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Jasmine’s perfectly shaped brow arches. I’m being weird about this. She glides her fingers through the petals of a fat pink rose.
“Well,” she says, “whatever he is, he’s obviously proud of you.”
A real and genuine smile pulls at my lips.
I’ve made Aidan proud.
I change the water in Aidan’s roses daily to help them last the week.
The Friday morning before spring break, Jen texts to let me know when Benjamin will be coming to get me the next day. She says she’s looking forward to my return, and I can hardly contain my excitement about getting back.
After the way we left things, I don’t know how tense the atmosphere will be between Aidan and me. But I’d rather be in the thick of it with him than be away from him with all my unanswered questions.
I go to class and try to pay attention. My teachers seem determined to outdo each other in terms of reading and homework assignments. Because we’re a private boarding school, our semesters are more intense, but it also means our spring break is two weeks instead of one. Judging by the reading lists, it looks like I’ll be spending most of that time with a book in my lap.
I rush back to the dorms after my last class to get ready for ballet practice. As I come through the door, I see Jasmine lounging on her bed, still dressed in her school uniform.
“Gina canceled practice,” Jasmine says. “Apparently her kid’s got the flu.”
I lower my bag to the floor. “I guess that gives us more time to pack.”
“I’m doing most of my packing tomorrow. Want to grab dinner in town? I just got my period and I’m craving Pad Thai like a pregnant woman.”
At the mention of dinner, I think about Paolo’s cooking, and how much I’m looking forward to having dinner with Aidan again. I miss him. I can’t wait to hear his voice, and feel the weight of his gaze on my skin.
So, why should I?
Ballet practice is canceled. I can catch an Uber tonight and save Benjamin the trip tomorrow. I can sit down with Aidan and clear the air between us. Not in so many words, since it would be way too embarrassing. But I want him to know that I don’t think he’s a bad person.
If he is into BDSM, then my initial assessment of him was spot-on. He wasn’t hurting Fiona out of anger or cruelty. Dominance and submission are a dance, a practice, not unlike my own.
Getting hit hurts, and so does pushing your body’s physical limits. Some days my muscles ache so badly, I can barely manage to crawl out of bed. My ballet instructor once joked that if the audience knew how much pain we put ourselves through in the name of art, only sadists would come to our shows.
If Aidan is a sadist, shouldn’t it count for something that he’s only hurting masochists who come to his house of their own free will?
I think it should.
“Actually,” I say, “I think I’m going to head back tonight.”
I text Jen to let her know I’m coming home early. It doesn’t take long to get my things together. I don’t realize I’m still wearing my school uniform until I’ve already packed away most of my clothes. Technically, Uber drivers aren’t supposed to take riders under eighteen, but Jasmine and I get around that rule by having them pick us up and drop us off in a neighboring church’s parking lot.
The older woman who pulls up in front of the church side-eyes my plaid skirt, but doesn’t mention it. Jen doesn’t text me back the whole hour-long ride to Aidan’s house. It seems too early for her to be in bed, but she does like to get a jump on the day.
I assume I’ll have to get out at the gate and walk up to the house. But as we approach the entrance, the gate stands open. We make the turn.
“Looks like someone’s having a party,” my Uber driver says.
I note the cars parked along the curved drive and the lights pouring out of almost every window on this side of the house.
The driver drops me at the front door and I go inside.
Instrumental music plays from somewhere within the house. I didn’t know Aidan had a sound system, but then, it’s not like he had a reason to use it. Two men who look to be in their mid-twenties greet me with subtle bows. I’ve never seen either of them before, and both seem to be actively avoiding eye contact with me.
“May I take your coat, Miss?” asks the man with a pierced eyebrow.
“Um, sure.” I set my bags down, shrug out of my winter coat, and let him take it from me.
The other man, slightly shorter and fuller-figured, gestures to my bags. “Would you like us to hold onto your gear?”
