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“It’s almost six a.m.”
Mitch squeezed the dip in Vanessa’s hip. “Come and reclaim your Michelle. I dare you.”
She almost didn’t think Vanessa would.
Epilogue
Aftermonthsofbeingharassed by this and that agent at the FBI, subpoenas to judges’ chambers, and dodging the media and the questions of their genuine friends, Vanessa finally breathed the fresh forest air easily.
They were free. For now.
Candace was set to stand trial starting that summer, her name dragged through the mud, her legitimate businesses either closed or sold, and the media having a field day with all of her charges. A large number of her clients had been located thanks to meticulous lists from the office vault Mitch helped the FBI decipher, but only the Americans were interviewed and offered plea deals or jail time of their own… assuming it could be proven that they didn’t know what was going on. Money talked, and many of Candace’s American clients were wealthy beyond belief.
As for Mitch and Vanessa? Not only were their trumped-up charges dropped as promised, but as far as they knew, Candace didn’t know of their involvement with the investigation. Which meant they could probably assume that they would not be at the top of the revenge chart Candace inevitably plotted while wearing an ankle bracelet in her manor.
People told Vanessa that they had always known there was something shady about that woman. Others admitted they had been to the club and never returned after realizing it was nothing more than a brothel. Yet too many – more than was feasible – exclaimed that they would never engage in such terrible trades.
Vanessa assumed some of them were lying. Mitch confirmed it in private.
“I saw them at the club more than once,” she had said to Vanessa, and sometimes, to the FBI. “Yes, they indulged.”
Their therapists had never been so busy. Besides the intense stress of the situation and what they had both – but especially Mitch – been through, Vanessa cleared what of her schedule she could so she and her partner could talk through things with professionals. They needed it.
Because it wasn’t just their mental fortitude on the line. They had faltered as a couple as well.
Vanessa continued to worry that she couldn’t live up to what Mitch needed in a Mistress, which her partner constantly assured her wasn’t true. Mitch occasionally woke up in the middle of the night and dealt with her PTSD-related insomnia by staring out darkened windows and slowly rocking in her chair. Old wounds had been reopened and new ones festered. Vanessa took heart that they had technically been through worse.
Even when a trip to the hospital informed her that her ribs were merely bruised, not broken, Vanessa swore to take it easy. She cut back on how often she went out and asked friends to visit her instead of the other way around. This worked out well, since she had many good acquaintances around the west coast in need of an excuse to visit the San Francisco area, and Vanessa had plenty of guest rooms to accommodate more than one at once. As the winter continued to be windy, foggy, and rainy, and interspersed her interviews with legal authorities with roaring fireplaces, good conversation, and delicious cocktails. All the better if Mitch felt at ease around their friends as well. The more Mitch could be her true, daily self, the happier Vanessa was as well.
Yet it wasn’t until the earliest days of spring when the weather had not quite turned sunny, that they finally got out of town for more than a night. The renovations were completed at Erica’s country estate, and she offered the whole place to Vanessa and Mitch in exchange for their honest feedback.
It was difficult to focus on the checklist provided in the foyer when they were too over the moon at not having a soul near them. Not for at least five miles.
Luke was told to take a vacation. Maria was off to her daughter’s wedding in Arizona. There were no security personnel, no servants, and not even much reception since the internet company was once again trying to get the fiber line up to speed for Erica’s purposes. Their van was only on the property for one day, though. Vanessa never saw them. Mitch peered at them from the attic window, claiming it was the biggest amusement she had all week.
Vanessa didn’t take that personally, but it told her they should step up some things.
“You’ll never guess who emailed me…” She stepped onto the veranda, where Mitch stretched her legs in preparation for a late afternoon run through the wooded trail. “The Dark Hour. Sounds like they’re having a party, and they want us there.”
Mitch finished lunging one leg against the back steps and checked the knots in her laces before switching feet. “How much?”
Vanessa chuckled. “That’s what you care about? Not what they want from us? Not whether it’s time to jump back in or not?”
Mitch stretched her arms forward, fingers close enough to tap on Vanessa’s boots. “I just want to know if it’s worth it before I even hear it.”
“They didn’t bandy about a price yet. I’m assuming it’s their usual offer.”
“Okay, so what do they want?”
Vanessa sipped hot coffee from a mug. “They want Michelle more than me.”
“Duh. It’s The Dark Hour. The only club that throws wilder parties is in New York.”
“Last time they gave me five and you ten.” Vanessa meant thousand. That was the kind of money the Monroes threw around when they wanted to entertain some of their biggest “friends” from Europe.All above board, of course.Vanessa wouldn’t have thought about it that way until Candace came into their lives. Because at clubs like The Dark Hour, there was a metric ton of paperwork to sign before performing or working a room. Sometimes, they were required to give verbal consent on video after a list of expectations was read out loud to them. Their lawyer always had a heart attack to hear this.I don’t pay him for his judgments, though.Vanessa paid him for his consul, and he excelled there if this whole ordeal had anything to say about it.
“Yeah, but we have to pay for our hotel and airfare.”
Vanessa offered her partner a sip of coffee. Mitch shook her head. “I still don’t think that’s the biggest point of debate. We have to discuss what you’re comfortable with doing again. This would be the first time we’ve done something like this since… well, Lister.”
