“Oh no. I’m not hard on myself, just realistic, but that’s okay. I appreciate art. I love it. I get to work around it every single day.” We round the corner. “When did you decide you loved art?”
“My father’s an art collector and has been since I was a small child. Museums and art exhibits have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember.”
I’d stopped walking and pointed to my car. “This is me,” and then feeling curious about him and his family, I don’t know what really happened then but I’d blurted out, “How do you, and your father, make all this money you make?”
He’d laughed, this low, sexy laugh. “My family is in real estate, and I write novels, for a living.”
Enthralled, at this creative side of him, that is in itself, a form of art, I’d quickly asked, “Novels? What kind of novels?”
“Thrillers.”
“Do you have pen name?”
“I do and you’ll have to go to dinner with me to find out what it is.”
“No,” I’d said again, when I really wanted to say “yes,” but a date with this would-be, could-be, dream man, means deciding the man I love is not my dream man. And I just couldn’t do that.
He hadn’t looked surprised. Instead, he’d reached in his pocket, then taken my hand, to press a card into my palm, and his touch–it had been surprisingly electric. “Change your mind and call me.” It had been an order, but then, he’d shocked me with this low, raspy. “Please.”
It’s the “please” that had gotten to me. The way he’d managed to command me but still ask me. It was sexy and right, in ways that I needed it to be right. But he hadn’t pushed. He’d turned and walked away. And now I sit here, staring at the card, that simply reads, “Alex Marque” and wondering if I should call. Of course, I googled him, and there is no writer, that has this name. There is a mega real estate empire though. I find myself wanting to know his pen name. I find myself wanting to call. But even more so, I want my former Master to call.
I’m very confused.
Maybe I should go to dinner. Maybe that will help me know if the past is the past or the present. I’m going to do, it. I’m going to call Alex, and just say “yes.”
Friday, ten pm
I know I said I was going to call Alex and accept that date, but I didn’t. I felt guilty, like I was betraying the Master, who is no longer my Master. But the thing is, I feel like I’m betraying my heart, too. I love him and I know the pain he’s hiding from. I’ve seen it in his eyes over and over and over again. I feel like I am hurting him by leaving him even though he’s hurting me by keeping me at a distance. And it’s not about being his submissive. Being a submissive, though not natural to me, is not a bad thing. In fact, I found it to be an incredible bond, shared with someone you trust completely. It can be freedom and a connection shared with someone else, that I don’t think I could explain if asked. It’s something you just have to experience. But my master used the role of submissive as his way of keeping me at a distance. It was a tool to protect himself from the emotional bond growing between us. The problem for him though, was it became a way that we grew closer, and each time I felt that happening, he’d push me to do something he knew I wouldn’t like. He’d bring in the second master, to share me. He’d bring in her. God. I can’t believe I let myself be shared. I can’t believe I don’t hate him for doing it. But I have no one to blame but myself. The power is always with the submissive. The submissive says “yes” or “no.” Until recently, I never wanted to say no to him.
So, I didn’t call Alex last night when I’d planned to do so. I told myself it was too late since it was nearly midnight when I put my journals aside. I went to work this morning trying to convince myself to call him today, but I just kept finding work to do and yet, I managed to find time to call down to the bakery and find out if they had my favorite chocolate cookies. That tells you, I didn’t want to call. And yet…I did. I’m very confused about why I felt that way. How could I have wanted to call Alex, and still be in love with another man? And almost as if Alex knew my conflict, he showed up. Not literally, but he might as well have.
I’d just sat down at my desk for a late lunch which included a bag of those chocolate cookies and a cup of coffee, because my diet couldn’t afford for me to eat a sandwich and the bag of cookies. And considering my tormented mood, I knew I was going to eat the cookies no matter what. I was three delicious cookies in when Amanda had appeared at my door.
“Flowers for you!” she’d exclaimed.
I’d nearly choked on crumbs, and had to wash them down with a hot swig of coffee, and not because of the flowers, but rather, the certainty they were not from the man I love. How did I know this? They did not match the ring on the chain at my neck. They weren’t roses but rather some sort of orange blossom flowers.
I’d recovered from the attack of the cookie crumbs by the time Amanda set the flowers on my desk. “Are they from the same man who sent you the gift last week?”
I’d felt that question like a punch in the chest because, no. They were not from the master I love. “Let’s hope,” I’d said, with the hope she’d leave, because as much as I love Amanda, she’s young and she pushes and pushes and in that moment, I just didn’t have it in me to deal with that part of her.
I’d grabbed the card though, and read it:
Marigold’s represent a desire for riches, but I find all I desire is you. I can’t stop thinking about you. – Alex
“Well?” Amanda had pressed.
“Ricco Alvarez,” I’d lied. Despite hating lies. “Marigold’s mean desire for riches, and he’s thanking me for selling so many of his paintings the past few weeks.”
“Oh.” She’d looked disappointed. “Well that’s nice. And he is a good looking, rich and famous artist. I think he likes you.”
“I think he likes the money I’m making him,” I’d told her and motioned for her to leave. “Scram, you. I have to eat my lunch before my next appointment.”
She’d pursed her lips and headed away, and suddenly, Bossman, Mark Compton himself, had been standing in my doorway, looking better than any chocolate cookie could ever taste, in a blue suit and silver tie. And being that he’s blonde, he makes tall, blond, and hot mean way more than tall, dark, and good looking. “Ricco sent you flowers?”