“Anything,” she responded. “Tell me about where you grew up.”
While I’d still have to be circumspect in my reply, this was something I could be truthful about. “I spent my childhood in a boarding school in Switzerland,” I replied. “I was sent away when I was six.”
She gasped in horror. “That young? Why?”
Though the wounds of childhood had the power to gash the deepest, this was an old wound that had healed in the intervening years. Besides, I didn’t want her sympathy. “My mother died during childbirth,” I responded. “I grew up with my aunt, my father’s sister. But she had a difficult relationship with my father and I think she never really was too comfortable with being my caregiver.” The words were bald. When I’d turned seventeen, so many truths had been revealed. I’d realized then why my aunt had reacted the way she had. Every time she looked at me, she was confronted with her own guilt and she couldn’t bear it.
As a child, I’d been hurt. I’d shrunk away, thinking I had been unwanted and unloved. As an adult, I had come to understand why.
Jenny’s fingers laced in mine as she tried to provide unspoken comfort. I flinched away from it. She didn’t know the entire truth. There would be no understanding if she did. “I don’t want your pity, Jenny,” I said harshly.
“Alicia and I never knew our father,” she said softly. “Our mom drank a lot. I understand childhood stuff.”
Her words had been chosen with care. We had talked about her mother two years ago and she had to tread carefully for fear that something she said would cause me to remember who she was. And she had to weave her fake sister into the narrative.
But behind the lies, the emotions were real, the same way they’d been two years ago. That night, though every word out of our mouths had been a lie, there had been an underlying truth to everything we’d said. We hadn’t been able to truly lie to each other, not where our feelings were concerned.
I knew that she understood my childhood pain. She too had experienced something similar.
We walked past a neighbourhood boulangerie and I remembered the way she’d moaned in pleasure as I’d held a bag with croissants out to her that long-ago morning. “Let’s go in,” I said on impulse. She’d lost a lot of weight in the intervening two years and I didn’t like it.
She let herself be dragged into the bakery and we took a seat. When the waitress came by, I ordered us coffees and pastries and she sighed. “Alexander,” she protested weakly, “I can’t survive French bakeries without gaining a ton of weight. I know I’m supposed to pretend that it’s effortless being thin, but it really isn’t.”
“Just eat,” I told her. The waitress had placed slices of tarte tatin in front of both of us and she was eyeing her piece with intent hunger. My lips twitched a little at her expression.
“Well,” she said reluctantly, “you are my Dominant. This is an order, right?”
I laughed out aloud. “Sure, cherie.”
She made an adorably scrunched up face, wrinkling her nose at me. “Okay,” she sighed, relaxing for the first time that day, “that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.”
I shook my head. I didn’t really understand her. Two years ago, I’d found her body curvy and lush and irresistible. An intriguing mix of tender softness and toned muscles. Now, she looked like a brisk wind would blow her away. I had my suspicions that this was part of her disguise so that I wouldn’t recognize her.
She made a little moan of pleasure as she dug into her tarte and I rolled my eyes. “Do you like music, Jenny?” I asked her. “Want to go to the symphony tonight?”
“I don’t know anything about classical music,” she replied hesitantly. She looked briefly upset before her expression shuttered.
“Want to try it?”
She nodded. “Yes, please. I’d love to.”
I glanced at my watch. “We should hurry then,” I told her. “The concert starts in two hours.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Is it far away?” she asked. I shook my head and she grinned. “How long do the women you know take to get ready?”
“Forever.”
“In that case, Alexander,” her voice was teasing, “I’m about to blow your mind. Because I can get ready in fifteen minutes. Ten, if you insist.”
“Is that so?” I asked her with a grin of my own. I sensed a dare in the offing.
She nodded confidently.
“A wager then, cherie? Any more than ten minutes, and you’ll pay your penance in the playroom.”
She furrowed her brows for a brief second. “Safe words?”
“Always. I don’t play without them.”
“In that case,” she rose to her feet, “bring it on, Alexander.”
I tossed some money down and held the door open for her with a smile on my face. I had no use for submissives who flinched when I frowned. I liked Jenny so much better when she was challenging me.
Chapter 2
Alexander: