“Where would we go?”
“I don’t know.”
“What would we do for money?”
“I don’t know.” Elle was quickly running out of the cash she’d had with her.
“Where would we stay?”
“I don’t know. But I can’t walk through that door without you.”
“Okay then,” Kyrie said.
“Okay what?”
“Okay. If you can’t leave without me, then I’ll go with you.”
“You’re serious,” Elle said, not quite believing her.
“I am. Now how many points do I get for getting my sister’s agent interested in your book?”
Elle shook her head. “I don’t know. Infinity points.” She pressed the letter to her chest.
“Then I win,” Kyrie said. “You have to tell me why you left him.”
The joy went out of the room.
“Why do you want to know?” Elle asked as she folded the letter up and slipped it back in the envelope. She would keep this letter all her life.
“Because it’s the one thing you won’t tell me. And if I’m leaving here with you, I want to know the truth about why you’re here. I want to know the truth about you. All of it. If I can walk out of this place—this place that’s my home now—then the least you can do is tell me the truth about you and him.”
“It’s not important.”
“If it wasn’t important you would have told me already.”
“Fine. It is important but it doesn’t matter to us.”
“It matters to me. It matters that you’re keeping something life-altering from me. If I’m leaving my life because of you, you have to tell me why you left your life because of him. If we’re going to be together, we can’t keep secrets from each other.”
Elle took a long heavy breath and looked away from Kyrie. At the front of the oratory near the ceiling was an octagon-shaped clear window. The moon shone through the window. A moon like a Cheshire cat’s smile. Wonderland was out there, outside the door.
But there were Jabberwockys out in Wonderland. Kyrie was right. If she was to leave the safety of the abbey behind, she needed to know what was out there.
“Fine. You want to know why I left him. This is why.”
She picked up her little makeshift cane and broke it into three pieces. She dropped the three pieces in front of Kyrie on the blanket.
“He broke something?” Kyrie asked.
“Yes,” Elle said, staring at the broken twigs of nothing on the ground.
“He broke a cane?”
“No,” Elle said. “He broke me.”
29
SØREN WAS COMING home and Elle wanted to be there when he arrived. Someone from Kingsley’s entourage would pick him up at the airport in the Rolls, as usual, and drive him to the rectory in Wakefield. Kingsley himself might go and meet him. She’d asked him not to. She wanted to be the one to tell Søren what had happened while he was gone. But she never knew with Kingsley whose side he would take. Sometimes hers. Sometimes Søren’s.
More often than not Kingsley took Kingsley’s side.
She borrowed Kingsley’s BMW and drove it to Søren’s. A few times she had to stop, pull over and throw up on the side of the road. Lucky for the road it had started to rain.
When she arrived at last, she was light-headed with dehydration and exhaustion. The overnight bag she had over her shoulder felt like a lead weight she could scarcely carry. She dragged herself up the single set of stairs in Søren’s rectory, smiling with a tiredness that bordered on delirium. Her first night with Søren he’d carried her up these stairs. She’d kill for someone to carry her now.
Elle went to the bedroom first and unlocked the box that contained her collar. She didn’t put it on. She just wanted it. For five minutes she lay on his bed before rushing to the bathroom to throw up again. Afterward she stretched out on the floor. It felt oddly comforting, lying there with the cool clean tile pressing against her burning skin. She breathed through her nose, which helped alleviate some of her nausea. The cramps came and went and she ignored them when she could, accepted them when she couldn’t. And when at last she was cool enough and comfortable enough to almost fall asleep, she heard footsteps on the stairs.
She struggled into a sitting position when Søren called out her name.
“I’m here,” she called back. “In the bathroom. You can come in.”
Her heart was pounding now. She hadn’t seen him in ten weeks and so much had happened. She started to stand but a wave of light-headedness hit her so she stayed on the floor. Søren opened the door and whatever pleasure had been in his eyes a split second earlier evaporated with one look at her.
“I’m sick,” she said. “Not contagious.”
She didn’t know why she’d added that part at the end about not being contagious. If she’d had leprosy, Søren still would have done what he’d done just then. He shrugged out of his coat and tossed it onto the floor behind him, came down to his knees and pulled her into his arms.
It hurt. Moving hurt. Breathing hurt. Being loved and held by him hurt.
“What’s wrong, Little One?” he asked in her ear. He smoothed her hair back, tucked it behind her ear, kissed her forehead. All the actions of a loving father.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Tell me anyway. It’s an order.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, trying to smile for him, but she didn’t have any smiles left in her. Not even for him. “It wasn’t yours. You should know that first.”
“What wasn’t mine?”
And it seemed as soon as he asked the question he knew the answer. Before she could speak again, explain herself, his eyes closed and he let out a breath.
“Kingsley’s.” It wasn’t a question.
“Kingsley’s,” she said. “I went to the doctor yesterday. They gave me pills.”
“You went to the doctor.” His voice was devoid of emotion. “Who did you go with?”
“Kingsley’s driver took me,” she said.
“Did Kingsley go with you?”
“You know how much he hates doctors.”
Søren didn’t say anything.
“It’ll take a few days for it to all work out,” she continued. “The nausea’s normal, the doctor said. And the cramping. I’m bleeding pretty heavy, but that’s normal, too. And...”
And she stopped talking. She’d lost her train of thought and it didn’t matter anyway. Søren’s back rested against the bathroom door, and she lay across his lap, in his arms, tired and helpless as a child.
“I’m sorry,” she said at last, and then the tears came. “I’m so sorry.”
Her body shook with her tears, which set off spasms of pain in her back and stomach. But she couldn’t stop crying, not now that she was in Søren’s arms. He tried to console her, to comfort her, but it was useless. Everything hurt, inside and out. Over the sound of her own racking sobs, she heard his voice speaking to her in soft murmurs.
“I love you, Little One. Now and always. And nothing you can do will take my love away from you. I will never leave you. You’re mine now and always...”
And still she cried. She cried until sheer exhaustion silenced her sobbing.
She could have fallen asleep right there in his arms on the floor of his bathroom. She should have fallen asleep. She needed sleep. It had been twenty-four hours or more since she’d slept.
“We’ll be married,” Søren said.
Elle came instantly awake.
“What?”
“I said we will be married. You and I.”
“Married? Are you serious?”
“Of course I am.”
Married? Her and Søren? Husband and wife? It was tempting, she had to admit, if only to herself. They had never talked about getting married before, but as soon as he said the word she had a vision of it. Søren in a tuxedo. She would be in a dress—off-white, not pure white. And Kingsley would stand next to Søren, his best man. Søren’s confes
sor, Father Ballard, would perform the ceremony. Søren’s mother would come, of course. And his sisters, maybe even Elizabeth. They’d honeymoon in Denmark. They might move in with Kingsley when they got back to New York. Knowing his sister Claire and how much she wanted Søren to leave the priesthood, she’d buy them a house of their own as a wedding gift. They could go out in public together whenever they wanted. That would be nice. They could have kids, too. Did Søren even want children? He’d never said anything to her about it. Obviously she didn’t want kids. If she did she wouldn’t be sitting here on the bathroom floor in the worst pain of her life. They’d have to do something for money, of course. Søren could work at the United Nations as a translator. She would...what? What did she want to do?
Not get married. That’s what she wanted to do. She hadn’t even figured out who Eleanor Schreiber was yet. How the fuck was she supposed to be Eleanor Stearns?
“No,” Eleanor said. “I’m not marrying you.”
“It’s not up for discussion.”
“Of course it’s up for discussion. Why in hell do you think getting married is going to solve anything?”
“I can’t leave you alone anymore. I leave you alone too much. If I had been here, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“If you had been here, it might have been yours.”
“And you wouldn’t have gone through this alone. I’ll call the bishop now.”
He stood up off the floor. Elle reached out and grabbed his leg at the ankle.
“Søren, no.”
He looked down at her as if he couldn’t understand what it was that had grabbed his leg.
“Eleanor, let go. I have to make a phone call.”
“Don’t call him. Calm down. Getting married isn’t going to make this go away.”
“I’m perfectly calm. This will give me peace of mind, which is more than I have now. I thought I could trust you with Kingsley. That was my mistake. It won’t happen again.”
He started off down the hall and Elle fought her exhaustion and pain to get to her feet. But she did stand and she stood up straight. She followed Søren down the hall to his bedroom. He’d already picked up the phone. She slapped her hand down on the receiver to hang up the call.
“I’m not marrying you,” Elle said. “So don’t even bother calling anyone.”
“I’ve made my decision.”
“It’s not your decision to make. Marriage takes two people. I said no.”
“You’re exhausted, you’re ill and you’ve been through something traumatic. You’re not thinking clearly right now.”
“I’m not the one out of my damn mind right now. I am not going to marry you. No. Not now. Not ever. You are a Catholic priest. You can’t get married.”
“I’ll leave the priesthood.”
“You will do no such thing,” she said, standing as straight as she could despite the pain in her stomach and back. “God and I made a deal a long time ago. If He’d let us be together, I would never take you from the Church. I plan on keeping that promise.”
“And I’ll keep mine. I promised I would do anything to protect you. I will.”
“I don’t need protection. I don’t need to get married.”
“What you want is immaterial in this matter. Go to bed. I will handle this.”
“Immaterial? Have you forgotten I am a twenty-six-year-old adult woman and not a child? You do not get to decide what I do.”
“Of course I do. I own you.”
“You own me. That’s fine when we’re in bed. That’s fine when I’ve got my collar on. It’s not fine when you’re telling me I have to marry someone I don’t want to marry.”
“You promised you would obey me forever. Did you not make me that promise?”
“When I was fifteen. Do you think I’m still fifteen?”
“You’re certainly acting like it.”
“I promised God I would never take you from the Church. That’s a deal He and I made when I was seventeen.”
“I think I know what God wants for my life more than you do,” he said.
“And I know what God wants for my life better than you do.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Oh, you arrogant prick,” she said. “You might be a priest but that doesn’t mean you know more about me and God than I do. I have my own faith. It’s mine and not yours.” And here she broke into furious tears that she just as furiously wiped from her face. “And you can’t take it away from me. I won’t let you.”
Søren ignored her and picked up the phone again. Once more Eleanor slammed her hand down to cut off the call.
“Eleanor, I will handcuff you to the bed if I have to,” he said.
“Don’t you dare lay a hand on me when you’re like this,” she said, pointing at the center of his chest. “You are out of control.”
“I have never been more in control. You are the one being irrational and emotional.”
“I had an abortion, which means not only did I break Kingsley’s heart, I’m also excommunicated. I’m allowed to be emotional right now. But there is nothing irrational about me not wanting to marry you. That might be the most rational decision I’ve ever made. You are a Catholic priest who loves being a priest. You are called to the priesthood. If you’ve told me once, you have told me a thousand times how happy being a priest makes you. You will be miserable if you leave the church. I know you. Being married to me will not make you happier than being a priest does. It’s your calling. Marrying me is not your calling.”
“My happiness is also immaterial to this discussion.”
“Not to me, it isn’t. I will not let you resent me for the rest of our lives together, because I let you do something in a fit of madness that can’t be undone. I will leave you before I let you throw your happiness away on some misguided attempt to make an honest woman out of me. Søren—that ship has sailed.”
He met her eyes and looked down into her face. He was a wall, a granite wall, concrete and steel-reinforced.
“I have made my decision,” he said as coldly as he’d ever said anything to her.
Eleanor bent down and unzipped her duffel bag. From it she pulled out the riding crop Kingsley had given her. She took it by the handle, and when Søren reached for the phone again she slapped it hard against the table.
“I topped Kingsley while you were gone,” she said in answer to the look of confusion he gave her.
“You did what?”
“I topped Kingsley while you were gone,” she repeated. “Several times. I hurt him. I beat him, cut him, burned him and fucked him up the ass with a strap-on. And I loved it.”
“You loved it.”
“I loved it. I loved every second of it. I was scared at first. But once I started, I couldn’t stop. The more I hurt him, the more I wanted to hurt him. He bought me this riding crop as a gift, and I used it on him.”
“I see.”
“I’m a Switch,” she said. “Maybe not even a Switch. Maybe I’m a Dominant and it took me this long to figure it out. But I’m not a sub. If I know anything, I know that.”
“Then what, pray tell, have we been doing together for the past six years?”
“I love submitting to you. Most of the time. Tonight, I hate it. I loved dominating Kingsley. I want to do it again. I want to do it with other people. I want to have a submissive of my own—maybe Kingsley if he’ll let me—and I want to hurt him as much