"Hello," I answered my phone.
"Who's your best friend in the world?" Frankie's voice called out gleefully to me, on the other end of the line.
I smiled. "You are, of course. What's got you sounding so tickled, my dear?"
"If you liked me before, you're going to love me after you meet this new sub I found for you. She's perfect, James. Right up your alley, and you know I know your type."
I stiffened, blinking slowly.
It wasn't so unusual. Frankie had introduced me to girls before. She was more involved in the scene that accompanied our lifestyle than I was. But the timing was off.
In fact, after what had happened last night, it was horrible.
She kept talking, not noticing right away the significance of my utter silence. "Dark hair, gorgeous hazel eyes. Twenty-six and trained by the best. Body to die for. She's smart and sweet, too. It'll be a nice change for you."
She went on about this mystery woman's many apparent virtues, and my mind wandered for a bit, across the country, on a flight with my reticent lover of the night before.
Finally, I interrupted her. "I met someone," I said shortly.
She was quiet for a beat, then, "Oh. Is it . . . serious?"
I could tell from her tone just how unlikely she thought that was. I searched for the words to explain that it was more than serious. It was necessary.
"She's the one."
Heavy silence on the other end let me know that she was processing the information properly.
"Wow," she finally spoke, sounding equal parts elated and disbelieving. "That's wonderful! How is this the first I'm hearing of it, and have you set a date yet?"
"It just happened, and I wouldn't mark your calendar yet. I finally fell for a girl, but, and you're gonna love this, she's not sure she's that into me."
"Huh?"
"I'm not sure yet if she likes me."
"What?"
"She's doesn't know what to make of me."
"Excuse me?" Her tone was somehow more incredulous with each question.
I sighed. "She thinks I'm an ass**le with too much money, and it might take a miracle to get her to come around. Does that clear it up for you?"
Her voice dripped with her utter delight. "I need to meet this girl. I can already tell I'll LOVE her."
She paused for a moment, then delicately, "So, are you going to do some demonstrations with her?"
I blanched. "No. No. No. Never."
"Will you be bringing her to the fetish parties?"
"No. Those days are over for me. What I have with Bianca . . . it's not something I can share. I have to keep it private. Anything else would drive me mad."
"I get it. Totally understandable. I'm so happy for you."
I was smiling when we ended the call.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MY HELPLESSNESS
PRESENT
Finally, after agonizing, waiting, remembering, Bianca came to with a violent jerk, her eyes snapping open.
A great shudder rocked through my body, and I had to look down at our joined hands for a moment to stay composed. It wouldn't do to break down in front of her just then.
A relief like nothing I'd ever known flowed through me, top to bottom, like cold water, raising every hair on my body.
She was awake. She was alive. We were actually going to survive this.
All those hours, and she hadn't even been resting.
She'd been waiting, it seemed, her own bloody visions keeping hold of her, because the second she spoke, she said, "Stephan?" A world of pain and fear in her voice.
I gasped when I finally found the courage, the composure to look at her again. Into those beloved eyes I never thought would look at me again.
She knew. She knew he was grievously injured. That fast, and she remembered.
"He's recovering from surgery."
She processed that for just a moment before asking, "How badly was he hurt?" It sounded like she was talking around a mouth full of marbles. I flinched, imagining the damage that had been done to the inside of her mouth. "Will he be okay? I need to see him now."
Unbelievably, her words were accompanied by her trying to sit up.
I chose my words carefully, wondering how to get her to stop moving so much. It couldn't be good for her. "He's in the ICU. He was badly hurt. No one can see him—"
My body seized up in shock as her hand shot to her arm and brutally ripped out her IV.
I started shaking. I couldn't seem to breathe. How could I stop her from hurting herself? I could only watch her, feeling helpless and futile.
She sat up. "I need to see him now," she said vehemently.
Two nurses had been hovering near enough to hear what was going on, and they snapped into action, wrestling her back down, two more nurses and a doctor joining in before they could get her IV back in.
She met my eyes as the nurse worked on her arm. "Please, James. I have to see him."
Eventually I nodded, not knowing what else to do. "Please don't do that again. I'll arrange for you to see him, but you must stay in your bed."
She nodded, shutting her eyes, her tense body finally relaxing back into the hospital bed.
Arrangements were made, and I walked with her as they wheeled her bed to his.
She calmed after she saw him, though he was still unconscious.
But sure enough, less than two hours later, he roused for the first time since the shooting.
I told her the second she woke up. His vitals were improving. They were both going to live.
Miracle on miracle. After all that had happened, I couldn't believe our good fortune.
I made a vow then and there never to take even one single second of our life together for granted.
"Have they buried my father?" she asked the next day.
"Not yet, I don't believe," I answered, studying her face, trying to figure out why she wanted to know. "They will in the next day or so. Is there anything you'd like me to do?"
"Could you please get me a pen and paper?"
I had it fetched, watching in puzzlement as she scribbled a few sentences on the paper, then folded it carefully and handed it to me.
"Could you please have that buried with him?"
"Yes of course." I recalled a rather important detail. "He's actually being cremated, unless you object."