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“Why?” he said, his voice hoarse. He looked rough, like he’d had no sleep for several days. Harry’s head hit the wall beside the photo. His eyes filled with sadness. “I didn’t know it was for a feature, Faith. I thought you were there because you wanted to be.”
“What?” I said, so damn confused I was starting to believe I was in a parallel universe. One where everyone talked in riddles.
“I tried to give you hints. I…” Harry ran his hands over his face. He was gray in pallor, and he had stubble on his normally clean-shaven cheeks. “I couldn’t tell you. I thought I could fuck you out of my system as him, then walk away and get you out of my head after all these years. Finally.” I started breathing faster. “But then the elevator happened. And you talked to me. Like a human being and not something you despised.”
“Harry—?”
“I tried to tell you, I promise I did. In the beginning…” He paused, and I saw him smile a little. “Of us. When I dared hope we could go somewhere. But I never found the words. And the more time went on, the deeper we fell, I fell, I couldn’t stand the thought of you hating me.”
“Harry! What the hell are you talking about?”
“I tried to send you hints.” He walked around the desk. “Vie,” he said, naming his mother’s charity, with perfect French pronunciation.
“Your mom’s name? The one the charity is named after?”
“Faith, her name was Aline.”
“Then…?”
“La vie means life in French.” I opened my mouth to ask more questions. I was lost in the swirling fog of questions in my head. “The book,” he said, coming even closer to me. Until he was right there, an inch away, his expression haunted and his voice raspy. “I prayed you would find out, but then at the same time I wished that you wouldn’t.” I inhaled his scent trying to let it calm me. But this time, it didn’t work. “I told you I was trapped. Told you I was in a prison…” One by one the hairs on the back of my neck started to stand on end. A thought, so crazy it couldn’t be true, entered my head with the force of a tsunami.
I needed to think. I needed to fucking think! I moved away from Harry and to the picture frames hanging on his wall. My pulse was racing so fast I felt dizzy. He didn’t want my article published, my article on NOX, but mostly on Maître. I had been requested the first night at NOX to meet Maître. I had assumed it was because of my obvious cold feet in the main room and because of my accident with the sex swings.
I swallowed, trying to wet my dry throat. Then there was Lady Chatterley’s Lover in Harry’s library. And Faith? I need to tell you something. Something about who I am. Harry’s words from Saturday night circled in my head. I lifted my eyes, unable to process the evidence that was repeatedly slapping me in the face, when the photo he had leaned against came into view. I froze, felt my veins ice over. Harry’s mother. I read the caption on the frame of the photograph. Aline Auguste-Sinclair and her son, Harry. St Tropez, France.
Auguste.
I closed my eyes. “Harry?”
“Yes?” he said, quietly.
“Where was your mother from?” When he took too long to answer, I said, “Was it France? Was your mother from France?”
“Oui.” His silky French accent sailed over me like the finest of Hermes scarves. That voice…that voice who was him…I thought of all the nights I’d shared with Maître. The stern master who, in time, had slowly softened. The man who had brought me such pleasure I was truly a slave to his desires.
I turned my head and finally opened my eyes. They collided with Harry’s. “Maître. You’re Maître Auguste.” It wasn’t a question. I knew the answer without his confirmation. Harry nodded and I felt tears rise in my eyes. “You lied to me,” I said, my voice catching with my hurt. “All this time, you were lying to me.”
“Faith, please. Just listen to me—”
“And the feature?” I laughed. It was that or I would give in to my hurt and cry. I wouldn’t fucking cry. I mustn’t. “You dropped the feature because it exposed your club, didn’t you?” Harry stepped forward. “Do not dare come any closer, Harry. Don’t you dare!”
Harry stopped on the spot and raked his fingers through his hair. “I was careless with you, Faith. I was falling for you as both Maître and Harry, and I was in too deep. I told you things I shouldn’t have. I did things with you that weren’t the norm at the club.” I could see him struggling to explain it all. I didn’t care. I needed him to. I needed him to explain every little thing that had led us to this shitshow.
