to be angry by yourself,” I insisted, walking up behind him. “Neil, just let me help you.”
“You can’t help!” he shouted. “Can you change the past? Can you stop this book from releasing?”
I was glad Emma and Michael had gone to the airport to see Runólf and Geir off. They didn’t need to hear us having a shouting match on the stairs. Especially not about this.
“Obviously, I can’t.” I tried to keep my voice down, but it was hard. I wanted to scream, but I wanted to scream at Stephen, not Neil. It helped to remember that.
“Then, you can’t help, can you?” At the top of the stairs, he turned for his den. Once he was in that sanctuary, it would be impossible to get him out.
“Maybe not help, but I can be with you so that you don’t go through this alone,” I argued.
“I did go through it alone!” He threw the wine bottle against the pristine white wall, and the loud pop of shattering glass startled me less than the sudden violence of the act itself. I’d never seen Neil so out of control. He was breathing heavily, staring in shock at the red liquid trickling down the wall and soaking into the carpet. He hadn’t just frightened me. He’d frightened himself.
“At least you’re not drinking it, I guess,” I said, just to break up the horrified silence between us.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a long time. “That was completely unnecessary.”
“Did it make you feel better?” I asked quietly.
He nodded, but said, “No.”
I stepped closer to him, wary. Never once, even in our hardest play sessions, had I ever thought Neil would actually hurt me. I didn’t believe he would now. But he wasn’t prone to such destructive outbursts, and I didn’t know how to handle him like this. I didn’t want to make it worse for him, or make him feel guiltier. If someone had done to me what Stephen had put Neil through, I would want to throw more than a wine bottle. I would want to throw furniture.
When he turned to me, his eyes were full of tears. “I’m so sorry, Sophie. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I think you scared yourself more than you did me.” I tried to laugh. It neither worked, nor helped.
“I hope that’s true.” The shame in his expression crushed my heart.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I told him, and I held out my arms. He didn’t reject my offer the way he had in the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around me, and I squeezed him tight. I’d get someone to clean up the broken bottle later. Right now, I needed clean up the mess with Neil.
“I’m going to call Doctor Harris the moment we return,” he swore against the top of my head. “I’m so sorry for my behavior this week.”
I leaned back to look him in the eye. “Neil, your mother just died, and you’ve just found out that the man who hurt you is going to write a book as though he’s the leading expert on your personal experience. All of this is happening within the span of a few days. So, you had an outburst and fucked up our wall. At least, this time, you didn’t take a bunch of drugs or contemplate suicide.”
He didn’t argue with me, though I knew he wanted to.
“Do you want to talk about what happened?” I’d never asked him for the explicit details of what Stephen had done to him. All I knew was that Neil had been bound, and he’d panicked. He’d forgotten his safe word, and Stephen had claimed he didn’t know Neil wanted him to stop. Neil had hurt himself struggling. That was enough for me, but if Neil needed to unburden himself, I could be the one to listen. “I meant it when I said you don’t have to do this by yourself.”
Though he didn’t answer me, we moved with the same intention into the den. He shut the door, even though we were alone. I sat on the couch as he paced around the billiard table, tapping his fingers nervously on the rail. For a very long time, he didn’t say anything. It was utterly sil
ent, and unnerving.
Finally, he started talking. “I met Stephen at the campus kink club. It was an unofficial gathering. Everyone invited came by word of mouth. Really just a chance for the same kids to get together and talk about sex every Saturday.”
It sounded like he had fond memories of the club, if not the man he’d met there.
Neil picked up a cube of chalk from the table and juggled it like dice in his hand. “I knew Domination was something I was interested in exploring, and Stephen was very sure of himself and his skills. Naturally, I was flattered that he wanted to train me. He was so good-looking.”
“Yeah, I bet. Look at his sister.” I could admit that Valerie was objectively attractive, even if I didn’t care for her personality.
Wisely, Neil did not overtly agree with my sentiment. He went on, “He was knowledgeable about some things, to his credit. He knew the tools, the differences between types of rope, the wrong places to hit, those basics. We started sleeping together, and I liked him very much. Perhaps too much. I think I fell for him a bit, and I believe he fell for me, too. So, when he suggested that, as part of my training, I should sub for him, I trusted him.
“I didn’t like having my arms tied back then, either, but he convinced me that it was important to know what it felt like. He had this antique wrought iron bed—the first time I slept with him, I thought, ‘that would be good for tying someone up.’” Neil chuckled quietly at the memory, and my heart twisted, because it wasn’t a sound of mirth. “He knelt me in front of the headboard and tied my wrists, and he flogged me. It wasn’t the pain of the flogging so much as my fear of being tied up, but I couldn’t remember my safe word. To this day, I can’t remember what we’d set—this was before I learned about the red, yellow, green method. He…um…”
I patted the couch beside me. “You can sit here, if you want.”
He nodded and gave me a small, grateful bend of his lips. When he sat beside me, I took his hands in mine, stroking my thumbs across the backs. He looked down at them, and in a very soft voice, he said, “He… Christ, I’m so embarrassed.”
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