Page 94 of Daddies' Little Troublemaker

Setting down his cup, he moves to the window overlooking the back yard. The sun is up over the trees now, bright in a cloudless sky. It’s going to be a hot day, without any fog rolling in from the coast.

“And what about Willow?” Mark asks. “How do I know you won’t do the same to Evelyn?”

“I know how that looked,” I say, wincing. I try not to think about Willow too much, except as a cautionary tale for myself, a reminder to always, always communicate. “She was new to kink. So was I. Our relationship grew around it and we didn’t talk about things like we should have.”

“I know all this.” Mark sounds impatient. “How do I know you’re not doing that with my daughter?”

The very thought of Evie doing the kind of shit Willow did…it feels so fucking wrong. Willow quit her job so she could be home waiting for me, no matter when I got off work. She’d be naked, a crop balanced on her back, and she’d have been in that position for hours, without any communication from me. I would come home late, not knowing she’d been waiting in my apartment, to find her crying while still in position.

I block out some of the even more twisted things she would do, injuring herself to please me. It did not please me, it made me angry, which made me want to punish her. She would see the punishment as love. And the cycle would continue from there.

“Look, the thing you have to know, is Willow debased herself in a way to prove her love. To keep me. She thought it was the way to earn my love in return, but it wasn’t. She earned my affection, yeah, and she turned me on. But the way she encouraged me to treat her wasn’t at all sane, or safe. And looking back, I don’t think she was mentally able to understand what was going on and fully consent.”

She broke the three tenets of the lifestyle: safe, sane, and consensual. I’m still filled with self-loathing when I think about it for too long. She didn’t only hurt herself—by doing all those things, she hurt me, too, and she made me question my suitability as a Dom.

“You don’t think you’ll encourage Evelyn to do those things?” Mark asks.

“No. Hell no.” I shake my head for emphasis. “First of all, Evelyn would never. She’s more mature than Willow was—remember, I was twenty-one, and Willow was nineteen. We were practically kids. And Evelyn isn’t depressed like Willow was. We shouldn’t even be comparing them. They are two different women, at two different points in their lives.”

He nods, but he doesn’t look entirely convinced.

“Also,” I say, “I have Caleb to keep me in line. He would be another voice of reason if things ever took a wrong turn.”

Sunlight glints off the surface of the pool and reflects into the kitchen, making everything brighter.

“I don’t like any of this,” Mark says, “but I guess it isn’t really up to me anymore.”

“So you’ll tell me where I can find her in Paris?” I ask.

“No. If you truly care about her, then you’ll let her figure out if she wants this Paris job, without your influence. Give her some time to explore the city and decide what she really wants.”

“For how long?” Mentally, I’m already booking my flight.

“She’s coming back for Chloe’s wedding. Not tomorrow, but next Saturday.”

I nod. Caleb and I will find out the details and be waiting for her there. “Thanks.”

* * *

Evelyn

I insisted on my own room at San Esteban Suites, where the wedding party is staying. Mom wanted me to share with Chloe, but I figured that would get uncomfortable if Troy wanted to join us. Not to mention, it hasn’t even been a full twenty-four hours and I’m heartily sick of Chloe.

I’m kind of amazed I got my way in the end, but now that I know that I can speak up with Dad and never lose his love, I’m not so afraid of losing Mom. If I do, that’s on her.

When I wake up on the morning of Chloe’s wedding, my phone is full of texts. None from Lincoln or Caleb, who suddenly went silent a few days ago. They’ve probably given up, which I tell myself is for the best even though my heart is fucking broken.

Don’t think about that. Not today. Get through the wedding, and then I can grieve.

Most texts are from Sawyer and Maya, sending me hilarious memes they’ve made about weddings gone wrong, and karma, and how cheaters never change.

It’s weird, but I actually don’t want things to suck for Chloe. Troy, yeah, he can choke on a bag of dicks. And I’m not a huge fan of my mom right now, who has made nothing but passive aggressive comments about my “little vacation” since I got back yesterday morning.

Other texts are from the bag of dicks himself—Troy. He’s been trying to get me alone since I flew in from France yesterday, and when that doesn’t work, he texts me things about the mistakes he’s made and how much he wants me. I shut him down each time, telling him he’s getting cold feet, telling him this is inappropriate. He doesn’t listen. Absolute asshole. I told Mom, but she said she’s told Chloe and Chloe doesn’t care.

And still more texts are from my mom, micromanaging every aspect of my “duties” as maid of honor.

I text her back one line: Troy is still texting me. You’re sure Chloe is okay with this?

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