She snorted. It was a normal sound. Abeforesound. They both heard it. They both held still for a second, as if the normalcy of it was something delicate that might shatter if they acknowledged it too directly.
Bethany sat on the edge of the guest bed and pulled her legs up and for a while they just existed in the same room, the way siblings do, not talking, not needing to, just being proximate in a way that was different from a mother's proximity because it came without the weight of responsibility. Bethany wasn't watching over him. She was just there.
"How bad is it really?" Amani asked. "The bar."
Bethany chewed her lip. "It's not great. Reza’s realized how much he relies on you, but he’s trying hard. Marco can handle the basic stuff but half the regulars order things he's never heard of and he keeps having to look them up on his phone. Danny ordered a Negroni last night and Marco made him a mojito."
"Those aren't even close to the same thing."
"I know. Danny was very confused."
Amani pressed his palms against his eyes. The bar was his. It had been his since he was sixteen, since Lady Leo trusted him enough to let him stand behind it and learn the craft of knowing what people needed before they asked. He knew every regular's order, every allergy, every preference. He knew who was drinking too much and who was nursing one glass because they were there for the community, not the alcohol. He knew which Doms liked their whiskey neat and which subs would order something sweet and then stare at it for an hour without drinking because they were working up the nerve to go into the play rooms. The bar was the nerve center of KK and it was his and someone was making mojitos when people asked for Negronis and the thought of it made him feel something that was almost anger, which was the closest thing to his old self he'd felt in days.
"I'm going back," he said. "Soon."
Bethany's face went through a quick sequence: relief, then worry, then the careful neutral expression she'd clearly been practicing. "You should talk to Mom first."
"I'm not asking permission."
"I know. But you should still talk to her. She's got—" Bethany stopped.
"She's got what?"
"Ideas."
Amani's stomach dropped. "What kind of ideas?"
Bethany held up both hands. "I am not getting in the middle of this. Talk to Mom." She hopped off the bed and headed for the door. "I'm going to the club. Text me if you need anything."
She was gone before he could press her further, a move she'd learned directly from Lady Leo, equally infuriating in both of them.
***
The argument happened after dinner.
Lady Leo had made chicken. Actual, real, properly cooked chicken with roasted vegetables and garlic bread, and Amani had eaten more than he'd eaten at any single meal since coming home. The food was good and the table was set with the regular plates, not the gold-rimmed ones. His mother had kept her distance all afternoon. He could feel the effort it cost her in the careful way she held herself, like someone standing at the edge of a pool trying not to jump in.
Over coffee, she'd made coffee, which she only did when she intended to have a serious conversation because Lady Leo believed that difficult discussions required caffeine, she said, "I've been thinking about the business."
Amani wrapped his hands around his mug and waited.
"Kinky Kritters is growing. We've been at capacity three nights a week for the past two months. The membership waitlist is longer than it's ever been. The financial side needs more attention than I can give it alone. The vendor contracts, the licensing, the tax structure. Bethany's been learning some of it but she's still at the front desk most nights. She can't do both."
She paused. Took a sip of coffee. This was the wind-up and they both knew it.
"I'd like you to move into a management role. The business side. You're smart, you know the operation better than anyone, and the work can be done from the office. You wouldn't need to be on the floor."
There it was.
Amani set his mug down. He did it carefully, because if he set it down the way he wanted to set it down, hard, emphatic, loud, the mug would break and his mother would worry about his hands instead of listening to what he was saying.
"You want to take me off the bar."
"I want to give you a role that uses your skills and doesn't require you to stand on injured feet for hours in a room full of—" She stopped herself. Reconsidered. Started again. "It's an opportunity, Amani. It's not a punishment."
"It is a punishment. You're punishing me for getting kidnapped."
The words landed between them like a slap. Lady Leo's face went rigid. For a terrible second Amani thought she was going to cry, which would have been worse than anything Grainger had done to him because Lady Leo did not cry and if she cried it would be his fault and he would never forgive himself for it.
