“I’ve heard of the English stiff upper lip,” Oliver murmurs in my ear, “but this isridiculous. You know that, right?” He pulls back to look at me.
“What do you mean?”
“When someone stabs you in the back, you don’t wander around with the knife sticking out of your vertebrae for three years.” When he sees I still don’t comprehend, he holds up the folded article again. “Let’s get rid of this knife. What do you say?”
If I could have Oliver—if I could keep him, have him asmine, I think perhaps things would be alright. But I can’t have him. I’m leaving.
And he hasresponsibilities. Areal life.
“Well?” he asks again. “We can shred it, burn it, throw it in the toilet—”
I give a surprised laugh. “Piss on it first, you mean?”
His grin turns wicked. “Hey, I checked off watersports in that contract. Did you?” He gives a little gasp as my hands tighten on him.
“Listen, Oliver,” I groan. “It’s not fair to tease me. You’re leaving.I’mleaving. Remember?”
His face actually falls a little, or I think it does. It’s difficult to be sure because of thatdamned mask. “Yeah,” he says, and quickly amends it to, “Yes. I am. I have to leave today.”
“But you’re right; it’s long since time I should have thrown those memories away. They’re poisonous.” I move away to light a candle, one of the many left strewn around after last night, and relight it. Then, when Oliver hands the folded-up piece of glossy paper to me, I touch it to the flame. We both watch as it catches, and begins to burn rapidly.
I drop it into a silver dish on the writing desk, and within seconds it’s nothing but ash and smoke.
“There,” I say. Idofeel lighter. “It’s gone.” Oliver leans into me and I slide an arm around him, then press a kiss into his hair. “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry if I did anything to bring up painful memories while I’ve been here.”
“No,” I murmur. “Not at all. If anything, you wereveryunlike him. Much more rowdy.”
“Isthatwhat I am?” he teases, turning in my arms so that we hold each other in a loose embrace, face to face. “Rowdy?”
“Well. You’re not backward in coming forward, Oliver. Usually my service submissives are more…compliant.”
“Is that what you wanted from me?” His voice has turned rather distant.
“No, Oliver. I never expected—”
“I’m sorry if I haven’t been a great match for you while you’ve been here,” he says carefully, his arms dropping. “Maybe next time, Nik can find someone…better for you.”
I’m shocked at the fierceness in my own response. “I apologize unreservedly if, for a single moment, I’ve made you feel unappreciated. You’ve been wonderful to me during your time here. And you’ve done something for me that I was beginning to think impossible.”
“I have?”
I grab up a sheet of staff paper from the writing desk and wave it around in an almostwildmanner. “You restored my Muse,” I tell him. “I thought it wasgone. I thought my music would never return, but you…” I have to look away.
But Oliver hugs me again. Hard.
“I’m so glad,” he whispers in my ear. “I’m so glad I could be of service to you.”
We stay like that for another minute, before I pull away and try to keep my sniffling discreet. “So you see,” I tell him, “you’ve been quite perfect, and I will be grateful to you forever.” I give him my warmest smile, but I can’t help it wavering.
“What is it?” he asks.
I picture it for a moment: saying goodbye to Oliver in front of the whole household, and I grimace. “I’m not sure I could bear seeing you leave this morning,” I tell him. “Would you mind very much if…I’d prefer to say goodbye in private.”
He swallows. “Me, too.”
“Then perhaps—now?” I would much prefer to keep him here until the minutes have completely run down, but I’ve asked too much from him already, and he needs to pack and to prepare for leaving. So I pull myself together. “Goodbye, Oliver, and good luck with your career. Thank you for your service this weekend. I have appreciated it more than I may have shown. I hope you won’t think too poorly of me when you return to yourreallife.”
