They nonchalantly strolled the dozen yards or so from the car to her apartment door, seeing nothing suspicious before ducking inside.
As she was closing the door, the limousine rolled forward and crept toward the exit of the complex.
Inside her apartment, the stale air was thick with heat and humidity, and the AC blew for a few feeble seconds before the thermostat clicked it off again.
Colleen twisted the locks on her door and turned to start apologizing. “I’m sorry my place is so small. It must be nothing like what you’re used to.”
Tristan’s head was inches from her ceiling. The apartment’s slightly less than seven-foot ceilings had never been a problem before. “Oh, no.” Tristan winked at her. “There’s only one bed.”
A single stand lamp threw cones of light on the walls. Ripples in the drywall drew lines down the plaster.
If Tristan had spread his arms, his fingers would’ve brushed the wall where a previous tenant had punched a hole in the drywall, and the management had patched it poorly and painted over the hump with beige paint instead of eggshell. He seemed to take up all the room and all the air, and oh Lord, humiliation at her tiny, scabby, inadequate, proof-of-failure apartment tore through her.
She said, “I’m so sorry. You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor. It’s really not a problem. I like sleeping on the floor. I like a firm surface. At least it’s carpeting. If you want to sit down, you can sit in the computer chair.” Because it was the only chair she had. “I can sit on the bed. I mean, on the mattress. The one on the floor. But it’s made up as a bed. I did what I could. We’ll be fine. I’ll make it fine. I’m so, so sorry that it’s so small and that I have nothing.”
Tristan stepped across the room, which required precisely two strides for him to be standing in front of her. He placed his hands on her shoulders, and his warmth soaked through the thin tee-shirt she was wearing. His blue eyes were intense as he studied her face. “Stop.”
“Stop? What do you want me to stop? I can’t stop the light from buzzing. It’s the only lamp I have. I’m so sorry it’s so hot in here. But I can turn up the air conditioning. I set it to eighty-five when I left because I figured since I wasn’t going to be here, maybe I could save a few bucks on the electricity bill. But I can turn it up. I was going to cool it off in here anyway. It’s not a problem. The thermostat’s right there. I’m sorry.”
Colleen had broken eye contact because she couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in Tristan’s eyes. He ducked his head, obviously trying to meet her gaze while she stared at her rickety secondhand bookcase and posters scavenged from the trash of sci-fi conferences that she’d tacked directly on the walls.
He said, “Colleen, princess, I said stop.”
Her hands fluttered near her face. “I’m so sorry—”
“Stop.”
“I’ll make it better.”
His hand moved upward, cradling the back of her head and running his thumb over her cheekbone. “Princess, listen to me. No more. You will stop apologizing this instant. If you can’t do that, then don’t speak. Don’t say anything except yes, sir or yes, please. Do you understand?”
Dreadful humiliation at how little she’d accomplished in her life—how every time she tried to do something, she failed again—bore down on her. “I’m so sorry.”
His thumb brushed her lips, a suggestion of a kiss. “No, princess. Don’t put yourself down. Don’t degrade yourself. If I have to emotionally Dom you until you see your worth as a human being and your beauty and kindness as I do, I’ll stay and do it. Don’t say anything else. Just listen to me tell you that you’re my good girl.”
His steadiness slowly spread into her, and Colleen stopped talking but still trembled.
He enclosed her in his arms. “Better.”
With her nose pressed against his chest and the overly warm air pressing in on her, she muttered, “I could turn up the AC.”
Tristan’s chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. “I’ll allow that. Come.”
He led her over to the thermostat, where she tapped the buttons until the AC blew chilly air through the small apartment. “I am sorry it’s so small. I wish I had a better place to stay to offer you.”
Tristan tilted his head as he continued to stroke her face and shoulders, calming her. “I grew up in a late-1800s farmhouse that was not restored in any way. We barely had running water. In the winter, ice formed on the inside of the windows, and I used to shred worn-out clothes to stuff gaps around the doors. As a teenager, I shared a dorm room a quarter of the size of this apartment with another guy, and there was a communal bathroom for twenty male teenagers to shower, shave, and shit. Your apartment is a five-star accommodation to me, princess.”
Colleen mumbled, “I thought you lived in a high-class place in Monaco or something.”
“Now I live in Monaco on a ninety-foot Azimut yacht with three bedrooms and a live-aboard crew of four, but I didn’t always. I’m a poor Iowa farm boy who can identify the six major types of corn and tell you the type and strain at a glance. My mother ran the household with nine kids on less than twenty thousand dollars a year, sometimes a lot less, depending on the price we got for the corn. I can milk a cow, a sheep, or a goat, grow a garden, and bake a rhubarb pie that came in second in the town fair. My crust was exceptional, but I didn’t put enough spice in the filling for the judges. I just used generic Walmart spices. I think Faith Yoder went to Chicago and bought fancy cinnamon, which is practically cheating.”
She was glad for him, but regret trickled back. “Wow, you’ve done well for yourself.”
“I made good choices because I had good choices. I had a middle school counselor who considered herself a crusader for lifting Iowan farm kids out of poverty. A friend of mine’s grandfather decided to roll the dice on four twentysomethings who otherwise wouldn’t have had the money to start businesses. A lot of people aren’t afforded good choices that they can make.” He looked carefully at her again. “And they shouldn’t feel bad about that. Just surviving can be a victory.”
“Yeah, but I—”
“Your responses are yes, sir or yes, please. Nothing else.”
Colleen sucked in a deep breath. “Yes, sir.”
A small smile softened his masculine features. “Better. Ah, that air conditioning feels nice. But look, it’s after midnight. Let’s not rehash our life choices in the middle of the night after a day of being ersatz kidnapped, threatened, shot at, and hunted by corrupt police. ‘Kay?”
Colleen glanced down at the brown shag carpet under her shoes that always smelled like onions no matter how many times she shampooed or sprinkled deodorizer on it. “Yes, please.”
“Good girl. Do you want me to shower you first, or do you just want to lie down and sleep?”
“Um, yes, sir?”
He laughed. “I almost got you. You may tell me, shower or straight to bed?”
Her body stank of fear-sweat even though she’d traded the ruined silk ball gown for her workout clothes on the plane. And even though her bathroom only had a tiny shower stall in the corner, she’d scrubbed it the day before she left. At least it was clean. “I’d like a shower. I’ll just—”
“No, no, princess. I like to wash my toys after I play with them, or while I play with them. Get your pajamas and meet me in the bathroom.”