I was distracted at work that afternoon by the persistent nagging that something was wrong. Or maybe wrong wasn’t the right word, but something was off. I felt even more certain. I had several meetings that afternoon, but fortunately those were run by my senior executives, so all I had to do was show up.

It was close to six when I made it home that night. Any other Friday night, I’d have been smiling as I thought through my plans for the weekend. My plans that night, though, consisted of sitting Abby down and having a long talk before we did anything. I wasn’t sure what, if anything, was wrong, but I intended to find out before collaring her.

She was waiting for me in the foyer. She sat on the plush bench, Apollo at her feet, and gave me a nervous smile when she saw me walking in.

I dropped my briefcase at the door and sat down next to her. We didn’t touch, and the tension between us was palpable.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” I answered back, confused, uncertain, and a little scared. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing urgent,” she said. “I just wanted to talk with you.”

We still weren’t touching, and her words did little to make me feel better.

“I was thinking the same thing,” I said. “Matter of fact, I was going to insist on talking. You haven’t seemed yourself this week.”

She sighed. “The newspaper did a feature on you and your business. Did you see it?”

The newspaper had actually interviewed me weeks ago, and I’d completely forgotten about it. I tried to remember what they’d asked me that would have her acting so strangely.

“No,” I said. “I didn’t see it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t pulling a salary this year?”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you decided not to take a salary?” she repeated.

Oh, right. That.

I shrugged. “It was something I decided before you became my submissive the first time. I guess it never occurred to me to bring it up in conversation.”

“You just didn’t think it was important?”

“No,” I said. “Not really. Why?”

“It’s just confusing for me,” she said. “Who can just decide they don’t need a salary?”

“I’m a wealthy man, Abby.”

“I know,” she said. “I just never realized how wealthy you are.”

“Is my wealth a problem for you?”

“I just need to get used to it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Sometimes, I feel . . . I don’t know.” She stumbled over her words. “It’s like I don’t recognize my life.”

Her words nearly shattered me, and I didn’t know how to respond.

“That sounds horrible,” she said in a rush. “Even to me, because I’ve never been happier. Really. I’ve hesitated saying anything because I didn’t want to sound ungrateful, or unappreciative, or like I didn’t want to be with you.”

My chest grew tight. “You don’t recognize your life?”

She turned to face me. “Damn it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Abby,” I said, forcing myself to remain calm and not to assume the worst. She had, after all, said she wanted to be with me. “I’d much rather you tell me about it than let it sit and fester.” I’d done too much of that in the past. “But I’m still not sure exactly what the problem is.”

“It’s just, I felt useful before. Now I feel somewhat insignificant.”

Insignificant?

“What?” I asked. “How can you feel that way?”

She used her fingers to count. “You don’t need me to clean or keep the house up. You’re completely capable of cooking for yourself. I don’t need to do laundry or grocery shopping. You certainly don’t need my salary. Hell, you don’t need yours. I’m not contributing anything to expenses financially, and I just feel completely insignificant in the middle of all this,” she said with a wave that encompassed the entire foyer.

I thought for a few seconds, unsure what would be the best way to respond and uncertain how to show her the fallacy of her thinking.

Finally, I stood to my feet and held out my hand. “Come with me.”

She tentatively placed her hand in mine, and I gave it a gentle squeeze as she stood. I led her up the stairs, past the playroom and our bedroom, down the hall, to a single door. I opened it, showing her another set of stairs. I didn’t think she’d ever been in the attic, and she followed me as we made our way up.

The attic was huge and ran the entire length of the house. White sheets covered old furniture, and several trunks lined the walls. A few windows were scattered here and there, allowing light into the dusky space.

It’d been a long time since I’d been in the attic, and a rush of memories came back.

“This was my favorite place to hide when I was little,” I said. “I would sit up here for hours: playing pirate, reading, or exploring.” I walked over to a white lump and lifted the sheet, showing her the armchair underneath. “When I remodeled, I had them leave the attic untouched. They stored a lot of the original furniture from the house up here.”

She ran a hand over the leather chair. “It’s your history.”

I smiled. “I came up here a lot during high school. Spent hours here. It was a struggle for me, trying to decide what to do.” I faced her. “Do you know I had an appointment at the Naval Academy?”

She nodded. “Linda told me once.”

“Part of me wanted something different, to go somewhere no one knew me. To start over.” I thought back to those long-ago days when I was a teenager, desperately trying to find my place in life. “I’m not sure anyone knows, even now, how hard I struggled with myself. I felt trapped into who I thought the world wanted Nathaniel West to be, and I didn’t want to feel trapped.” I turned to face her. “I wanted to be significant.”

The window nearest us overlooked a large oak tree in the backyard. I pointed to it. “Do you see that tree?”

“The oak?” she asked, moving to stand closer.

“Yes. I want to build a tree house there one day. For our children.”

I stood completely still and let my words sink in. I heard her sharp intake of breath.

“It’s a huge step for me to think that, Abby,” I said. “For me to allow myself to think that one day you and I will marry and have children. But it’s you who gave me the freedom to dream.” I turned and framed her face with my hands. “The wealth, the housekeeper, the salary I’m not taking this year? They’re nothing. They’re the insignificant things, Abby. Not you. You are the most significant part of my life.”

“Nathaniel,” she whispered.

“I love you,” I said. “And that’s all that matters. If you want to go grocery shopping and do the laundry, do it. If it’ll make you feel better to help with the utilities, help with them. But please, please, don’t ever lose sight of what you mean to me.”

She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” I kissed her eyelid. “Don’t apologize. Moving in with me, changing your entire way of life, of course it’s been stressful. It’s going to take some adjustment.”

“I didn’t handle it very well.”

“We’re here now, aren’t we?” I slipped my arms to her waist and drew her closer. “Isn’t that all that matters?”

She laid her head on my chest and sighed. “Yes.”

The weight of the week dissipated, leaving in its place a sense of joy and peace. The air around us was silent, and I allowed the old memories and doubts I had as a teenager to be replaced by the new dreams made possible by the woman I held.

She sighed. “I messed up our weekend.”

“What do you mean?” I murmured into her hair. Frankly, the weekend was going better than I imagined it would when I pulled into the driveway earlier.

“It’s past the time you normally collar me,” she said.

“I can collar you later tonight,” I said, shifting my plans for the weekend around in my head.

Her arms tightened around me. “Sounds good to me.”

“One more thing,” I said. “I need you to know that while I appreciate the fact that you want me to treat you the way I did my previous submissives, it won’t ever happen.”

I pulled back to catch her gaze and watched her wrinkle her forehead.

“You’re not one of my previous submissives,” I said. “I told you before that I cared for them, but it’s not the same as what I feel for you. Not even close.”

“I’ve never questioned that.”

“And yet you still asked me to treat you the same,” I reminded her. “Still asked me what I would do with them.”

“So tell me,” she said. “Would you have postponed your weekend play for them the same way you did tonight?”

I nodded. “If something was wrong between us, yes.” At the surprise in her eyes, I continued. “But I would never have thought to bring them up here, or to share with them what I shared with you. I’ve talked with Paul a lot about this, Abby, and you’re not the same as them. It doesn’t bother me to treat you differently. Don’t let it bother you.”

“I’ll try,” she whispered.

I pulled her to my chest. “Don’t compare yourself to them. You are completely different. We are completely different.”

We spent the next several hours exploring the expanse of the attic together. Every so often, one of us would catch the other looking outside at the oak tree and we’d share a smile.

Chapter Twenty-one

—ABBY—

He had told me to expect some sort of role-play, and on Sunday morning, I waited in the living room, reading. I hadn’t seen him since breakfast. He’d left the dining room shortly after eating, instructing me to dress in the outfit he had waiting in my closet.

I’d never worn garters before. The ones he laid out for me were black, and I’ll admit, made my legs look sexier than normal. It’d never occurred to me to wear such things, and I decided to plan a shopping trip with Felicia for sometime the next week.

I pulled absentmindedly at the skirt. It was ridiculously short and fell just past my upper thighs. I felt certain a glimpse of garter would peek out from the bottom whenever I walked. The jacket wasn’t much better; it was tight and barely covered my chest. There wasn’t even a blouse, just a black lace bra that showed when I moved the right way. I had to admit, though, just sitting and thinking about what he could have planned was a turn-on.

How would I know when he was ready? Would he come find me?

He would have to, right?

I thought back to Friday night. How he’d wanted to talk as much as I had and how he’d postponed our play until he made sure everything was right between us. It still put a silly grin on my face every time I thought about his mention of the tree house and how he wanted the same things I did.

We’d spent hours in the attic, looking through old trunks, and each time he uncovered a new piece of furniture, it was as if he uncovered another part of himself. He’d eventually collared me, and for some reason our ritual felt more intense than normal. Later, when it was time to sleep, he invited me to share his bed, and turning him down never crossed my mind.

Lunch with Jackson and Felicia the day before had been wonderful. I’d rarely gone so long without seeing her, and she still had a glow about her. For once, I didn’t feel jealous that she shared a connection with Nathaniel that I didn’t. After our Friday-night talk, Nathaniel and I both felt more secure in our relationship, with where we were and where we wanted to eventually be.