Page 82 of Undoing

“And you allow that?”

Cass’s brows shot up. “Allow? Becca, I’m your wife, not your keeper.”

“But you’re my… Domme.”

Seriously, if Cass’s eyebrows could go any further, they’d be resting on the back of her neck by this point. “Your…” She had to sit down before her legs gave out under her. “No. I’m, uh, not your Domme.”

Those little crinkles deepened. “But I saw the, um, activity drawer. And I’m pretty sure that behind that locked door is more apparatus. I figured you didn’t tell me last night when I asked because you didn’t want to freak me out.”

The activity drawer. Damn. Had Cass known Rebecca was coming home, would she have cleaned out that drawer? Probably not. She wanted to ease Rebecca back into her life, not lie to her. Or keep anything from her. Yet, you still have her phone.

“I – we… yes, we have an activity drawer, as you call it. But I’m not your Domme, Becca,” Cass repeated. Funnily enough, something was holding her back from telling Rebecca she was the Domme.

“Then I don’t understand.”

“I know,” Cass sighed with frustration. If she had been more convinced that throwing a ton of information at Rebecca wouldn’t cause her stress or pain, Cass would be drawing maps, making spreadsheets, and showing PowerPoints right now.

Rebecca waited a beat, but Cass didn’t continue. “You’re not going to tell me?”

“Becca, it’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just…”

“Just?” Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Please don’t tell me Aunt Wills got to you with all this hoo-ha about not wanting to influence my memories.”

“Hoo-ha,” Cass repeated. Would her Rebecca have said a word like ‘hoo-ha?’ This is your Rebecca! “Ahem.” She focused on the important part of what Rebecca said. “No, Aunt Wills hasn’t said that to me. She was more worried about stressing you out with too much info. But, I mean, that makes sense.”

“Does it?” Rebecca scoffed. “Because it sounds like hoo-ha to me.”

Cass snickered. “I like when you say hoo-ha.” She ducked when Rebecca threw a napkin at her that didn’t even travel far enough to reach her. “Okay, okay. It makes sense to me because everyone’s perception of an event is different.” When Rebecca’s blank look didn’t change, Cass continued. “Aunt Wills wasn’t there when we met, yeah? So, her version is what you or I have told her. My version is different than yours and vice versa because of how we came into the situation.”

Cass could tell Rebecca was trying to understand, but perhaps not knowing the specifics was hindering that comprehension. Cass drummed her fingers on the table, thinking of a way to explain this.

“Hey, remember the gallery?” she asked suddenly.

Rebecca raised a brow. Was Cass changing the subject for her benefit or Rebecca’s? “Yes.”

“Don’t look at me like that, babe. I’m not ignoring your question. I’m trying to answer it in my own Cass way.”

“Fine. I’ll be patient.” Rebecca hasn’t gotten used to that slight tingle she got when Cass called her ‘babe.’

“Thanks,” Cass chuckled. “We all experience art differently. And not just the paintings, photographs, and sculptures in a gallery; movies and music—anything that elicits reactions. Take a love song. Someone who just had their relationship turn to shit will listen to that song and hate it because it reminds them of their ex. However, someone who just fell in love will listen to that song over and over and love the fuck out of it because it reminds them of their relationship.”

Rebecca narrowed her eyes, annoyed that that actually made sense. “What does the gallery have to do with this?”

“Oh, right,” Cass grinned. “Remember my painting?” Rebecca nodded. “The way you explained to Eve how it made you feel? That was different than how you felt about it the first time you saw it.”

“It was?”

“Yep. When you saw it in my workroom after I finished it, you said it reminded you of us. Happiness and hope were there, but what grabbed you the most was the intense love you felt looking at it.”

Intense love. Rebecca had felt that at the gallery, as well, but had she equated it to her and Cass? Or was it a general feeling? Well, shit. Maybe Aunt Wills and Cass were on to something.

“I hate that that makes sense.”

“Why? Because it means Aunt Wills was right?”

Rebecca tsked. “No, because now I can’t badger you into just telling me everything. Aunt Wills being right is just salt in the wound.” She dumped her now cold coffee out and poured another cup. “Do you want some? Or would you rather have chocolate milk?”

Cass looked up sharply. “How?”

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