Page 70 of Sinful Palace

“I probably won’t hear back from him for a while.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Right. Well, I’ll let you know when he inevitably refuses to meet with you,” he said, flapping a dismissive hand in my direction.

“Like I said, we’ll see.”

I stood and left the study. When I arrived back at my suite, Mal handed me an envelope with Willow’s name on it. “This arrived a few minutes ago, sir.”

With a frown, I took it and went inside. Willow had just woken up. She was stretching her arms and yawning loudly.

“Apparently this is for you,” I said, holding out the envelope.

Her eyes widened. “What is it?”

“No idea. It better not be another Order threat, though,” I said grimly.

She sat with her legs crossed and deftly slit the top of the envelope open with one long fingernail. Her brows puckered as she read the letter within, and then a faint smile curled up her lips. “Oh, it’s from Myla. I sent her a note asking if she’d do the therapy thing with me a few days ago. She finally got back to me.”

My mouth felt dry all of a sudden, and the shiver of guilt from earlier rose up between my shoulder blades. “Has she agreed to do it?”

“Yes. I honestly thought she’d say no, because she seems so happy being a domme here, but she said she’d love to help,” she said, holding the letter up for me to see. “Apparently she misses certain aspects of her old job, and she’s keen to see if she’s still got it.”

“How will it work?”

“She’ll come up here to see me for bi-weekly sessions. She’s booked solid with Wonderland clients for the next week and a half, but she said we can start as soon as she’s free—not next Wednesday morning, but the one after. So ten days from now. Is that okay with you?”

“That’s fine.”

“Apparently there are certain memory regression techniques we can try. We just have to be slow and careful. Otherwise there can be issues.”

“Like what?”

“False memory syndrome. We don’t want that, obviously. We want to know what really happened that night. Why I….” She trailed off, regret and sorrow etching her features as she looked down at the duvet.

I sat down and squeezed her arm, still feeling the cold tug of guilt in my guts from the constant battle in my mind between my feelings for her and my loyalty to my sister. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I muttered.

“I hope so.” She looked up at me. “How did things go with your dad?”

“It was… interesting.”

I filled her in on the conversation I’d had with my father, glad for the change of subject.

“So you think he’s still lying, even after he admitted to all that stuff?” Willow asked.

“I think he knows we’re starting to figure shit out, so he’s trying to fool us by being honest about certain things while continuing to lie about others.”

“To throw us off.”

“Exactly. He wants us to trust him and stop questioning everything.”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s so obviously Q, right?”

“I guess we’ll find out soon.”

She hesitantly bit her bottom lip. “If he agrees to a meeting with you—and that’s a big if—he’ll be completely covered up, right?”

“Presumably. But don’t worry. I have a plan.”

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