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"I want you to come with me."
I shook my head. "Africa was so hard for me."
He brushed hair off my cheek. "Not where we'll be. Kenya is so beautiful, Kate. Where I'll work, it's so full of hope and promise. You'll love it. The wildlife is spectacular. You could work on your art, your photography, write…"
"I haven't finished my MA."
"You can take a leave of absence. When we come back, you could finish it."
"What would I go as? Your submissive?"
"As my love. As the woman I can't live without. And, when we wanted it, and needed it, as my submissive."
I sighed, my eyes still brimming, and leaned against him, my face in the crook of his neck, his cologne filling my nose, his warmth, his strength, soothing me.
When a guest arrived at the front door, Drake took my hand and led me to the bathroom, closing the door behind us. He made me sit on the vanity while he rifled through the drawers in search of a washcloth, which he ran under cold water. Then, he held it to my eyes and leaned against me, his gaze so comforting – his eyes so tender. Only less than two months ago, I could barely bring myself to look in his eyes, but now, I wanted to look in them.
I was surprised at what a caregi
ver he was, thinking that surgeons were usually a bit distant but that was the story of our relationship – from that first night at the bar when he saved me from a fall, to the fundraiser when he tended my wounds, to the concert when he wiped my tears, to the Bahamas when he cut me out of the wetsuit and applied aloe vera to my burns, to the ER when he bandaged me up.
I just let him look after me, my happiness almost too much to bear, bringing more tears to my eyes. I had to breathe in deeply to calm myself.
Finally, I was able to regain control and let him wipe my face. I reapplied some makeup while he watched.
"You don’t have to stay with me for this," I said and I applied foundation to cover up my red nose.
"I forgot how much I love watching a woman dress and put on her face. It's so intimate."
"You used to like it?"
He smiled, his smile a bit wistful. "When I was married."
I said nothing, even though I wanted to hear more about his marriage. I didn't want to push him to talk about what was such a painful memory.
But he seemed to want to tell me. While I applied my mascara, he sat on the edge of the bathtub and watched me in the mirror.
"I used to watch her in the morning before she went to work."
"What did she do?"
"A nurse – of course. Who else do doctors spend so much time with? We worked together at NYP. If the nurses have a bad opinion of me, it's because of the divorce. It split them into two camps – those who still liked me and those who hated me because of the split."
"Sorry to hear that. It's hard to stay neutral in a divorce."
I applied a bit of lip gloss and then I turned around, leaning against the vanity and watched him. He seemed to want to keep talking.
"I thought I'd never make the same mistake as my father, but I made every single one. He neglected my mother, he was so busy with his business and with his charity and his music, she finally gave up and left him."
"She didn't keep in contact with you?"
He shook his head. "My dad won custody. He had a really great lawyer…"
"Who?" I said, my eyes widening. "My father?"
He nodded. "Yep. Your father was working in Family Court then and advised my dad. My dad was just really starting to make money and was able to hire nannies and housekeepers to look after me. The judge thought I'd have a better life with my dad even if it meant I was kept away from my mother. She left and went back to California where her family was, remarried and that was it. My father never remarried."
"I'm so sorry, Drake. To grow up without a mother…"
