Page 186 of What We Become

“For the record,” he says, turning back to me, “if you ever do lock me in a room with whips, I’d like at least twenty minutes’ notice so I can prepare emotionally and choose an appropriate safe word.”

“Noted.”

“Something literary. ‘Proust,’ maybe. Or ‘Dostoevsky.’ Something that kills the mood so completely there’s no coming back.”

“Go sit at the bar, Milo.”

He goes. I follow. I make the drink.

Disgusting. Blue.

He drinks it without complaint.

I stay close enough to watch his hands finally stop shaking.

FORTY-THREE

HOLDEN

“She’s been up there forty minutes,” Milo says, checking his phone. “Do we think she’s okay, or has the outfit achieved sentience and consumed her?”

“Give her time,” Micah says from the kitchen, adjusting his cufflinks. He looks good—charcoal suit, open collar, effortlessly stunning in the way only someone built like Micah could pull off.

We’re all downstairs. Waiting.

Milo is draped over the arm of the couch like an invalid in a navy silk suit minus the shirt and tie. Eli stands by the mantel in a black suit that makes him look like sin with a teaching license. Knox is a wall in dark gray, broad enough to make the foyer seem smaller. I’m in black. Always black. Tailored enough that nothing catches when I move.

I check my watch.

“She said she’d be down when she was down,” Eli says.

“That was twenty-three minutes ago,” Milo replies. “Then twelve minutes ago she called out ‘almost.’ ‘Almost’ is one of those words women use the way law enforcement uses ‘active investigation.’ It means nothing and can last for years.”

Micah laughs softly.

I don’t. But only because if I start, I’ll give away too much. The truth is I don’t mind waiting. Not tonight. Not for this.

All five of us are dressed for the same woman, every line of the evening arranged around her before she even comes down the stairs. Fenrir has the live watch, Milo’s external relay remains isolated, and every flagged device has been hardened. At four this afternoon, I closed the laptop and told myself tonight belongs to her.

It does.

The rest can wait until morning.

Milo checks his phone again. “Should we send in a rescue team?”

“No,” I say.

“Wow. Cold. What if she’s gotten tangled in her shapewear and can’t reach the zipper?”

Micah lifts a brow. “Sage isn’t wearing shapewear tonight. Not where we’re going.”

“You’re right. Holden, tell me you put some crotchless panties in that fancy dress box you gave kitten earlier.”

I’m about to open my mouth and tell him to wait and find out along with everyone else when the stairs creak.

Every head turns.

Sage descends, and the room goes silent.