It’s the wrong thing to say. His hands fist up on his hips as he glares at me. “Yeah, I guess we’re notallso exclusive, Ollie. Huh? Is that it? Fuck you.”
And he storms off in that Brandon way of his. He’s done the same a thousand times, and I know that by tomorrow he’ll either have completely forgotten about it, or be profusely apologizing in the hopes of getting on the list for the masquerade.
A masquerade I don’t even intend to go to, despite the invitationstillbeing open, as Zee emphasized this morning when I left.
I already told her I couldn’t. Again. And it would beso awkwardwith Elliot there…
IwishI was going back into his service tonight, instead of back to my lonely apartment.
But Ican’tkeep flaking on work just to indulge my kinky side. It’s not fair to Elliot, and it’s not fair to me. I havesomuch work shit to handle, and it would be beyond stupid to throw away my big career chance. Managerial training at the Bellamy is a big deal. Only one training position opens up here each year, and if there’s a chance it could bemine…
I just wish there was some way I could have my workandmy play as well. Work-life balance, and all that shit.
When midnight rolls around and I’m finally free, I get home to an empty house, a cold bed, and no milk for breakfast. I have a sudden vision of the staff breakfasts Chef Henriette cooked for us, and my stomach growls.
I slap it. “Shut up, you,” I sigh.
I guess I can admit it to myself when I’m alone: I’ve always wanted a full-time kinky relationship. I’ve always wanted a collar.
But right now, I just wantElliotmore than either of those things.
In the quiet of my apartment, I can finally admit it to myself. IenvyBrandon and Tristan and Ben and all my sub friends who have found their perfect matches. And every time I think about giving up Elliot, I want to cry.
How is this not your real life?he asked me, and honestly? I wasn’t sure how to answer that at the time. I’m still not sure how to explain it. Because he’s right: my kinky sideisn’tjust something I play at on the weekends.
It’s part of who I am.
But Elliot is not going to stay here in America, and I have my career to think about.
“Andthat,” I say out loud, yanking back the sheets on my bed, and throwing myself in, “is the fucking point. You arenotgoing to throw away your whole career for a few weeks of play with a hot Dom.”
I lie there awake for a long time, wondering if Elliot is awake, too. Wondering if he’s working on his composition too late into the night, if he remembered to have lunch today, if he remembered to havedinner, for fuck’s sake…
Wondering if he’s thinking about me, too.
CHAPTER25
Elliot
The days have passed slowly this week, seem to drag their feet as I struggle, once more, with the piece I’m supposed to be composing for the film. “For Oliver” isn’t finished either, but the meeting with my agent, the studio, and other relevant contacts is coming up quickly, just a few days before the masquerade, and Imusthave a finished product for them by then, or…
Or what?
Or I suppose my Hollywood career will be over before it starts, and I won’t have the money to maintain Arden Hall.
But what I care about,reallycare about, is the music. The music, and…
I throw down my pencil in frustration again.
A glance at the clock tells me that my breakfast tray is late this morning. It’seleven minuteslate, to be exact. However, since Oliver, I have made an effort to be less exacting regarding time and standards.
And so I resist calling down to see what’s taking so long, settle my fingers on the silent piano keys again, and try, futile as it is, to focus on the music. I play a few notes, make changes to the music sheet, and then stare hard at it, as though merely glaring at it will make the theme song complete itself by magic.
A tap at the door a moment later sees me yanking the headphones off and throwing them aside, my irritation spiking. I take a breath, remind myself that the person on the other side of that door is doing the best they can, and then I call, “Come in.”
The door opens and I hear someone enter behind me. I’ve reverted to breakfasting in my bedroom since Oliver left, but I don’t smell the usual bacon and eggs wafting across the room. I just hope the tea is better than it was yesterday. I couldn’t help myself regarding that, andhadto make a comment to Daniel regarding the over-brewed poison he tried to pass off as tea.
“You’ll have to stop work, my lord, so that you can come down for breakfast.”
