“His mother is American,” I lie. His mother was Russian, a mail-order bride, in fact. I told his father, Matthew Junior, it was a terrible idea, but he was smitten by her photographs. Men are sometimes very stupid.
Simeon glances over one shoulder, as do I, only to find Giovanni glaring at him ferociously. His bald hatred reminds me of his mother, unsettling to say the least.
“Valentin, are you listening?”
“I’m sorry, Simeon, what were you saying?”
“I said this is Dimitri all over again.”
I react viscerally at the mention of his name, a dark spell raising the dead. “What makes you say that?”
“You’re clearly infatuated with the boy. You’ve had him only a few months, and he’s already running the household.”
“That’s an unfair assessment.”
“He was rude to me, and you let him get away with it.”
“He hasn’t gotten away with anything. Is there a rule that I must punish my sub in your presence?”
“You’re clearly attached to him, and he’s very nice to look at, but I don’t want to see you hurt again.”
I lay my hand atop his. “Simeon, I am a smart man and a capable Dominant, and while I appreciate your concern, you have spent less than twenty minutes with my boy, whereas I know himextremelywell. Please have a little faith that I can manage my sub. Now, tell me all about this party I missed. I want every gory detail.”
I manageto salvage brunch as best I can and end it early with the excuse that I have some work matters I must attend to. When I return to the living area, Giovanni has left the piano and is clearing the table, somewhat robotically.
“You didn’t eat,” I say to him. He’s obviously still upset but not giving me any inclination as to why.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Do you have something you’d like to say to me?” I prompt, still giving him the benefit of the doubt. I’m expecting an apology for his rudeness at the very least.
“I don’t like him,” he says.
“Yes, I gathered as much.”
“Wedon’t like him. Wehatehim.” His voice changes and his eyes take on an unfocused gaze. His head begins to sway back and forth, and the stack of plates he carries wobbles in his hands.
“Giovanni?”
He raises the dishes high above his head and smashes them on the tile floor of the kitchen in one violent swoop. The glasses are next as he plucks them off the counter one-by-one and dashes them to the floor. His breathing turns rapid and erratic, and his mind seems altogether elsewhere. Then he starts emitting a high-pitched keening noise that reminds me of an animal in distress.
“Giovanni,” I shout, truly concerned for him now. I would go to him but I’m barefoot, and there are shards of porcelain and glass all over the floor. I shove the remaining plates and cutlery to the side of the dining table and remove the leaf that extends it. With the plank of wood, I make a bridge to the kitchen where Giovanni crouches in the center of his mess, gripping his knees to his chest and rocking back and forth.
I lay a hand on his shoulder, and he swings reflexively, trying to scratch my face. “Don’t touch me,” he snarls.
I’ve never seen him act like this before, so completely feral. In a calm and controlled voice, I say, “Take my hand. Come with me. You’re going into your box.”
“We don’twantto go into the box,” he spits with venom.
“I didn’t ask what you want. It’s not up to you to decide right now because you’re not in control. Come with me, young man.Right now.”
He glares at me with pure hatred, then grabs my hand, digging his fingernails into the fleshy part of my palm. I lead him over the bridge I’ve constructed and into the master bedroom. He’s explored the box before and has nested it with some of his favorite items, but he hasn’t spent any significant time in there. I draw him up onto the platform and guide him inside.
“I’m shutting the door.”
“Don’t you dare shut the door,” he rasps.
“I’m shutting the door, but I won’t lock it. As long as you stay inside, it will remain unlocked. I’ll be right here with you, waiting for you to calm down.”
