And on the subject of bad influences . . . Banner’s mind drifted back to Kate and their deal, and he checked his phone.

Nothing. He was starting to wonder if she was actually going to show up tomorrow. He’d sent a list of his expectations earlier in the week, and she hadn’t responded. Ambrose had insisted he send only one text, but her silence was tying him in knots. Should he make backup plans so he wouldn’t be sitting around alone, like a dork, when she didn’t show?

“You need to find a nice girl and settle down and have a couple of kids,” Rook said. “That would make Mom happy.”

Silence fell between them for a moment. Making their mother happy was a subject Rook brought up a lot. Definitely not something a teenager should be so worried about. Wasn’t he supposed to be working hard to piss her off?

“Rook, it’s not our job to make other people happy. Mom hasn’t gotten over missing Dad yet, and until that happens nothing much will cheer her up. Not counseling and not pills, although they help. She needs to decide she wants to live again, and we can’t force her to feel that way. Not even with a grandchild.”

There were still days when she went to bed with “migraines” and didn’t get up again until the next morning. It was hard on all of them, but on Rook most of all. He had Banner and Meadow, but even siblings old enough to be parents weren’t a substitute for the real thing. At least Meadow lived with them and directed the household staff when need be, but she didn’t understand their little brother. He’d thought about moving the boy in with him, but a teenager living with a bachelor would be a lonely life.

“Besides, I’m not responsible enough to be a father. Girls usually run screaming from me. I won’t be getting married anytime soon.”

“Me neither.”

“You might get married sooner than I do.”

“Not unless they change the law.”

Banner pinched his cheek and Rook swatted him away. “In a few years I’m sure the law will have changed. If it hasn’t we’ll all drive to another state for the wedding.”

His brother was nodding, looking lost in thoughts too serious for a fourteen-year-old.

“Did you tell Mom yet?”

Rook pressed the toe of his Converse sneaker into the dirt. “She’s got enough to bring her down. She doesn’t need to deal with me coming out.”

He put his arm around Rook’s shoulder and squeezed. His brother leaned into him.

“Mom’s mental health isn’t your battle. Staying in the closet to protect her is sweet, but you deserve to be happy and out, if you want to be out.”

“You gave up your dream job to follow in Dad’s footsteps and rot out children’s teeth.” He shrugged. “I’ve had a selfless role model.”

Dreams. The thought brought Banner back to when he’d tried to make a living painting and selling his art. The starving artist thing had been great as he’d traveled through Europe, staying in hostels, but he wasn’t young anymore. Sure, he’d fallen in love with Sweden when he was there, and he’d hated leaving it to come home when his father’s health started waning, but he’d known he couldn’t do it forever.

“Sometimes I think you’re as sad as Mom.” The boy eyed him, then stared off into the distance. “You just hide it better.”

Banner grabbed the bag of cotton candy from Rook’s hand and untied it. He balled up the last two bites and shoved one into Rook’s mouth, then ate the other one.

“Shh. You’ve got your own things to worry about. Quit worrying about everyone else.”

Rook laughed around his mouthful of candy. He chewed, watching a rollercoaster as it swooped by, then turned back to Banner. “Meadow says I’m too sensitive, and that if I don’t toughen up I’ll never get a date.”

Banner winked at him. “Well, I guess it’s good that Dylan doesn’t like going out much.”

***

She was either late or not coming.

The time they’d agreed on had come and gone, and he was still entirely alone—other than the hard-on that had been nagging at him on and off all day.

There was a chance she was stuck in traffic. He checked his phone, but there was as much from her now as there’d been for the past few days. Nada. Maybe Janine had found someone for her, or maybe she’d come to her senses and realized messing around with Banner wasn’t a good idea.

Why had he let himself get so excited about a girl who wasn’t going to be permanent? Sure, he wanted to play with her, but there were plenty of other women who were willing to do that. Ones that were definitely submissive. Submissive was closer to slave than a vanilla girl was, right? So what was the big deal about training Kate?

In his studio, he tried to paint, but he was too tense to work. Instead, he headed down to the home theater.

He forced himself to sit on the couch and turn on the TV. He hated TV.

Flip, flip, flip.

Out of his peripheral vision, he caught sight of the T-shirt he was wearing. Suddenly, it annoyed him. He stalked off to his bedroom, slid open the doors to his walk-in closet, and rifled through the neatly folded shirts in their cubbies. When he found the one he wanted, he yanked the other one off over his head.

Calm the fuck down.

The doorbell rang. He froze. If it had been Ambrose coming to snoop, he’d have walked right in. The maid wouldn’t have bothered with doorbells either.

With unhurried movements, he headed for the door, pulling on his shirt as he went. Irritation and uncertainty were crowding him, but he slowed his breathing and tried to pretend none of this mattered to him.

He opened the door, and there she was, in all of her innocent, vanilla glory.

Kate looked up at him, her eyes wide and full of trepidation.

“Come in, Kate. I was expecting you twenty minutes ago.”

She stepped cautiously across the threshold, craning her head. “This is your house?”

“Yes.”

“It looks like a museum.”

“It’s old.” Forget this polite shit. “Why are you late?”

Kate’s smile trembled and fell away. “I-I’m sorry. I was going to say I got lost, or something, but I don’t want to start today out with a lie.” She bit her lip and looked down at her shoes. “I was scared. I didn’t sleep at all last night, and I didn’t have clothes like what you wanted me to wear, so I had to go shopping, but it took forever to find what I wanted.” Her voice quavered through the last of it.

“Shh. Come in.” He felt like an ass. Why had he assumed she was playing a game with him? He’d dated a few subs who had tried head games with him, but she didn’t seem the type. He was too eager for this, and all the waiting and wondering had made him grumpy. Showing up at all was pretty ballsy of her.

She stepped inside, and he closed and locked the door behind her, even though he didn’t usually bother. It would tell Ambrose he didn’t want to be disturbed, at least.

“Take off your shoes and put them by the door.”

“My shoes?”

“And socks.”

Although she quirked a brow at him, she still complied. Some Doms insisted their women wear heels for them, but he felt that bare feet set a better tone. Barefoot submissives tended to remember their place, even if the rest of their clothing stayed on.

“Would you like a soda? Water?”

“Nothing for now, thanks.”

Back to small talk. He hated small talk. Small talk made him feel as if he were at work.

“The house was built in the 1880’s. I’m having it slowly restored. The company doing it specializes in this kind of thing.”

Kate walked across the foyer and turned back to look at the stained-glass window high above the door, then followed the light filtering through it to the pattern it made on the pale marble flooring.

“Original?” She pointed at the window.

“Yes. The artist knew what he was doing, luckily. I’m glad, because I doubt I could commission something so beautiful now.”

“It’s Saint George?”

“I assume so, because of the dragon.”