After I finished, I went off to shower and put on the clothes he had laid out for me. He was on the phone with Linda and the kids when I came out of the bathroom. For a few minutes, I watched. He laughed at something Elizabeth said and when she passed the phone to Henry, I heard his, “Mama. Dada,” from where I stood.

He told everyone good-bye and then passed the phone to me. I talked with Elizabeth first, who bemoaned the fact that Henry’s obsession with the trash can had led to him throwing away everything he could pick up. She held the phone up to him and his toddler babbles warmed my heart.

“Miss you. I love you. See you soon,” I said.

Nathaniel came up behind me and put his arms around my waist, and I sighed. “It’s hard being away from them,” he said.

“Yes.”

It was always hard to be away, even knowing Nathaniel and I had to take time for ourselves and our marriage. It was easier knowing they were with Linda. They always enjoyed spending time with her and, if Nathaniel and I thought she spoiled them, we also both knew that’s what grandparents were supposed to do.

He kissed the back of my head. “Let’s go see some art.”

He called for a car and since the requirements he’d put in place for the cocktail party were in place today, I smiled at the driver, but didn’t speak. Once we were inside the car, I sat beside Nathaniel and rested my hand on his knee.

We drove in silence to the gallery. We didn’t get much silence with kids in the house. I loved their giggles and chatter, but there was something to be said for quiet, too.

I’d always thought simply being in another person’s presence and enjoying the stillness with them held its own kind of intimacy. Nathaniel reached down to where my hand rested on his knee and entwined his fingers with mine. I squeezed his hand gently in acknowledgment and laid my head on his shoulder. I actually wished the gallery was farther away.

I loved art galleries, though, and I was excited about this one. I discovered my fondness of art not long after we got married. Exploring galleries must be similar to how a treasure hunter feels when he finds a chest: you never knew what treat you’d find inside.

For me, it was all about impression and the emotion a painting evoked. I never judged something on what the world said it was worth. In fact, our dining room held a painting I found in an antique store for fifteen dollars three years ago. I told Nathaniel it made me feel happy when I looked at it. Frankly, he thought it looked like any other landscape, but then again, he wasn’t much into art.

When we pulled up to the gallery, he held the door open for me and whispered, “I’m looking for something to go in the playroom and I’d like your opinion.”

I stopped in my tracks. “The playroom, Sir?”

Putting a hand at the small of my back, he guided me inside. “Yes. I think the walls are too bare. I’d like some inspiration.”

I couldn’t imagine what kind of artwork he’d put in the playroom. Certainly nothing we saw as we walked through. There were several lovely pieces, but nothing that stood out.

Nathaniel spoke to the curator and he led us to a small back room. I wasn’t prepared for what I saw and I stood in awe for a long minute.

The room was filled with erotic black-and-white photographs. Or else, they might have been erotic if they showed what they hinted at. Technically speaking, they were only suggestive.

I exhaled deeply and walked up to one, a shot of a submissive’s back, bound by intrinsically woven ropes. “Master, it’s beautiful.”

“Why don’t you look around and let me know if you see something you like.”

I was thrilled by the idea of exploring the pictures alone. Not that I didn’t want to share my thoughts with Nathaniel, but seeing the pictures evoked such a response from me. I supposed it was because they were all of submissives and I related in some way to every one of them.

I strolled from picture to picture, noting how carefully the photographer had worked with the light. He used the shadows and the darkness in a way that transformed the women he photographed. And the emotion he captured took my breath away.

“Abigail,” Nathaniel said. “Come here for a moment.”

He was talking with a man and they both watched me as I approached. The strange man was devilishly handsome with wavy brown hair and blue eyes that almost seemed to be laughing. As if he had a secret I wasn’t in on.

“Abigail, this is the gallery’s owner and the man behind the camera.”

“Pleased to meet you,” he said, shaking my hand in a smooth-as-silk voice I recognized immediately. He was the third guy from the previous day. I faltered, just for a second. Should I say something about yesterday? Or just act as normal as possible? Did I even have permission to speak?