“Where is he?” I ask Rico. I expect to see him kneeling on his velvet pillow upon my arrival as he has been since we began his slave training. I call Rico every evening on my way home from work for that very purpose.
“I told him you were on your way.” He raises his hands as his own defense and jerks a thumb toward the bedroom. “He’s in there working on his face. Something wrong with you two, Boss? You get in a fight or something?”
“Something like that. How has he been today?”
“Seemed kind of down. Didn’t say much in the sauna. Didn’t swim in the pool either, just sorta floated.”
“Floated?” In all the time I’ve visited the pool with Giovanni, I’ve never seen him just… float.
“I thought it was strange too.”
I glance toward the bedroom and spy him sitting at his vanity. “Thanks, Rico. I’ll take it from here.”
“All right, Boss. Listen, I know you’re a tough guy and all, but as a married man, I gotta say, sometimes a little apology goes a long way.”
I nod. “Thanks for the advice.”
“You got it.” He salutes me with two fingers, then shouts so Giovanni can hear, “See ya tomorrow, Gio.”
“Bye, Rico,” he calls faintly, which I take as a good sign. It means he’s mentally present.
I stroll into the bedroom to find Giovanni staring blankly at the mirror, brushing his dark hair in slow, hypnotic strokes.
“Good evening,” I say to him as I remove my suit jacket and lay it over the back of a nearby chair.
“Good evening,” he says, dropping the honorificMasterI’ve become so accustomed to hearing that I now crave it. I would reprimand him for it, but he is clearly not right.
“How was your day?”
“Fine.”
“Did you learn anything interesting in my absence?”
“Not really,” he says, still not meeting my gaze. I suddenly want his attention, desperately.
“Look at me, Giovanni,” I command and his eyes lift, but it’s as if he’s not there. I can’t read him when he’s like this. “Are you hungry for dinner?”
“I’ve been thinking…” He shifts his gaze to watch himself in the mirror instead of me. His casual dismissal feels so intensely personal. “About what you said. About us.”
“What about us?” I loosen my tie just to have something to do with my hands.
“You were right. I’m too young for you. And too inexperienced.”
“Sweetheart—”
“And I want more than this apartment, more than just to be yourschiavo. It’s not enough for me. Maybe it was before but not anymore.”
The feeling in my chest is like being buried in concrete, a crushing pressure to both my heart and my lungs. I grab a chair and drag it over so that I may sit down and process these words, which are devastating. Surely, he must know that and yet, his face is blank—no emotion whatsoever. He sets his brush on the glossy ebony tabletop and stares at it. It’s fancy, the brush, with organic bristles to ensure that it won’t cause him split ends. I spent a fortune on that brush because I want him to have only the best, the verynicestthings. Why would he do this now? I reach for his hand, and he allows me to take it, but it is limp, lifeless.
“What do you want?” I ask. I didn’t expect this from him, and now I am floundering as to how to respond.
“I want to make friends,” he says without any inflection whatsoever. “I want to go to school and meet people. I want to do as you said and live up to my potential.”
“You don’t have to choose. You can go to school and still live here with me, whether or not you’re my submissive.”
The look he gives me then exudes a profound sadness, so tangible I can practically taste his sorrow. I wish to interrogate him further but not when he’s feeling so melancholy, not when he seems emotionally if not mentally… absent. As for me, I’m at a complete loss. I always have my next steps mapped out but not this time. I need some time to think, regroup. “Let’s eat dinner and we’ll discuss this later, as men,” I tell him.
“No,” he says, a definitive I so rarely hear that I don’t know what to make of it. He pulls his hand away like it doesn’t belong to me, as if it never did. “I’m going to bed.” He stands and drifts, zombie-like, to the bed, climbs in without any of the usual ceremony, and draws the comforter up so that it’s nearly covering his head. I walk over and fold it back.
