Page 69 of Forbidden Mistress

“Good idea,” Skye chimes in. “I know one close by that my cousin used. And if we act fast, all you have to do is get the pill to take care of things.”

“Perfect. If you make an early morning appointment, I can go with her,” Sam says. “She might be able to skip her first class. Is that okay, Cassie?”

I just nod numbly, but I don’t say anything. What can I say? This can’t be real. There’s no way any of this is real. I’m walking and breathing, but everything around me feels strange.

I suck in a breath. “I’m, uh….going to go grab some chicken. Do you guys want some?”

My roomies give me their orders, and once we’re agreed, I get in my car and head down to Colorado Boulevard. I park in front of the chicken place, shut off my engine, and tilt my head back against the headrest. After a few minutes of silence, which I desperately need, I pull my phone out of my purse and dial Hart’s number. It rings several times, then eventually goes to voicemail.

Frustrated, I hang the phone up and type out a text.

Please call me when you get this. It’s urgent.

I stare at the text window for…I don’t even know how long, before giving up and tossing my phone into my purse. Hart used to text me back immediately. The fact that he hasn’t means he must still be pissed about what happened at the hotel.

Fuck. My. Life. How would he even react to this news? I can’t even guess at what he’s going to say, or how he’s going to feel about this.

I grab the food order and head back to Hill House. We eat in the living room, while everyone tries to make me feel better about my situation. I smile and laugh in all the right places, but my heart just isn’t in it.

After eating a little chicken and half a buttermilk roll, I head up to bed. It’s hours before my actual bedtime, but if I stay up, I’m just going to stare at my phone, waiting for Hart to text me back. And I’m just so bone-tired anyway. Maybe when I wake up, things will feel a little less apocalyptic. One can hope, anyway.

By the next afternoon, it’s clear Hart has no intention of texting me back, so I decide to go looking for him instead. I try calling Exeter House and am told that I wouldn’t be allowed admittance to his penthouse unless he’s in residence. Is he out of town? He didn’t mention anything to me about leaving. So I then decide to head to Obscura instead. I still have my stag necklace and throw on my little “uniform”—the black dress—pull my hair up, and do minimal makeup before driving the hour from Pasadena to Malibu.

Before I hand off my battered Honda to the valet, I grab my fawn mask from the back seat. Ms. Lawrence is at the door, as usual, and greets me with a smile.

“Welcome back, Fawn. Nice to see you again.”

I swallow, suddenly nervous. “Thanks. Is Hart here tonight?”

She presses her lips together and shakes her head. “I’m afraid I don’t know. It’s been a busy evening. If he’s here, he’ll be in the founders’ area.”

“Great, thanks. I’ll go check.”

I drop my phone off at the check area, then go in search of Hart—which turns out to be no easy task. For a random evening during the week, it’s bumping here at the club. I make my way down the entry staircase, across the main floor then over to the lounge and bar area, which is overflowing with scantily clad, masked people. I scan the faces, looking for Hart’s distinct stag mask, but I don’t see him.

As I move toward the dance floor, I feel a slight bump on my shoulder. I turn to apologize to whoever I just collided with, and I see Willow’s bunny face staring back at me wide-eyed. I stand there frozen for a second, not sure what to say. The last time I saw her was at Hart’s penthouse, and she was not happy to see me, was weeping on Hart’s shoulder and begging him to take her back.

Awkward.

“Fawn,” Willow says loudly, so her voice carries over the music. She’s no longer wearing her dark-haired wig and has her natural sandy-blond hair down around her shoulders instead. “You’re back.” And she doesn’t seem happy about it, either.

Cold fear grips me, and I wonder if she’s back with Hart now. Perhaps in his anger, he opted to go back to the sub who is less problematic. Someone who obeys him automatically. Someone who knows her place. Someone who doesn’t call out another man’s name during sex.

“Hey, Willow.” I force a smile. It’s with no small relief that I notice she’s no longer wearing the stag necklace like mine. It’s a half-faced phantom mask instead. I remember the dark and handsome stranger at the bar, the man Hart chased away from me. He’d been called Phantom and had a similar mask to Willow’s necklace. She’s with him now? It didn’t take that long for her to move on to a new Dom after all. “How are you doing?”

She narrows her eyes. “I’m better now, no thanks to you. Are you here to steal another Dom for yourself now that Hart’s no longer coming around?”

I blink and frown, but make a show of fingering my necklace. Her eyes sink to it and she scowls, but she gets the message.

She tosses her chin up haughtily and scans the room as if she’s looking for Hart to appear at my shoulder. “Well, he did me a favor by letting me go. It’s hard not to catch feelings for him. But, whatever, it’s just as well. No one is ever going to live up to the memory of her.” She shrugs but doesn’t quite pull off that she doesn’t care. “Once I had that lightbulb moment, it made everything easier to accept. He moved on to you because you’re a novelty. But he’ll tire of you, too. He’ll never be satisfied because he can never have what he really wants. Her. She’s the ghost that will haunt every relationship he has.”

Her. The woman Hart told me about in that quiet, resigned voice when we were at the hotel. That woman he loves, but can never have.

Willow takes a step toward me and lifts a strand of my dark hair. “I see why he wants you. Dark hair, beautiful curves…a good substitute so he can pretend. And I don’t even mean that in a cruel way. But you shouldn’t get any ideas about him. His heart isn’t free. Trust me.”

I swallow. Willow is obviously still pissed at me, but there’s also a valid warning in her words. She has no reason to lie now, and my heart sinks at her honesty. I could chalk up her attitude to bitterness, but she’s not angry, not trying to claw my eyes out. Salty, yes. But she seems to want to warn me.

I nod. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I don’t think we’re destined for more than a hot fling, anyway.”

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