The Art of Control

Chapter 21

Dylan

Sawyer’s voice is a welcome sound. His color is back and I feel a sense of relief knowing that he’s on the mend. Christ, I thought I’d lost him, too. That piece of shit Simons will pay for what he’s done to my wife and my friend. The plan is ready but I’ll wait a few days before setting it into motion. No doubt Simons is waiting, so I need to let things simmer for awhile before acting irrationally and too quickly.

I lose all track of time discussing everything that’s happened with Sawyer. He’s animated when he talks about what Simons did and how he was completely caught off guard. He seems irritated and pissed at himself for falling into such a blatant trap.

“We’ve been out of it too long,” I tell him and he nods in agreement.

“The CIA would’ve disavowed me for getting ensnared so easily,” he chastises himself.

Hell, they fired him for less, so they would’ve been much harsher if something like this had happened on the clock.

Sonya comes back into the room and seems annoyed that Murphy and I are taking up all of his time and I can’t blame her. I apologize and she shoos us away, wanting to pamper Sawyer. I tease him a little before I leave, making him blush. It’s good to see him back to his old self.

Stepping out of the room, I realize Isa is nowhere to be seen. I call her new phone but she doesn’t answer and a sense of alarm sets in. Christ, I need to get this feeling under control. She’s probably just in the cafeteria or the restroom.

Not wanting to overreact, I settle down in our private room and logo onto my computer to get some work done. Just then someone from work calls and I’m forced to deal with a situation and end up driving to the office to take over a meeting with a new client. I text Isa of my plans and I leave.

Once at work, I put on my professional hat and try to convince them that despite everything that has come out about my private life, my company’s reputation is unsurpassed and the most logical choice for them if they want the best and most discrete security company to handle their affairs. The meeting takes far longer than I had anticipated and when I look at my watch, it’s late afternoon.

After the meeting, I decide to stop off at home and pick up some fresh clothes for both me and Isa. When I get inside, I call her again and she doesn’t answer. She knows I hate it when she doesn’t answer her phone. Why the hell does she even have it if she’s not going to answer it? I text her and still there’s no response. This is such bullshit. On the drive back to the hospital, my sixth sense is telling me that something is very wrong. There’s no way Isa wouldn’t answer the phone when she knows how tenuous things are between us right now.

At the hospital, I question Sonya about Isa’s whereabouts and she gets flustered. She tells me that Isa is taking care of something, though she doesn’t say what. My sixth sense was right as evidenced by her body language and the way she’s avoiding eye contact. Her voice is stressed and I question her further, sitting her down and facing her directly.

“Tell me, Sonya, where exactly did Isa say she was going?” I ask in my interrogation voice.

She finally breaks down, “She said she had business to take care of back home.”

“I was just at home and she wasn’t there,” I say clipped.

Hearing the tone of my voice, Sawyer sits up in bed, listening intently.

“That’s not what she meant, Mr. Young,” Sonya replies, looking nervously from me to Sawyer.

What the hell? “Then what did she mean?” My patience is wearing thin and Sawyer must sense it because he cuts in before I blow up.

“Sonya dear, just tell us where Isabel is,” he says sternly.

“In Atlanta,” she says quietly.

I’m horror-struck by Sonya’s words. The blood drains from my face and the same sick feeling that overtook me the day Isa left washes over me. Sawyer leaps up from the bed and stands, not giving a shit that his ass is hanging out of his hospital gown.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” he snaps at Sonya.

“She begged me not to tell Mr. Young until absolutely necessary. She assured me that everything would be fine,” she comes back defensively.

“Hell, Sonya, her father is a psychotic murderer!” he yells.

Sonya looks ill and sinks into the couch. “How was I supposed to know? No one ever told me that. You never talk to me…” she whines and Sawyer’s face blanches.

He sits next to her and hugs her, and I step away to try and gather my thoughts.

“You’re right, Lady Sonya. You’re right. I’m sorry for yelling at you. You didn’t know,” he coos in her ear.

Un-f*cking-believable. Feeling lightheaded, I sit back down on the bed and call out to Murphy. He comes into the room looking confused until I tell him what’s happened.

Will this drama ever end? Why the f*ck did she go there? Why? I call Isa’s phone one more time, hoping that she’ll pick up but fearing that my call will go unanswered again.

“Hi, sugar,” Isa answers after the second ring.

“Jesus Christ, Isa!” I shriek into the phone, startled by her voice on the other end.

“Everything will be okay now. You’ll be safe and so will Sawyer. I have everything under control. I did something really bad, though. I’ll tell you but only if you promise not to be angry with me,” she says in a calm voice.

“Just tell me,” I snort furiously.

“You’re angry,” she whispers.

F*ck, f*ck, f*ck. Rein it in, Young.

“No, love, I’m not angry, I’m just worried. Please tell me what happened,” I say smoothly.

“I killed Simons for you. Now you don’t have to worry about taking care of him yourself. He was a bad, bad man. I didn’t mean to kill him, but he wouldn’t stop. Are you sure you’re not angry with me?”

F*cking hell. Wouldn’t stop what? “Just wait for me before you do anything else, okay? You just stay put. Where are you?”

“I’m with Papa now. Say hi, Papa,” she says away from the mouthpiece. A man’s voice can be heard mumbling curse words along with rustling, and dread settles in my gut. She’s with her father… this can’t be happening.

“Papa doesn’t want to talk right now. He’s angry with me, too,” she responds in a soft voice.

“p-ssycat, listen to me: I’m not angry, I promise. Whatever you have planned can wait. Please promise me that you’ll wait until I get there, okay?” I plead with her, my voice cracking.

“No, my sweet lover, I can’t promise you that. I want control and he has to be dealt with once and for all. No one is going to do my dirty work for me. Bye for now…”

“No, Isa!” I bellow into the phone but she’s already hung up.

I try to dial her back but the phone just rings and rings. My God, her voice. It was eerily cool and detached. Simons is dead? Isa can’t be held responsible for that. I won’t allow her to be taken to jail for something that she had no control over. She’s been through so much already.

Sawyer is sitting waiting for details but all I can think about is calling Carson to get the jet ready. I step out of the room to discuss what the plan is with Murphy and when I come back in Sawyer is dressed and waiting.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I bark at him.

Sonya is standing next to him and begging him to be reasonable, but I can see by the determined look on his face that our urgings are falling on deaf ears.

“This isn’t a negotiation. I’m coming with you,” he states plainly.

“F*cking hell, Morrison, you can’t. It would be irresponsible for me to let you come,” I say walking towards the door.

He stays right on my heels and pushes me up against a wall.

“I’m not staying behind! You need me!” he shouts and something in his eyes tells me that he needs me to need him.

“I’m not asking for your permission to come along,” he says calmer and stepping back, but with obvious pain in his eyes from his still fresh wound.

“Please, Sawyer,” Sonya implores.

I can’t say no to him and I know damn well if I try, I may end up with my front teeth down my throat. I throw my hands up in resignation, knowing this is a bad idea and someone will end up hurt and/or dead.

“It’ll be like old times, brother,” he tells me, putting his hand on my shoulder which I suspect is more to steady himself than to be a gesture of reassurance.

Sawyer ends up talking Murphy into staying behind, saying that too many people is never a good thing. I have my doubts and think more is better, personally.

I can’t even focus during the flight to Atlanta and swear I’m going to piss my pants at any moment. I try repeatedly to get through to Isa, but my calls and texts go unreturned. Again, I pray to a God I’m not sure exists that my wife is safe. I keep looking over at Sawyer who is shifting in his seat uncomfortably and gripping his side. Christ, I never should have let him come along.

Simons is dead.

“What the f*ck are we going to do about Simons?” I ask Sawyer.

“I’ll handle it,” he simply states.

Isa’s words come back to me, no one is going to do my dirty work for me. She was right to think that it’s a cowardly thing for someone not to take care of their own business.

“No, I’ve put enough responsibility on you, Morrison, and look what it got you. I’ll take care of my own dirty work from here on out,” I tell him.

Sawyer looks completely insulted by my statement and for a split second, I think he’s going to hurl me out of the jet despite his weakened state.

“That’s bullshit, Young. That’s what you hired me for. More than that, the things I do for you are because you’re not just my boss, but my friend, you jackass. If I thought for one minute that you were taking advantage of me, I’d tell you to f*ck off. I’ve known you longer than anyone and we’ve been through more shit than most married couples, so seriously, don’t tell me you’re handling your own dirty work from now on unless you want to get your overly confident, arrogant, Dominant ass kicked.”

Jesus Christ, how the hell am I supposed to respond to that? Part of me wants to punch Sawyer in the mouth and the other part of me wants to headlock him and give him a noogie. Isa was absolutely right: Sawyer and I have a real bromance going on.

The entire flight is spent discussing and going over our impromptu plan. My nerves are frayed and I end up having to put my seat back, close my eyes and count down from 100. Losing Isa, almost losing Sawyer, now this. How much more can I take before I completely break down? Suddenly, talking to Maggie doesn’t sound so absurd anymore.

Just over an hour after takeoff, we arrive in Atlanta and land at a private airport. There’s already a rental waiting for us. For being injured and still on the mend, Sawyer moves at the speed of light getting in the car. I, on the other hand, feel sluggish and like a complete wreck. I pause outside the car, practically hyperventilating. This is ridiculous. Where are my balls, damn it? Man up, Young!

Impatient, Sawyer honks the horn and rolls down the passenger side window.

“Grow a pair and let’s go!” he yells.

F*cking hell. Sawyer is injured and still, he has more cojones than me. That’s some f*cked up bullshit.

The drive takes nearly an hour to get to the outskirts of Atlanta and we end up in a wealthy subdivision loaded with overly large gated homes. We drive past Mr. Ibanez’s home once just to stake it out and then make our way back around and park up the street. We approach the home from behind to avoid anyone seeing us. It’s quite an impressive layout and I find it hard to imagine Isa growing up in such a cold and sterile place because her personality is so warm and charming. Standing near the back entrance, we peer into the windows casually as to not look suspicious.

Sawyer picks the lock swiftly and grabs hold of his side again in pain, the color draining from his face.

“Are you going to make it?” I ask, grabbing on to his upper arm to give him support.

He nods yes and takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly.

“For Isabel and you, yes, I’ll make it. Let’s do this.”

I never thought I’d feel about another man the way I felt about my father, but right now, seeing Sawyer struggle and yet remain strong, I can honestly say, I care deeply about him. Maybe, just maybe, I may even love him.

When we enter the house, the first thing I hear is a man’s voice screaming obscenities. There’s no doubt who the voice belongs to and I run in the direction of the screeching with Sawyer two steps behind me.

Entering the room, I’m horrified to see Isa standing over her father with a gun in her hand. It’s cocked and she’s within point-blank range with it aimed at his head. F*cking hell. Mr. Ibanez sees us and he seems relieved, which is ludicrous considering all three of us want him dead. Isa’s gaze doesn’t waver, but she addresses us.

“I wish you hadn’t come, sugar. I told you I have everything under control.”

“I can see that. What do you think you’re doing, Isa?” I ask sternly.

“I’m taking care of my own dirty work.”

I’m fighting my own emotions to run and protect her even though it’s obvious she’s a damn fine job of it herself.

“What dirty work is that, love, and where did you get the gun?” I ask, moving closer to her.

“Papa has to pay for what he’s done. The gun belongs to him. It’s probably the same one that killed my mother.”

“Yes, you’re right, he does need to pay, but not like this,” I reply and Isa cocks her head to the side as if thinking over my statement.

From the angle I’m standing, I can’t make out her facial expression so I move around in front of her with her father in between us. When I move behind Mr. Ibanez, I see that his hands are tied behind his back in a decorative knot that reminds me of the night she demonstrated her Shibari skills on me.

“You did a nice job tying him up,” I comment in an attempt to distract her.

I finally look at her face and I’m dismayed to see blood splatter all over it as well as covering the entire front of her shirt. She really did kill Simons.

“Where is Simons?” I ask.

“In Papa’s bedroom.”

Isa’s voice remains silky and calm, but the look on her face is frightening. The woman holding the gun isn’t fearful or intimidated; the woman standing in front of me right now is Mistress Isabel.

“Why is he there?”

“Because that’s where he dragged me when I came to visit Papa. He said we were going to make a sex video of our own.”

I clench my jaw thinking about what might have transpired. I’m starting to think maybe he deserved to die. Perhaps? Yes, he did deserve to die; I just wish it hadn’t been Isa who took his life. Sawyer goes trotting off upstairs I assume to find Simons’ body.

“Talk to me, Isabel. What happened with Simons?”

“This stupid little bitch shot him, that’s what! She’s finally lost her mind!” Mr. Ibanez screams.

“He was going to rape me, papa. Don’t you even care that he was going to do something horrible to your only child?” she asks, her calm exterior starting to waver.

“Isabel, speak to me, not your father. Tell me what happened,” I prod.

“I came to visit Papa. I want you to know that I had no intention of any of this happening. I just wanted to talk to him, that’s all. I wanted to make him understand that even though he had done all those horrible things to me, I was willing to forgive him if he would only say he was sorry for what he did to my mother. I wanted him to deal with Simons for what he had done to you and Sawyer. It was naïve and stupid of me to think that I could talk sense into either of them. I just wanted to believe…” she sniffs, the gun trembling in her hands. “I just wanted to believe that there was some part of him that loves me. I just wanted him to say sorry.”

***

Sawyer

Simons isn’t dead, he’s just stunned. No major vital organs are hit and, unfortunately, he’ll live. Other than Young, no one has ever put themselves in danger for me the way Isabel did by coming here. Standing over Simons, I’m tempted to finish the job after what he’s done to the three of us. Instead I go back to find Young trying to talk Isabel down. Her voice is distressing as she tells him she just wanted her father’s love and for him to say sorry.

Yes, it was naïve of her to think that would ever happen. Creeping up close behind her, I think maybe, just maybe, I can sneak up, bear hug her and get the gun out of her hands, but when I see the gun is cocked, my plan is dashed. Young looks over at me and shakes his head no at me and that’s when Isabel realizes I’m in the room.

“Is he really dead?” she asks me.

“No, doll, he’s just injured. If you give me the gun, we can all leave here and everything will be okay,” I try and convince her.

“No, it won’t. He almost killed my Master and you. He’ll get better and he’ll try again.”

“No, Isabel, he won’t,” I lie, but I know she’s right.

All of the color has drained from Young’s face and his hands are fisted at his sides, his knuckles are white. He’s watching Isabel intensely, the gears in his head turning as he tries to find the words to say to her.

Isabel steadies her gun and beseeches her father, “Say you’re sorry, papa. Please, say it. Say you didn’t really mean to kill my mother. Tell me you didn’t know what you were doing all those years you abused me. Apologize for letting the world see me with my husband in the most intimate of ways. Say you’re sorry for making me childless. Tell me why you hate me so much,” she starts to cry.

“That’s never going to happen because I never abused you. You’re a lying little whore who would have the whole world believe you’re the victim, wouldn’t you? I gave you a good life and this is the thanks I get? You’re just like your ungrateful, whoring mother. You’re probably not even my child!” he shrieks cruelly.

When I hear a sob escape from Isabel’s mouth, my anger boils over and I reach over to strangle the life out of him, but Young beats me to the punch, literally.

He briskly backhands Mr. Ibanez and roars, “You worthless bastard, how dare you call my wife a liar. How dare you say Isa made up all of those unspeakable things!”

And just like that, the old Young I used to know is back with a vengeance - the Young who doesn’t take shit from anyone - the Young who takes without asking. It’s good to see he’s grown his balls back.

“You deserve to die for what you did to my wife and her mother,” he continues.

“I didn’t do a God damned thing and you’ll never prove it, so f*ck you! This world is better off without her anyway. It’d be better off without Isabel, too. You think I’m afraid of you?” he blurts out.

“I could kill you for saying such an abominable thing about my wife. You should be afraid,” Dylan snarls with a murderous look in his cool blue eyes.

“Well, I’m not. Your wife is out of her talentless head. She’s a crazy bitch who’s going to be locked up for the rest of her life after what she pulled here today and there’s not a damned thing you and all your money can do about it!” His lifeless eyes shift from Young to Isabel and his verbal assault continues. “You want to know why I hate you so much? Because I never wanted you. I never wanted your worthless mother either, but she went and got pregnant. My life would’ve been so much better without the two of you. With my family’s wealth, I had everything I ever wanted within reach and she ruined everything. They took me out of their will for having gotten her pregnant out of wedlock. I was 19 years old and forced to marry that slut you called a mother to stay in their good graces and make my own way, and you’ve done nothing but reminded of the horrible mistake I made by f*cking and marrying her,” he hisses.

Having heard enough of her father’s bullshit and hearing the gut wrenching whimpers coming from Isabel as her hands tremble, I can’t take anymore. My wound is throbbing, my ears are ringing and I can’t bear witness to this man’s vile treatment of Isabel any longer. I’m two seconds from snapping this cocksucker’s neck.

“Seriously, shut the f*ck up, you stupid old man before I shove my fist down your throat,” I growl through clenched teeth.

“Enough!” Isa screeches loudly over the top of all our voices. “I’m not a damsel in distress who needs help. He killed my beautiful, loving mother and he refuses to take responsibility for his actions towards the both of us. No one can say I didn’t give him a fair chance to make things right. This situation is going to be dealt with for good, right here, right now. I’m done with it. Now both of you move out of the way, I don’t want to get any blood on you,” she says steadfastly.

Oh, f*ck. This isn’t good and by the alarm on Young’s face, he knows it, too. Just then, a strange thing happens: He pushes his shoulders back, his stance shifts subtly, his eyes dilate and he takes on a whole new persona – one of which I’ve never seen before. The powerful aura he’s putting out sends cold chills down my spine and I take a step back to avoid the shockwave of his explosion.

“Isabel…” he says firmly, “who’s your Master?”

Without hesitation, Isabel responds, “You are.”

“I’m telling you right now, this isn’t going to happen. I know you want it to, but it’s not. Going. To. Happen,” he mutters through gritted teeth.

Young’s eyes are narrowed down to mere slits and his jaw is clenched so tight he could put a pitbull to shame.

“But he deserves to die for what he’s done,” she says softly.

“Yes, he does, but I already told you, not like this and I’m not going to repeat myself again.”

Isabel’s hands start to shake again and I think whatever dynamic is going on between the two of them just might work until Isabel pushes her shoulders back, stands up straighter and adjusts her stance, too.

“And I’m not going to repeat myself, so move out of the way or I’m going to get blood all over your Gucci suit,” she says defiantly and without a hint of timidity.

What the f*ck is going on here?

“Isabel Young, you know what happens when you challenge my decisions, don’t you?” Young asks, lowering his head and glaring at Isabel with heated eyes.

“I’m not challenging you, Master, I’m taking control. If you’re threatening to punish me, then so be it. Feel free to punish me all you want when I’m finished. But just so we’re clear, I am finishing what I started,” Isa counters in a jarringly smooth voice.

All 5’2” of Isa is more tenacious than any man I’ve encountered who is twice her size, and I’m in awe of her willpower in light of the fear-provoking look on Young’s face. I’ve never seen anything like this. Ever. The power struggle going on between the two of them is sexy as f*ck and terrifying as hell and all I can do is stand like a complete idiot watching them, my eyes darting back and forth between them like I’m watching an intense tennis match. Who will win? My money is on Isabel. Correction, Mistress Isabel.

Suddenly, something happens that I never thought I’d see in my lifetime – Young backs down, but not in a way that signals he’s giving up or giving in. He does it in a masculine way that demonstrates how much Isabel means to him and how dire he realizes this situation is. His voice evens out and he softens his tone, his eyes becoming kinder.

“I understand about wanting control, Isa; I’m a Dom. But control is an intangible thing and elusive at best, and though it may seem like I’m in control at all times, that doesn’t mean I don’t struggle trying to maintain that front. Don’t you understand that the only control I’ve ever had over you is the control you’ve granted me? No one ever has complete control, love. No one. Not me, not you, and most especially not your father. He did the things he did because he’s a coward and the only way he can feel like a man is to make women feel like they’re beneath him. He isn’t worth another minute of your time or ruining our future together. I know you’re angry and hurting, but trust me when I say that you don’t want to be responsible for your father’s death. You’ll never forgive yourself and the guilt will eat away at you slowly, I should know. Now please, p-ssycat, give me the gun.”

Dylan’s words are so completely gut-wrenchingly genuine, I can’t help but take them to heart. It’s as if I’m watching him grow up right before my eyes as he turns into the man I knew he always could be. I swear he just aged tenfold while standing here trying to implore Isa not to kill her father, especially considering how much I know Young wants him dead.

The way Isabel watches Young when he speaks his words of wisdom to her is something to behold. Her look changes from dogged and stubborn, to one of understanding and overwhelming love and adoration. I yearn for a woman to look at me with the same affection that Isabel bestows upon Young. Someday, perhaps, I’ll find the same kind of undying and unconditional love they have for each other. I like to think I already have in Sonya.

With quaking hands, Isabel slowly lowers the gun and gives it Young. He uncocks it and hands it over to me, and we both let out a loud sigh of relief. Young reaches out to Isabel and pulls her into his arms and whispers words of praise into her ear.

“I love you so much, baby girl. It took more control not to kill your father than to do what came easy and take his life. I’m so proud of you.”

“Please forgive me for defying you, Master,” she weeps. “Are you going to punish me now?”

“No, my precious angel, you’ve punished yourself enough today. Let’s go home and never speak of this again,” he tells her.

As they turn to walk away, Mr. Ibanez jumps and starts spewing all sorts of shit about how he’s a real man and should’ve killed Young when he had the chance, but I shove him back down and punch him in the mouth, effectively shutting him up. He doesn’t need to ruin Isabel and Young’s moment of calm. Just as they head towards the back door, Young looks over at me and silently mouths his final order.

“Finish it.”

I don’t mind if I do.

***

Isabel

My clothes are covered in blood and I just want to wash everything about today off of me. Simons isn’t dead and I hate to admit it, but I’m relieved. His plan was to rape me but I gave him more than he bargained for when I damn near sterilized him by kicking him in the balls. I cringe thinking about the pained expression on his face when my foot met his spleen.

“I kicked Simons’ ass. Again,” I say, feeling the need to explain what happened.

“Did he…?” Dylan asks.

“No. That was his plan but I didn’t give him a chance. His busted balls will teach him to f*ck with Mistress Isabel again.” I try to immediately retract my F-bomb. “Sorry, Sir, it just slipped out. I remembered where Papa’s gun was and I grabbed it while he was winded.”

My mind is starting to shut down and close in on itself. So much has happened in the last few days I can’t even fathom how to take it all in. Closing my eyes, I drift away into a deep sleep. I vaguely hear the sounds of Sawyer entering the car after what seems like hours. Dylan and Sawyer speak in hushed tones and I’m not able to make out what they’re saying, but it makes no difference. I’m tired and I just want to rest.

The sound of the jet’s roaring engines wakes me with a start and it’s then that I realize that we’ve landed in Denver. It’s hard to believe I slept through the entire trip. I didn’t even feel it when Dylan carried me onto the plane.

With Dylan’s coat wrapped around me covering my bloody clothing, I’m whisked away quickly into the Rover and driven home.

We no sooner make it into the house when Dylan is running a hot bath and undressing me. No words are spoken when we climb in together and soak away the horrible events of the day.

“Please talk to me, love. I need to hear your voice,” my Master breathes into my ear, cuddling me and running his fingers through my hair.

“I can’t…”

“Yes, you can. You’re so much stronger than you think. After everything that’s happened over the last six months; here we are, safe and in each other’s arms. Tell me what you’re thinking about,” he whispers sweetly, pulling me closer, the water sloshing around us loudly.

“I’ll never be a mother and my father will never pay for what he’s done.”

“He will, Isa, I promise you that. And I’ll make another promise to you right now: If being a mother is what you truly want, then I’ll do everything in my power to make it happen. I’ll seek out the best fertility doctors this world has to offer and I’ll pay any amount of money they ask to give you what your heart desires. If every medical option has been exhausted and you still can’t conceive, then we’ll adopt.”

I wince at the idea, looking up at Dylan, terrified at the thought of raising someone else’s child.

“No,” I say.

“How can you say that after what you’ve been through? Wouldn’t you want to give a child in need a chance at a better life? A child who is living in the kind of environment you were raised in?”

As usual, he’s right. Yes, I do want to save a child from having to endure the things I did. His eyes are smoldering and the sheer compassion exuding from him puts him in a whole new light for me. Just when I thought it was impossible to love him anymore, I do. I love him entirely, completely, eternally and infinitely, and beyond the stars and universe.

“Yes, but…” I start to say, but my Master puts his finger up to my mouth tenderly.

“You don’t have to make a decision right now; it’s just something to think about. We have a lifetime ahead of us to decide what we’re going to do. I love you; heart and soul, and we’re going to grow old together. We’ll make things right and find our way, no matter how long it takes or where life takes us.”

“What about our happily ever after?” I ask as I stare into the truest, most loyal blue eyes to ever gaze back at me.

“No matter how long it takes, we’ll find that, too, p-ssycat. I promise.”