Page 123 of The Sadist and the Brat

“He listens to me. Really listens, you know?” Sadie toyed with the handle of her coffee cup. “I’m not sure anyone ever has before. Not like him.”

“Is that why he scares you?”

“He doesn’t scare me.” The protest was knee-jerk.

“Beautiful girl.” Setting aside the ham, Jennifer reached across the counter to lay a hand over her daughter’s. “I’ve known you every minute, every second of your life. And right now, you’re absolutely terrified. And I’m not surprised.”

Baffled and miserable, Sadie stared at her mother. “You’re not?”

Jennifer patted her hand and eased back. “You’ve been seeing him for what, a month?”

“Five weeks,” Sadie confirmed. “How did you know?”

“Because that’s your pattern.” Jennifer continued to build the sandwich. “A month, six weeks—that’s your limit. I thought that might change when you discovered BDSM in college, and those needs were finally getting met, but…”

She trailed off with a shrug while Sadie sat there, shocked to her toes, and tried to keep her head from exploding.

“You know…” She had to clear her throat before she could get the rest of the words out. “You know about that?”

“Of course.” Jennifer turned to the fridge, coming back with a head of lettuce and a package of Swiss cheese. “You think you’re sneaky and subtle, Sadie Lynn, but you’re really not.”

“Oh, my God,” Sadie mumbled and, putting her head down on the counter, prayed for God to strike her dead.

“We were concerned, of course,” Jennifer went on cheerfully. “But you seemed so much happier, so much more at ease. And after we did a little research—”

“Research?” Sadie croaked. She didn’t dare raise her head. “We?”

“Your father and I,” Jennifer elaborated and chuckled when Sadie let out a long, low wail of despair. “Stop moaning into my counter.”

“That wasn’t a moan, it was a death rattle,” Sadie countered, keeping her head down. “Because I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying. You’re just being dramatic.”

Sadie braced herself and lifted her head. “Dad knows?”

“You know I don’t keep secrets from your father,” Jennifer chided. “Unless I need to, of course. We talked about it, did some research, as I said—”

“I can’t think about that,” Sadie said, and screwed her eyes closed as if it would help.

“—and concluded that you were an adult who was capable of making your own decisions,” Jennifer finished.

“Um. Thanks?”

“You’re welcome.” She slapped a slice of Swiss onto the ham and reached for the mustard. “Now, where was I?”

“I can honestly say I have no idea.”

“Oh, yes, I remember now.” Turning the mustard bottle upside down, she began to shake it. “You’re scared. The question is, are you scared of your feelings or his?”

Sadie kept her gaze fixed on the sandwich. “I don’t know what his feelings are.”

“Well, that’s just nonsense.”

Sadie forgot herself and looked up. “What?”

“It’s nonsense,” Jennifer repeated and squirted out a huge glob of mustard. “He might not have told you how he feels, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’ttoldyou.”

She paused to slap a piece of bread on top of the sandwich, turn it over, peel back the bottom piece of bread, and squirt mustard on the other side. “Actions speak louder than words. So what are they telling you?”

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