She closes her eyes, processing the information. Then, “Go on.”
“They said I’d be a hostess for his Christmas party. Interview first. At his place.”
“His place,” she repeats.
“It wasn’t a normal interview.” I laugh humorlessly because otherwise I’ll cry. “It was a test. Blindfold, rope, rules.”
Clara blinks. “Cass.”
“I lied.” It’s easier if I stack the sins quickly. “I told them I was a professional. I’m?—”
“A professionalwhat.”
Her tone does not mirror the friendly way it might when someone is asking a question. This is a hard interrogation.
“A professional… sub.”
She sighs, shakes her head, and looks away.
“Please don’t stress yourself,” I say desperately.
Another few beats pass.
“Keep talking.”
I take a deep breath. “Obviously, I’m not a professional sub. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I said yes anyway because I needed the money and the surgery date moved up and—” My throat closes. I push through it. “And he hired me for a month. His rules.”
Her eyes widen, fear and fury dancing there. “What rules?”
“Privacy. Precision. Truth.” I could recite them in my sleep. “And submission.” The word feels big and complicated. “Clara, it wasn’t like I thought it would be. It was more.Heis more.”
She’s quiet. That’s worse than yelling. I fill the quiet with the smaller truths I can stand to say.
“He paid your hospital bills. He insulated my job so I wouldn’t get fired. He had my shifts covered. I didn’t ask, he just did it. He made sure I ate. He—” I stop because what is this list, exactly? A defense? Something I’m offering up as proof that the billionaire mobster who fathered my child actually cares about me?
“And the danger?” she asks softly.
“There was a shooting at his Christmas party. Someone tried to run us off the road. It’s not about me. It’s about his world and someone who hates that he wants to make his businesses legit. But—” I swallow hard. “Standing next to him makes me a target, so…”
“So you’re leaving him.”
“I’m leaving New York.”
Silence again. Then she says my name the way she did the night she signed the paperwork to become my legal guardian,taking me out of that house that smelled like stale cigarettes and sadness.
“Cassandra.”
“I know.” It comes out small. I’m so tired of being brave. Or at least pretending I am.
“What else?”
I stare at my hands. For a second, I want to tell her that’s all of it but I can’t keep this one back.
I look into her eyes. There’s no hiding the truth from Clara. And besides, I’m tired of the lies.
“I’m pregnant.”
The word seems to suck all the air out of the room and replace it with frost as surely as if a window had just been opened.
