Abby 2: Abigail

Chapter 19

The day was made for lovers and lies. We'd had sex the night before—raw, relentless, more friction than feeling. But his hands still echoed on my skin like an aftershock, the weight of his body still ghosting over mine as if I'd never exhaled.

Breakfast had bled into afternoon—scrambled eggs barely clinging to toast, avocado slices fanned like petals, a glossy smear of butter slicked with pink Himalayan salt. I wore his dress shirt, the collar still stiff from the dry cleaner, and perched cross-legged on the chair while the hem flirted with the top of my thighs. Eden called it "casual exhibitionism." I called it peace.

Later, he swam laps, all power and precision in the pool, while I lounged in a deck chair with Madeleine's dog-eared copy of The Story of O. The pages felt alive in my hands. Dangerous and empowering. The sun smeared everything with heat and possibility, and if you'd photographed us from a distance, we'd look like any perfect couple. The kind who send Christmas cards and hide secrets.

By dusk, the sky bruised purple and the cicadas began their nightly soundtrack, a scratchy hymn to heat and hidden things. We sat on the terrace, a bottle of pinot noir between us. Eden wore linen slacks and a loose shirt, open to the third button, and reclined in his chair like a king who had conquered the ancient world. I curled into myself, legs tucked beneath me, the weight in my chest swelling since mid-afternoon and refusing to let go.

I'd been dancing around it all day, the thing I needed to say, but I couldn't find the entry point. Instead, I watched the sun bleed out behind the trees and let the silence swell, cinematic and unresolved. It felt like the world was waiting, holding its breath.

Eden spoke first, perhaps hearing the silence between us. He took a sip of wine, then set the glass down. "Can I ask you something, and you promise not to get mad?"

I braced myself. "I'll try."

He hesitated, tracing the rim of his glass with one finger. "Why do you want to be a Domme? With everything we have, everything we do together—why does that even interest you?"

The question was not a trap; it was a plea for understanding. But it still landed hard. I turned so I could see his face, seeing the genuine confusion in his eyes. My heart ached, wishing that I could give Eden the comfort he was looking for.

"I don't even know if I do," I said, quietly. "But I've spent most of my life powerless. My father. The church. Dan. Everyone dictating who I'm supposed to be. I just want to see what it feels like to make the rules for once. To take control instead of always giving it away."

He took that in like it hurt. Jaw flexing, eyes hard. "But you do have control with me. You know I'd give you anything."

I tried to smile, but it fractured on the way up. "You say that, Eden. But you're always the one pulling the strings. Even when you don't realize it."

Then, his eyes turned to me. And for the first time, I saw fear behind the blue of his eyes. Not the fear of losing control, but the fear of losing me. He reached for my hand again. "I want you to be happy. But I don't know if I can give you everything you need."

I closed my eyes, willing myself not to cry. "I just want to try. If it doesn't work out, then it doesn't work out."

He nodded, but there was an edge to the movement, as if he wasn't convinced.

We drank the wine in silence, the sound of night insects rising as the sun disappeared completely. Shadows stretched across the garden, long and sharp-edged. When I finally spoke, my voice was soft. "I have to tell you something else."

Eden tensed, but nodded for me to continue.

"Madeleine offered to mentor me and let me take over the Fleur-de-lis someday. She thinks I can do it."