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I can’t believe I’m about to go there with my therapist. But fuck it, I guess we’re doing this. “I’d say he felt something he liked…” I say, flaring my eyes for emphasis.

She places a hand to her forehead like she’s checking her rising temperature, then fans herself. “I may be vegan, but I do love a weighty piece of sausage every now and again.”

“You and me both, Marge.”

It was a risk, but I notice the corner of her lip twitch with the faintest smirk at my nickname usage. I take a mental victory lap in celebration. By the time we’re through, we’ll be singing Fleetwood Mac and wearing matching friendship bracelets.

“You must’ve felt pretty powerful, having your male colleague humble himself like that in front of the whole town.”

“Yeah. I did.” I nod, a warm flutter stirring low in my belly as I think back to the other night.

“But then he pulled out the rope from the cowboy costume and tied me up right there on the stage.” I shake my head, feeling that delicious warmth spread through me at the memory. “I usually hate being constricted like that. I can’t even wear pants when I’m sleeping because I feel too confined…”

“But you enjoyed it?” she asks, probing me to finish my thought. “Does that surprise you?”

“Yeah,” I admit, truthfully. Honestly, I was surprised by how much I didn’t hate it at all. “The whole night felt so…exciting. I haven’t felt like this in a long time.”

“Well, maybe that’s something you need to explore.”

“I’m actually thinking of volunteering at the community theater to get my one hundred community service hours⁠—”

“Oh, I didn’t mean the community service, dear,” she says, catching me off guard.

I jerk my gaze back to the screen where I see her smiling like she knows something I don’t.

“Seriously?” I say, raising a brow. “Your professional advice right now is for me to get kinky with my coworker?”

She shrugs. “I think it’d be good for you to explore a more…” She twists her lips like she’s searching for the right word. “Submissive side of yourself. Your inner goddess craves freedom to express herself. And new experiences—especially those outside your comfort zone—can propel growth. I think it’s time for you to let your hair down and give in to your desires. It’s the only way to release the anger you wear as a shield.” She pauses to scribble a note, then looks back up and continues, “Your homework is to follow your body’s lead. Don’t overthink it. Let your yoni be your guide.”

I shake my head in disbelief just as the timer dings, alerting us that our time is up.

“I expect a detailed report during our next session. I’m looking for orgasms. Lots and lots of orgasms. And not the self-induced kind!” she adds. “Rule six and seven await you. Good luck with your mission!” she says, her tone a little ominous considering the topic at hand.

“Wait. What if I don’t⁠—”

The call disconnects, leaving me staring at my own reflection.

Well…shit.

I spent the rest of my Sunday sunbathing by the pool with Matilda while catching up on the next section of my required reading from Marguerite’s book.

Don’t get me wrong, some of her rules are still a little out there, but now that I’ve gotten to know her better, I don’t find the reading material quite as insufferable as I did before. She’s even piqued my curiosity with a few of her unconventional ideas.

I halfway expected Roman to show up, so we could talk about how we ended things the other night, but he must’ve stayed out after he dropped me off because I didn’t notice any activity inside his house. Not even as much of a ruffled curtain.

Maybe he went back to the hotel, found another sex worker to help take the edge off…

Shaking the troublesome thought from my head, I make my way inside. I’m supposed to be working on my anger. Jealousy isn’t exactly the emotion I need to be feeding into right now.

I step into the elevator and turn toward the window, taking in the stunning view of the waterfall. Sunlight catches on the garish five-carat princess-cut diamond on my finger, sending a prism of color across the steel doors.

God, this thing is hideous. Maybe not objectively, but it’s too big for my finger, the angles are too sharp, and it catches on everything. It feels more like a tiny weapon than an engagement ring.

I stare down at the gaudy sparkle I never leave the house without. Because that’s what Claire has always told me to do.

Wear the ring. Smile for the cameras. Play the part.

Why do I always listen to Claire?