A short while ago, I stood in a house that was mine, and Francois stood in the entrance, looking out of place. Now, the roles are reversed. My shoes are sinking into the Moroccan carpet I chose and paid for with hard-earned money not so long ago, but it feels as if I haven’t been living here in years. It feels weird. I’m a stranger. Here. To myself.

Francois clears his throat. “Come through. The party is at the back.”

“Thanks.” I remove my jacket and hand it to him to hang on the coat stand.

We walk down the hallway and through the lounge. The furniture is the same. So are the paintings and ornaments. Through the open door, I see the kitchen. Everything is exactly where it used to be. Debbie hasn’t changed a thing.

Voices and music filter through the sliding doors before the deck and backyard come into view.

“Wow.” I stop dead.

There’s a gazebo on the lawn with a stage and rows of chairs with white chair covers and pink ribbons. Cocktail tables and Chinese lanterns burning in the heat of the day take up the rest of the space. Waiters in tuxedos are carrying trays with what looks like Kir Royal, and staff in chef tunics are spinning candyfloss and flipping pancakes for a bunch of girls, Abby being in the center.

Debbie is standing at one of the cocktail tables, surrounded by a group of women, probably her friends. They all turn their heads toward me as she leans into their circle and says something. She’s wearing a black cocktail dress–a brand with Loretta’s stamp on it that shows off her pregnant belly−as are all her friends. I guess she forgot to put the dress code on the invitation.

I turn to Francois. “Isn’t this over the top? She’s thirteen, not twenty-one.”

Francois and I have always agreed to material moderation where Abby is concerned. We want her to understand and appreciate the value of things.

He looks uncomfortable. “It’s her first party.”

Meaning, Debbie.

Abby comes running when she sees me. “Mom!”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Francois says. “I have to attend to our guests. Make yourself at home.”

He almost bites off the last word, as if he realizes too late what a stupid statement he’s made.

“Isn’t this great?” Abby squeals when Francois walks off. “Wait until you see what’s coming.”

Loretta waves at me from across the lawn. She and Ralph are conversing with a couple of men wearing suits and ties.

I take Abby’s hand. She’s wearing a white, A-line dress with a black collar. “You look beautiful, honey. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Are you kidding? This is the best party of the year in the whole school.”

“Happy birthday.” I hold out the gift box. A table near the stage is stacked with gifts. “Shall I leave it there?”

“Can I open it now?”

“Of course. It’s your gift. You can open it whenever you like.”

She tears away the wrapping and lifts the lid. “Oh, Mom, it’s beautiful.” She hugs me. “Thank you. It’s exactly what I wanted.”

“Would you like me to put it on for you?”

She turns so I can fit the locket around her neck.

“There.” I adjust the chain. “It suits you. Delicate and pretty.”

Jordan comes running up. “Hello, Ms. Blake.”

“It’s Logan now,” I remind her. I took back my maiden name after our divorce.

She grabs Abby’s hand. “Come on. They’re making candy apples.”

I watch the two girls skip off together. Still so young, yet not babies any longer.

A voice echoes my thought. “Aren’t they growing up fast?”

I turn. Loretta stands next to me with two glasses of Kir Royal.

She hands me one. “Cheers.”

I take a sip and glance at the women in black. “I didn’t know it was a bring-a-parent party.”

“You’re being mean.”

“Sorry.” I take a bigger sip. “I can’t help it.”

“Before you say anything about the dress, I couldn’t say no. Debs wanted me to help her choose something for the party.”

I absently watch the commotion of waiters and chefs on the lawn. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“You haven’t spoken to me since the episode in Mugg & Bean.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Look, what was I supposed to do? It was the day we went shopping for the dress. We stopped for a quick coffee.”

I face her squarely. “You don’t owe me an explanation. I already told you, I don’t have exclusivity on your friendship.”

“You’re angry.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why haven’t you called me?”

“I said I’ve been busy. Why haven’t you called me?”

“I was waiting for you to call first.”

“Christ, Loretta, we’re not in first grade. What is our friendship worth if it can’t survive a divorce?”

“You know what? You’re right.” Her gaze moves to Francois who has joined Debbie and her friends. “I guess this party breaks the ice. At least the wedding will be less complicated.”

I frown at her.

“You know?” she says. “Abby’s wedding. Divorced parents are always forced together at birthdays, graduations, and weddings. At least this way the ice is broken.”

“You’re repeating yourself.”

Francois and Debbie walk to the stage. He picks up a microphone.

“Speech! Speech!” a few of the men call.

Some of them are his colleagues from the office. The others I don’t know. Must be friends from Debbie’s side.

“No, no, it’s not the speech, yet,” Francois says into the mike. “If you’d all please take a seat, we have a surprise for Abby.”

Loretta takes my arm. “We’re having a barbecue by the pool next Saturday. Ralph invited Francois and Debbie. Since Abby and Jordan will be at the year-end class party, you should join us. Especially now that the first party with the three of you in the same room–or garden–is out of the way. It’ll be good for you. I promise.” She winks. “You can bring your date.”

People start taking the seats in front of the stage.

“The guy you disapprove of?”

“Look, you were right about that, too. Whatever kink you’re up to is your private business. I just worry about you. I don’t want to see you go down a destructive road because of what happened between you and Francois.”

Debbie and Francois take the front seats while Abby and her friends fill up the rest of the row.

“Fine. I’ll come. Happy?”

“Do I finally get to meet your mystery man?”

“I’ll ask him.”

“Good. Great.”

“We should probably take a seat.”

I’m about to drag Loretta to the gazebo when a raucous noise breaks out under the girls. They’re screaming and clapping. It looks as if Jordan is going to faint. Their gazes are trained on us. Looking over my shoulder, I grasp the reason for their behavior. Tom de Lange, the biggest local pop star of the moment, has just walked through the sliding doors. A few of the women are fanning themselves as he strides down the aisle between the chairs and hops onto the stage.

“Good lord,” Loretta mumbles. “How the hell are we supposed to live up to this standard? Can you imagine the kind of party Jordan will demand for her next birthday?”

I can see how a sleep-over with movies and popcorn waned compared to Tom de Lange. How much is Francois forking out for this party?

Tom is good. I have to give him that. He puts up one hell of a performance, calling Abby onto the stage for the last song, which he dedicates to her. After the show, he hangs around long enough to have a drink and sign a few autographs. When it’s time for Abby to open her gifts, Debbie hands her a huge box with a red ribbon that Francois brings from the house. She kneels on the grass to tear away the paper. Opening the flaps, her mouth forms a big O before she slams a palm over it.

“Oh, Daddy. Debs.” Abby lifts a Golden Retriever puppy from the box.

It’s the cutest thing ever. Abby has always wanted a puppy, but we couldn’t get one because of Francois’ allergy.

I go over and crouch down to pet him. “He’s gorgeous. What are you going to call him?”

“Dusty,” Abby says, her eyes shining. She presses the bundle against her chest while her friends coo over the fluff ball.

Straightening, I say to Francois, “That was a very thoughtful thing to do. What about your allergy?”

“I’m taking medication.”

“Actually,” Debbie says, “it was my idea. Abby told me how much she wanted a dog.”

In all the years I’ve nagged, Francois refused to take the medicine because he didn’t want to risk the side-effects.

“Thank you,” I say, meaning it. “I know how happy this makes Abby.”

She looks at Francois with a smile. “I suppose I managed something your ex-wife hasn’t.”

Then she looks straight at me, and her smile vanishes.

Sitting in the cellar, I worry about my problems instead of studying. Avoiding Monkey isn’t going to make the volatile situation go away. I was hoping Lindy would’ve backed off after seeing Jane and me together. I got the idea she believed I lied about having a girlfriend.

Damn, a girlfriend.

Jane is that and much more. It’s like a wild, reckless dream come true. I’ve never gotten anything I wanted in life, especially not something I wanted this badly.

I rub the photo of Jane absently between a thumb and forefinger. I see that look on her face all the time, especially when she thinks I’m not watching. There’s shit in her past. My job is helping her deal. Making her happy. Protecting her. I can’t do that with Monkey breathing down my neck and Lindy harboring fairy tales that will never come true.

I slip the photo into the back of my Human Communications guidebook, lock up the cellar, and close the hatch. The hatch is watertight, which also makes it airtight. I’ll have to do something about the canals leading from the street, roof gutters, and drain that are crisscrossing over the cellar. The rainy season is coming fast. Inundation will be a problem and I can’t keep the hatch closed with no other means of ventilation. Committing the task to the back of my mind, I go to the house to tell my mom I’ll be leaving.

She sits at the kitchen table, listening to a radio broadcast.

“I’ll be out for a couple of hours.”

“Where are you going?”

My mother has never asked before.

“To see Monkey.”

Her right eye jumps, a sign she’s stressed.

“Don’t worry.” I put a hand on her shoulder. “It’ll be fine.”

“You can’t be with her, Brian.”

“What?”

“Jane. You’ve got to forget about her.”

I don’t mean to sound harsh, but I can’t help it. “You’ve never told me what to do. Don’t start now.”

“I’m sorry.” She reaches for her drink. “You’re right. It’s going to backfire, though, unless you tell Monkey what he wants to hear.”

“Let me worry about Monkey.”

I grab a sweatshirt and am out of the door before she can say more.

Monkey is at the gym. He’s not working out, but he watches the guys who train in the boxing ring.

“’Bout time,” he says when I walk up. “Come to ask for Lindy’s hand?”

“I’ve got someone else.”

He flicks a finger, and the pounding in the ring stops. The room goes quiet.

He turns slowly to face me. “What the fuck did you say?”

“I’ve got someone. Here’s the deal. I marry Lindy but keep a mistress.” No damn way I’ll ever treat Jane as a mistress, but that’s what I say, anyway. “Is that what you want for your daughter? A guy who’ll never love her, never make her happy?”

He jumps up so fast the chair crashes to the floor. “Here’s the deal, you little punk. In twelve months, I walk my daughter down the aisle and give her away to you, you skunk-assed, fucking loser, because Ingrid wants a year to organize the biggest wedding the fucking city has ever seen. You’ll put a ring on my daughter’s finger, and you won’t as much as look at another pussy again, or I’ll make good on my threat. You’ll treat Lindy right, you’ll give us grandchildren, and you’ll grovel to make her happy, if that’s what it takes. You’ll prove what you have to with your new, fancy job and then you’re in the business. My business. Are we clear?”

Rage rushes through my veins. I want to smash his head on the concrete floor and kick out his teeth, but I keep it in, let it fester and clump in my throat.

“Get out of here, you lousy piece of shit,” Monkey yells. “I don’t know what the fuck Lindy sees in you.” He spits on the floor, right next to my tennis shoe. “Fucking punk.”

Our stare drags out for a few furious heartbeats. Bit by bit, I squash the anger until I’m calm enough to jerk off my sweatshirt and tackle the weights. I came here not only to find Monkey, but also to train, and that’s what I’m going to do. The guys watch warily, waiting for Monkey’s next move, but he only kicks the chair and motions for them to continue the fight before his shoes pummel the floor to the exit.

Needing the burn, I pack on extra weights, maybe more than I can handle.

Fuck it all to hell. Can’t say it wasn’t worth a try.

The day is warm, and the sky clear. It’s a perfect day for a barbecue by the pool. Brian and I arrive at Loretta and Ralph’s place at twelve. We had to stop on the way to pick up Loretta’s meat order from the butchery.

I glance at Brian before ringing the doorbell. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

I don’t want him to feel uncomfortable because my ex is here, plus he’ll be the youngest by far.

He puts an arm around my waist and kisses my neck. “Don’t fuss.” As if making a point, he rings the bell.

“Whenever you want to go–”

He shuts me up with a kiss. It’s a soft, lingering one that makes my knees weak, and it’s not finished when the door opens.

“Oh.” Loretta coughs. “Hi.”

I try to pull away, but Brian doesn’t let go immediately. Loretta and the rest of the world don’t matter to him, not when he kisses me. He ends the kiss with a soft peck and a smile in his eyes that holds a private message. It tells me he’s fine. We’ll be all right. Instead of embarrassing me, the tender caress sets me at ease. Only then does he turn his attention to Loretta.

“This is Brian,” I say.

He shakes her hand. “You must be Loretta. Thanks for the invite.” He holds up the cooler box of meat. “Shall I leave this in the fridge?”

“Um, sure.” She pats the ends of her asymmetrical bob. “The kitchen is at the end of the hallway.”

“I’ll be right back,” he says to me with a wink.

He’s giving Loretta and me time alone for a girls’ chat. He’s hardly gone before she dives in.

“Oh, my God, Janie,” she whispers.

“He’s handsome. I know.”

“I was referring to his age.”

“He’s young. So what?”

“You’re into schoolboys, now?”

“Don’t exaggerate.”

“This isn’t what I expected.”

“Who did you expect?”

“I don’t know. A divorcé. A widower. Someone with gray hair.”

Brian saves me from defending my choice of a partner by returning with two beers.

He hands me one. “Is a beer all right, or do you prefer wine?”

“Perfect, thank you,” I say, grateful for more than just the beer.

He turns to Loretta. “Can I get you a drink?”

She touches her hair again. “Um, mine is outside. Come on. I’ll introduce you.”

We follow her to the pool deck out back. Debbie and Francois plus another couple are already there, mingling around a table set with appetizers. The conversation dies down when we walk outside.

“Meet my friend, Jane,” Loretta says to the couple in an overly-jovial voice. “And this is…” Her voice trails off as she looks at Brian. “I’m sorry. I’m so bad with names.”

What’s wrong with her? Is she so shocked she can’t remember his name? I hug Brian tighter. “This is my boyfriend, Brian.”

Debbie’s gaze trails over him, her eyes a bit too wide to hide her shock. Francois’ expression is unreadable, as always. Loretta introduces the other couple as Mona and Jack, the husband being a colleague of Ralph’s. Mona must be about ten years older than me. Her reaction to Brian is similar to Debbie’s. Ralph and Jack are polite, if a little distant, when they greet us. Brian seems unaffected as he shakes their hands and exchanges pleasantries about the traffic and weather.

“What do you do for a living, Brian?” Debbie asks.

Brian puts his arm around my waist, pulling me to his side. It makes me feel sheltered under the scrutiny of the six people watching us, and I relax against him.

“I’m still studying, but I’m doing an internship at the firm where Jane works.”

Mona lifts a brow. “Is that how the two of you met?”

Brian gives me another one of those private smiles. Turning to Mona, he says firmly, “No,” but he doesn’t elaborate.

His look is assertive as he continues to hold her gaze. The only person who appears comfortable with the silence that follows is Brian. Mona looks away first.

“How did you manage an internship at Orion?” Ralph asks.

Ralph doesn’t as much as glance at me, but he doesn’t have to. The insinuation is clear.

“Jane got me an interview,” Brian says without blinking, “for which I’m mighty grateful.”

I feel like I have to defend him. “He earned the position. You know how high Toby’s standards are.”

“Where are you from?” Jack asks.

“Harryville,” Brian replies, not an inch of shame in his tone even as another hush falls over the conversation.

God, I love that about him, that he’s not ashamed of where he comes from, and he doesn’t allow money or status to determine who he is or, in this case, who he isn’t.

“How about you, Jack?” Brian asks. “Are you and Mona from around here?”

“We’re all neighbors,” Loretta says. “Ralph, you better start the fire, or it’ll be dinner instead of lunch.”

Peering up at Brian, I give him my own private smile, one that tells him how much I admire and appreciate him.

Ralph busies himself with stacking charcoal while we make mindless small talk. Was it really a good idea to come? I love Loretta, but this feels like a waste of time. I shouldn’t have let her bully me into accepting the invite, or maybe I was tired of hiding. Maybe I just wanted Brian and me out in the open.

“Dammit,” Ralph says, throwing a burning match into the coals.

Nothing happens.

“You and your fires.” Loretta huffs.

Francois fiddles with the firelighters, sticking more into the pile of coals, but he does so daintily, with the tips of his fingers, as if he’s scared to get his hands dirty. It’s probably because he’s wearing white slacks. All he manages is making smoke.

“Let me.” Brian takes the matches and sticks his hand right into the middle of the coals, restacking the firelighters.

He’s not wearing fancy chino pants, and even if he were, I bet he wouldn’t mind getting them dirty.

In no time, flames leap up in the air.

While we wait for the coals to be ready, the conversation flows like it usually does at these kinds of barbecues with the girls talking kids and the guys talking business.

Francois is droning on about his new hotel project and how they’re missing deadlines due to a shortage of clay, which means a shortage of bricks.

“Not that I expect you to follow any of this,” he says to Brian. “We’re being rude, Ralph. We should talk about rugby.”

“No worries,” Brian says. “I get it. It’ll be more cost-effective if you replace clay with sand lime since sand lime bricks don’t need plastering. Personally, I’m not into rugby. I’m more of a cricket guy.”

I hold back a laugh. That should teach Francois to be condescending. I’m not going to tell him Brian was a bricklayer.

When the meat is finally sizzling on the grill, I pull off my dress. I’m wearing my bikini under. It’s the hottest part of the day, and I can do with a dip in the cool water.

“Join me?” I say as I walk past Brian to dive in.

The water is heaven. I let the coolness slide over my body and penetrate my skin. When I surface at the shallow end, Brian is standing at the edge. He’s pulled off his shirt, exposing a set of muscles that has to draw attention, no matter where. The women’s gazes are glued to his back, even Debbie’s, who’s pretending she’s not staring from behind her wide-rimmed sunglasses. He walks into the water with a grin, splashing me, and then he’s against me and I’m wrapped around him.

“I recall a time when I was in your pool,” he says in a low voice against my ear.

Shivers run over my body under the water. “Do you, now?”

Nibbling on my earlobe, he swims me to the deep-end. “There was only one thing I wanted.”

“What was that?” I ask, slightly breathless.

“You in the water with me.”

“You ordered me back into the house.”

“Only because you chased me away.”

“You didn’t expect an invitation, did you?”

“Didn’t need one.”

“No?”

His tone is playful but his eyes serious as he stares into mine. “You were meant to be mine. I would’ve made it happen, regardless.”

“Regardless of what?”

“Everything.”

The answer is simultaneously non-disclosing and all-compassing. There are no lengths he wouldn’t have gone to. No one has ever been this committed to me, not even Evan who walked away when I needed him the most to stay.

A tremor runs down my spine at the memory. It’s a place I don’t want to go, not with Brian’s arms around me and his groin cushioned against mine.

“You’re cold,” he says with a frown.

I let him believe the lie, allowing him to lift me out of the water onto the side. He grabs my towel from my bag and spreads it out on a deckchair.

“Come here,” he orders.

I go to him as if I’ve always been going to him and spread my body out in the glorious sun as if he’s always been the steadfast path to my destiny. He disappears, returning a moment later with my sunglasses and a bottle of water. I reach for both gratefully.

He uncaps the bottle before handing it to me. “It’s hot,” he says. “I don’t want you to dehydrate.” Going down on his haunches, he places a hand on my stomach. “Are you hungry? I can get you something to eat.” He grins, glancing back at the grill. “It may be a while still before the kebabs are ready.”

Ralph is no barbecue master. Neither is Francois. They probably let the coals burn out and now it’s too cool to cook the meat.

“I’m good, thank you. I had a few appetizers. I appreciate the offer, though.” It’s nice to be taken care of.

“You didn’t put on sunscreen this morning.”

“I was running late after dropping off Abby.”

“You’ll burn.” He takes the bottle of sunscreen from my bag and squirts a blob in his palm. “Turn over.”

I turn obediently, letting him massage the cream into my shoulders, back, and legs. When he’s done, he does my front. There’s nothing inappropriate about the way he’s touching me. He’s not going near my breasts or unfastening the straps of my top to get to the parts under the spaghetti strings, but he may as well have from the way the others are staring. Flipping the sunglasses down over my eyes, I block out their faces and concentrate on soaking up the sun. Brian takes the chair next to me, interlacing our fingers.

Sweat is running in rivulets down my back when Ralph announces that the food is ready. The older men are still dressed in their golf shirts and chinos. Loretta is wearing a designer bathing suit with a sarong tied around her waist, and Debbie sits on the edge of the pool, her legs dangling in the water, but no one else swims. Loretta will be worried about her hair. It takes her an hour to blow-dry every morning. I don’t know what the others’ excuses are, but it’s a pity not to enjoy the pool on such a splendid day.

We’ve barely eaten when thick, purple clouds start rolling in. The smell of rain is heavier in the air than the chlorine from the pool.

“Damn,” Loretta says. “There wasn’t anything about rain in the weather forecast.”

That’s the thing about these summer thunderstorms. They’re highly unpredictable. They almost always arrive in the late afternoon or early evening when the worst heat dissipates.

“I made marshmallow tarts for the grill,” she complains.

“Better get them quickly,” Ralph says. “I don’t know how long the weather is going to hold before it pisses down.”

“You sit,” I say to Loretta. “I’ll get them. You’ve been running around all morning.”

Dropping the towel I had wrapped around my body, I pull on my dress. Brian is engaged in a conversation with Jack. Their chat seems amiable enough. I gather it’s safe to leave him to his own devices. The vultures won’t rip off his head in the short time it’ll take to fetch the dessert.

I locate the aluminum cupcake holders lined with cookie crusts and filled with chopped marshmallows and chocolate chips in the fridge. As I turn with the loaded tray, Francois enters the kitchen.

“What the hell are you doing, Jane?”

I’m so baffled, I almost drop the tray. He hasn’t shown me a speck of emotion during all the conflicts we’ve had in the twelve years we’ve been together, and he’s stalking toward me now, bristling with anger.

“Getting our dessert,” I say, flabbergasted.

He takes the tray from me and plonks it down on the counter. “You know what I mean. You’re old enough to be his mother.”

Anger sparkles in the nerve endings on my skin. The hair on my arms and neck rises. “That’s rich coming from a man who dates a girl young enough to be his daughter. I guess that makes you a hypocrite.”

“It’s not the same,” he hisses. “You’re a woman, and he’s a boy.”

“Now, that makes you sexist.”

“Call it what you like. It’s not the same.”

I cross my arms. “How is it different?”

“For starters, you’re mature. Secondly, a man is the breadwinner. He’s a toy boy. That makes you a–” He bites his words off angrily.

“Say it.”

“A sugar mommy.”

As if Brian would only be with me for money. I let the insult settle. “Anything else?”

“I don’t want him around when Abby’s with you.”

“Too late. She’s already met him.”

He slams a hand down on the counter, making the tarts bounce and me jump. “You’re a bad example for her.”

“For Abby?” My indignation escalates. “You’re a fine one to talk. I was single when I met him.”

“Don’t.” He points a finger at me. “Don’t even try that one on me.”

“You expect me to stand here and accept your double standards?”

“I expect you to act your age.” He narrows his eyes. “For the sake of your daughter.”

I can’t believe my ears. I don’t even know what to answer. “It’s all right if you do it, committing adultery in the process, but it’s not okay for me?”

“I don’t give a damn about your feminist arguments. That’s all good in theory, but it’s not the way the world works. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

I lift my chin. “That’s your opinion, and you don’t get to have one of my life, any longer. My business is no longer yours.”

As he opens his mouth, Debbie steps into the room. She stops just over the doorstep, her gaze moving between us. The air is sizzling with so much tension, if there was a voltage to it, we’d be charcoaled.

Debbie’s huge, brown eyes brim with hurt. “You were taking so long I decided to come look for you.”

Francois picks up the tray. It takes him three seconds to school his features into a mask of indifference. “I was just bringing these out.”

When he turns to Debbie, it’s as if I don’t exist. It’s as if he never lost his cool, had an outburst, or said unjustly things. It’s like it’s always been between us. He walks past her through the door, the tray like a shield of armor. She stares at me as if she’s going to say something, carrying all that hurt on her sleeve, and just as I’m about to tell her it was nothing, she spins around and follows him.

Lightning ripples through sky when I get outside. The crash of thunder follows two seconds later. Always in sync with my mood, Brian looks up. His expression turns broody.

It’s okay, I mouth.

Big, fat drops start falling. They plop on the table and make a hissing sound as they hit the coals. We scurry to gather what we can from the table and rush it inside.

I catch Debbie in the dining room. “Stay here,” I say over the peppering of water on the roof. “You can’t risk slipping and falling.”

The rain is coming down so hard and fast, the deck is already a centimeter under water when I get outside again. My bare feet slide over the wet, varnished wood. Drops pelt my face and body. It feels as if the sharp stings penetrate bone-deep. It’s freezing cold. Jack managed to save the tarts, and Ralph and Brian are working as fast as they can to close the two canvas umbrellas lest the fabric tears from the weight of the water. Those giant umbrellas cost a fortune. Since Mona and Loretta are clearing the last of the glasses from the table, I grab the designer cushions.

We’re all soaking ducks, dripping water on Loretta’s hardwood floor. Thunder and crisscrossing bolts of lightning rip the sky apart.

“Bloody hell.” Ralph drags a hand over his bald head.

Francois wrings the water from his golf shirt. He’s standing in a puddle of water stained brown from the mud on his shoes.

“I can do the tarts in the oven,” Loretta offers, patting her ruined hair.

“I better get Debs home and into dry clothes before she catches pneumonia,” Francois says.

“You’re probably right.” Mona takes Jack’s arm. “I wasn’t planning on swimming, but the rain took care of that.”

“Can’t control these things,” Ralph mumbles.

“The weather forecast said clear blue skies,” Loretta whines. “I’m so sorry about the dessert.”

“It was a great lunch.” I put my arm around Loretta. “Don’t worry about the dessert.”

It feels like a big anti-climax. Loretta’s effort to break the ice between Debbie and Francois and Brian and me didn’t work out as planned. I offer to help tidy the kitchen, but Loretta declines fiercely. I guess she’s worried about what Brian and Ralph would talk about if they’re the only ones left.

The sky is still rumbling violently when we say our goodbyes. Brian pulls his jacket around me and shelters me under his arm as we run to his truck. He lets me in first before rushing around to his side. He closes the door on the wetness, but the noise of the water punishing the metal roof continues. He first buckles me in and then himself. Droplets of water runs down his temples and into his soaked T-shirt.

“You okay?” he asks me as he starts the engine.

I’m scared of all this water and the force with which it’s coming down on us, but the question has nothing to do with the storm. It’s about what happened between Francois and me in the kitchen. Brian doesn’t ask straight-out. He gives me an opening to talk about it if I wish.

I put my hand on his thigh. His skin is warm under the wet fabric of his swimming trunks. “I’m glad the party rained out.”

He covers my hand with his. “Let’s go home and have a warm shower.”

“Yes.” It’s the only answer I can ever give him. “Let’s.”

“I want to take you somewhere,” Brian says later that afternoon.

We’re cuddling on the sofa in front of the television. We still have until nightfall before I have to fetch Abby from her year-end school party.

He wipes a curl away from my forehead. “Somewhere you’ve never been.”

My excitement perks up. “Where?”

“A club.”

“As in dancing?”

His dimpled smile makes the dark look in his eyes slightly less dangerous. “Not exactly.”

“Oh. What kind of club, then?”

“A strip club.”

“What? As in Teasers?”

He trails his fingers up my arm. His voice is low and seductive. “Would you like that?”

“I don’t know.”

“There’s one way to find out.”

“Why do you want to take me?”

“To show you who I am. I want you to know all there is to know about me, just as I want to know everything about you.”

It sounds sweet and scary at the same time, but he’s already on his feet, offering me a hand.

“Now?” I ask with a tinge of panic as I accept his hand.

His smile turns mischievous. “There’s no time like the present.”

I look down at my skinny jeans and loose T-shirt. “I’ll have to change.”

“Not for where we’re going.”

“Are you sure?” My attire isn’t exactly club style.

“Come on.” He pulls me gently to the door.

We drive toward Waverley and park in front of an unassuming building with no sign.

“You come here often?” I ask, peering through the windscreen.

“That’s why I wanted to show you.”

He comes around to open my door and takes my hand, not letting go even once we’re inside. I’m grateful for the silent support, because when he’s showed our IDs and we step into a large room with pumping music, I need it more than ever. I understand why my clothes weren’t of importance. Most of the people are naked. Men and women mingle around a stage where a couple is in the last throes of fucking. The woman comes with a loud moan just as we slide into a padded bench at the back. The man pulls out his cock and ejaculates on her stomach a second later. Thank goodness for the low lights. I’m not a prude, but my face is hot. The man kisses the woman passionately before draping a gown around her and leading her off the stage.

Brian rests his hand reassuringly on my thigh while he orders two beers from the waitress. I glance around. The people who aren’t naked wear sexy outfits while others parade in daring lingerie. I must be standing out like a lighthouse in a storm. Most couples are openly fondling, and some are having sex. I swallow, grateful for the beer that arrives to relieve my dry throat.

Staff are cleaning the stage and wiping down the hardwood bench on which the couple fucked.

I motion at the raised platform. “What was that?”

Brian leans over. His lips brush my ear. “Couples come here to fornicate in public.”

I stare at him open-mouthed. “They’re not paid to put on the performance?”

“They’re part of the audience like you and me.”

The you and me part jars me. “You don’t want to…?” I can’t finish the sentence.

His chuckle is deep. “No.”

I sigh in relief.

“I don’t want to fuck you on the stage, because I can’t bear the thought of other men looking at what’s meant for my eyes only, but you can kneel between my legs.”

“What?”

He leans back, spreading his legs. “Kneel between my legs.”

Another naked couple walks on stage. The woman gets onto all fours on the bench and the man takes up a position behind her. The stage starts turning. Every person in the room will have a glimpse at every possible angle of their coupling.

“How can they be comfortable with this?” I ask more to myself than to Brian.

“They’re voyeurs just like everyone else here. They also enjoy being looked at.”

“Do you?”

“I like watching, but I don’t like sharing.” He regards me with his penetrating gaze, the one that cuts right into my soul. “Does watching turn you on?”

I glance at the stage again where the man is now kneeling on the floor, eating out the woman. I can’t deny that my sex is swollen. How am I supposed to feel about that? Does that make me a pervert?

“Down, Jane,” Brian says, a dare in his tone. “You don’t have to undress.”

Taking a fortifying breath, I slide my ass off the bench to the floor and sit on my heels between Brian’s legs, facing him.

His instruction is calm and collected. “Take out my cock.”

The command makes the swelling between my legs throb, but I shoot a worried glance around.

“No one will see,” he says soothingly. “Your head blocks the view.”

We’re in the corner, but I don’t understand how he can be so blasé about flaunting his penis. Despite my unease that someone will see him naked, something dark stirs inside of me, begging me to do as he’s demanded. I reach for the button of his jeans tentatively. He doesn’t rush or aid me. He simply waits patiently for me to pull down his zipper and free his cock. His flesh is velvet hard and warm in my hand. I cover as much of the length as I can with two hands. His gaze is approving, heating my belly.

Leaning over, he grabs my beer mug and brings it to my lips. “Take a sip.” He smiles. “You look like you need it.”

I comply. My throat is as scratchy as sandpaper. He kisses my lips before depositing the glass on the table and sitting back again with his arms draped over the back of the bench. Behind me, the couple on the stage is panting. The woman moans loudly and then cries out as a smack reverberates through the space.

Brian cups my head with one hand, his look tender. “Now suck me off.”

I should resist. I should demand privacy, but nothing in me objects to his suggestion. If anything, I want to. Spurred on by the sounds of flesh slapping together and ecstatic grunts and mewls coming from the stage, I open my lips wide and take his length to the back of my throat. He groans. I feel the vibration rather than hear it. As I speed up my act, the show gets louder, but Brian isn’t looking at the stage. He’s focused on me. His eyes are riveted to my face. His thumb caresses my cheek, and his fingers play gently on the side of my head as I suck and lick. The only indication he gives of his arousal is the way his hips lift off the seat with every pull of my lips. His scent is musky, and he tastes of salt. I can’t get enough. The cocktail of dirty sounds combined with the way he feels on my tongue and how much pleasure I’m giving him is a heady aphrodisiac. The silk of my underwear is soaked. I open my throat and breathe through my nose, swallowing him deep. His fingers tighten on my scalp, and his face contorts in an agonizing expression, but the concentration in his eyes doesn’t diminish as he watches me.

“I’m going to blow,” he grunts.

His seed shoots down my throat and coats my tongue. I lap up everything, making sure he’s clean before I free his semi-hard cock with a pop. He’s breathing hard, his eyes shining like tiger stones and his smile appraising. The praise is all for me.

He pushes his cock back into his jeans and adjusts it before zipping himself up. Then he offers me a hand to help me up. Instead of letting me take my seat next to him, he pulls me onto his lap facing forward. His arms come around my waist as the full onslaught of the show hits me. I’ve watched some porn, but never live. This is different. The man is pounding into the woman, making her whole body sway. Her face is a mask of undiluted pleasure. He bends over her to stroke her hair and kiss her shoulder. The look she gives him is not only lustful but affectionate. Their bonding is unashamed and exposed. While I’m enraptured by the scene, Brian opens the button of my jeans and slips his hand down the front of my panties. I’m close to coming from the blowjob and visual stimulation alone. His fingers on my clit are heaven. It feels so good when he pushes two digits inside that I don’t object. I lean back against his chest, watching the play on the stage near its end while he brings me to my own crescendo. I come with a violent spasm, my inner walls sucking his fingers deeper.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper with my face turned into his neck.

He obliges, gently playing with my clit while pushing his other hand up under my T-shirt to massage my breast. He tweaks first one and then the other nipple until my need is climbing again. The stage is once again empty. From my exposed position, people can clearly see what Brian is doing, but it’s hidden under my clothes, and I find I don’t care, not when I’m so close to coming again.

“Oh, God.” I moan softly, grinding my hips down on his groin.

Reading my signals perfectly, he starts fucking me again with his fingers. A coil of tension spreads through my body, winding tight.

“Come again,” he says, sucking on my earlobe.

The orgasm hits me like a big bang. I come for so long my muscles are aching by the time the vice finally lifts. Slowly, he pulls his hand from my underwear, raining kisses on my neck and smearing my arousal on my stomach.

“You’re the best thing, princess,” he growls in a low voice, “the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The words are the cherry on the cake of my euphoria. I sink deeper into him, falling in love even more as he buttons me up and straightens my clothes. I feel satisfied, cherished, and liberated. Most of all, I feel special. There’s nothing Brian wouldn’t grant me. I didn’t ask for his body or his intimate secrets, but he gave me both.

His warm breath washes over my ear. “Okay?”

“More than okay,” I reply with a silly grin.

He chuckles. “I guess that makes you a voyeur.” His tone turns serious, all the gentle playfulness gone. “My voyeur. Mine alone.”

People are fucked-up. They’ll talk about Jane behind her back, but not to her face. They’ll judge her for loving me while patting me on the back for scoring with a catch like her. I saw it at her friend’s house. I see it at the office, although no one knows shit for sure. They can’t point fingers. Jane has enough to deal with as it is. I make pretty damn sure I keep my distance at Orion, no matter how hard it is. There will come a time when we take it to the next level, but I haven’t yet figured out how to overcome all the hurdles in our way. There are so many of them, I’ve stopped counting. There’ll come a time when I have to face the music with Monkey, but I don’t think about it. All I can think about is Jane. It does something unspeakable to me to see her suffer. I’ll rather take a lance in the heart than let her hurt, which is why I’m at the office during lunchtime on Monday when I know she’ll be out.

Jane has left to pick up her standard order at the health shop. It gives me the time I need to talk to Toby. She was right about losing the Monroe account. I had a long chat with Alex in Legal. Toby has a meeting scheduled with Mr. Monroe at the end of the month. Toby instructed Alex to go over the contract with a fine-toothed comb, to find any loopholes, and to send him a copy of Jane’s employment contract. I hate going behind her back, but she leaves me no choice.

“Come in,” Toby says when I knock on his door.

It helps that he has an open-door policy. I don’t need to make an appointment for a chunk of his time. I dive straight in. “Can I talk to you about the Monroe account?”

He leans back in his chair and crosses his hands over his stomach. “What about it?”

“Jane and I have a new idea.” I pray to God she’ll forgive me.

“You and Jane, huh?” He gives me a half-smile.

He doesn’t believe me. Maybe it’s better I tell the truth. If it’s a shit idea and it all goes to hell, at least he won’t blame her.

“Me.”

He nods, as if to say, I knew it. “Sit.” He slides down in his seat and kicks the visitor’s chair out from under his desk.

The chair rolls to me smoothly. I catch it and sit.

“Let’s hear it.”

“Freddy has to go digital.”

He catches his moustache between his teeth, chewing it for a while. Just when I think he’s going to dismiss me, he says, “Go on.”

I tell him about my idea for Freddy’s own app, and why not a dedicated television show? National television comes cheap, these days.

He hears me out quietly to the end. For another while, he doesn’t say anything, and then he nods slowly, riding his chair. “Not bad. Not bad at all. I’ll tell you what. I’ll run it past Mr. Monroe.”

“Thank you.”

Damn, I hope it works. I hope it saves Jane’s account. If it does, she can be angry with me first and forgive me later.

“You keep on surprising me,” Toby says. “I like that in an employee.”

“Thank you,” I say again.

“Now go study. Straight As.”

“Yes, sir.”

He grins as I leave his office.

I can’t get Jasmine out of my mind. Her ordeal keeps on turning in my head. Her situation is awful. There must be something I can do to help. A good start is understanding what she’s suffering from better. I’m reading information about agoraphobia and treatments on my laptop at the garden table after I’ve finished cleaning the cottage. Abby is hanging the washing on the line. Including setting the table, it’s part of her agreed weekend chores, even if that agreement came after huge resistance and a lot of arguing.

Opening a new window, I type Jasmine’s name and the year of her attack into the search field. A list of headers appears, her name being in the second one. I open the page and read through the article. It gives an account of the assault, but it’s what’s written toward the end that grabs my attention. The two suspects who were arrested weren’t convicted due to a lack of evidence. The only evidence was Ms. Michaels’ identification of the men. The attorney who defended the accused pleaded that Ms. Michaels had been in a state of shock and unlikely to have seen the faces of her attackers in the dark. The article links to another one about the suspects. I follow the link and go still. One year ago, the bodies of the men were found in a deserted train tunnel. Both victims had both been shot in the stomach. Due to the nature of the fatal wounds, police suspected a connection to Ms. Michaels, who had been shot in the stomach, with revenge as motive, but no murder weapon or evidence to link a suspect to the crime could be found.

My hands shake as I close the page. Did Brian have something to do with those men’s deaths? Did he avenge his unborn brother and his mother? Is he capable of killing? Am I sleeping with a murderer? Guilt churns in my stomach for thinking this about the man I love even as doubt infiltrates my heart.

A blood-curdling scream rips me from my thoughts.

Abby!

Jumping to my feet, I run for the washing line. Scream after scream rises from the side of the cottage.

Abby. Abby.

My breath is ragged from exertion and fear. I round the corner in a sprint and come to a halt in a cloud of dust. Abby is yelling and sobbing, the heels of her palms pressed against her eyes. A short distance away, stands a cobra.