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“Goodnight,” I say, too late and too quiet for him to hear me.
I have no right to feel disappointed. It’s not like he promised me something and then took it away. Still, there’s an emptiness in my chest that wasn’t there a moment ago. I should go to bed. I should sleep so tomorrow can come, and I can get out of here before I make a massive fool of myself.
As I pad down the hall toward the stairs, I hear a series of soft knocks coming from the direction of the foyer. I head toward the sound, then stop when I hear the front door swish open.
“Aidan,” says a woman with a lilting Irish brogue. “It’s been a long time since you called.”
“Indeed, Fiona, it has.” Aidan steps aside to let a woman I’ve never seen before into the house. Her dark hair is streaked with silver and pulled back into a ponytail. She’s dressed stylishly, in a white wool coat and black ankle boots over black tights.
I hang back in the shadows as she slips her coat off and hands it to Aidan, revealing a form-fitting sweater dress with a vee-shaped neckline. From this distance, I’d say she looks to be in her late forties, possibly early fifties. Older than Aidan by a handful of years, at least. Not that she doesn’t look good; she’s soft and voluptuous in ways my body simply can’t be while I’m training to be a professional dancer.
“I was starting to think you’d found yourself a permanent girl to serve you,” Fiona says.
“The only girl I need is the one who comes when I call.”
“Now, that’s a shame, love.” She tsks him. “You work hard, and you deserve to be satisfied on a regular basis.”
“But then I wouldn’t get to enjoy these fleeting interludes with your charming self.”
“Once Jacob retires, I have a feeling he’ll want me all to himself,” Fiona says with a smile. “Besides, what sort of friend would I be if I wasn’t willing to sacrifice my own momentary pleasure for your ultimate satisfaction? Not tonight, of course. I’m already here, and in my good tights, no less.”
Aidan hangs Fiona’s coat on the rack in the foyer and then motions for her to walk ahead of him. She’s obviously been here before, because she doesn’t need to ask him where the stairs are.
Jealousy tickles the back of my throat like an imminent cough as I watch them ascend. Her wedding ring glints as she glides her hand along the banister. Who is Fiona to Aidan? She called herself his friend, but she also used words like pleasure and satisfaction. Words with sexual undertones. Is Jacob her husband? Does he know she’s here now? And if she is Aidan’s friend, why didn’t he tell me she was coming over?
I remind myself that none of this is my business. I’m staying in Aidan’s house, but that doesn’t mean he has to keep me in the loop on every invitation he extends. He had a life before me, and he’ll continue living that life after I’ve returned to school.
I have no right to feel jealous of Aidan’s friends, or girlfriends, or friends with benefits, or whatever this Fiona person might be.
He’s my guardian, not my boyfriend; it’s not my place to feel territorial.
I refill my water bottle in the kitchen and then make my way upstairs. I’m about to head to my room when I hear a distinctly feminine cry coming from the east wing of the house.
It’s a sound I’ve heard before, one that turns my stomach.
No, it’s not possible. Aidan would never hurt a woman...
But the cry comes again, clear as ice.
My pulse races. I move silently in my pointe shoes toward the sound.
There’s a series of slaps, followed by a whimper. A chill runs down my back like ice-cold rain. I use the sound to navigate to a closed door at the end of a long hall.
Holding my breath, I press my ear to the door.
I hear a thud, trailed immediately by a whimper.
Aidan must be hurting her. What else could explain those sounds?
Tears collect behind my closed eyelids. I don’t want to believe he’s capable of hurting a woman, but I can’t unhear the violence that’s obviously taking place behind this door. I recall what he said maybe ten minutes earlier on the treadmill, that he was warming up for this, and my stomach seizes.
How could I have been so wrong about him? I thought he was nothing like my father, when the truth is, they’re cut from the same cloth.
A moan rings out, then the desperate request, “Please, Sir, can I have another?”
I gape at the door. That didn’t sound anything like what I’m used to hearing. It sounded like Fiona was asking—no, begging—him to hit her.
Why would she want him to hurt her? I return my ear to the door and listen intently. Aidan says something I can’t quite decipher. A succession of firm slaps and hearty moans rings out.
