Chapter One June #3
For a minute, I just stare.
Like... I’m very into Daniel, and he’s always made it clear that he’s very into me, especially physically.
Sometimes I think his interest is mainly physical, and also, maybe someone like me is a little bit of a novelty.
In the rom-coms, that’s the big line. The whole “I’ve never met anyone like you before” shtick.
He could have told me if he wanted something spicier in our sex life. I’m so down for experimentation—as long as it’s just him and me, that is. If he wanted to go to some naughty club or buy me a leather bunny suit, I would be right next to him with red stilettos, a riding crop, and fishnets.
This doesn’t make any sense.
Don’t jump to conclusions. His card probably got stolen.
Where was he staying? Mackintosh Castle in Gilcreedy.
I look up that number, too, and of course, it’s not open yet.
It’s still a pile of recently acquired antiquities and rubble, so there is no number, just pictures of it throughout history, a big, lurching stone castle that had rings of giant gargoyle statues on the twin turrets.
I’m about to look up his nan’s number when Daniel texts me back.
Daniel: In a meeting. Call in the morning. Love you.
I hesitate. It’s tempting to believe that. I look at when the charges were made and realize it had to be within the last hour or so, which is why I got the call that started this all.
June: Your card got locked. What’s Aphrodite’s Dungeon, and are you there right now?
It occurs to me, after I hit send, of course, that I have Daniel’s whole account at my fingertips. I scroll back up through both accounts, including the one that hasn’t been used in six months.
The one I have a duplicate card for looks like Daniel’s main checking account.
Aside from a staggering amount of money that he has access to on a day-to-day basis, it has lots of charges I recognize, tons of them local to Philly, ones that go out on the first of the month for his apartment.
The charge for this lodge. A few are from his quick little jaunts to the Midwest and England. Nothing out of place.
The other one, the one that hasn’t been used in six months?
My chest is tight. My sneezes are coming so fast now that tears sting my eyes, and I can’t see the screen properly.
Seven months ago—right before he met me in December.
November: The Party Pony in Cleveland.
September: Rose’s Secrets in Atlanta.
And every time he’s in the UK? Aphrodite’s Dungeon and Barely There Boutique. When he lived there two years ago, it was an almost-weekly charge, usually a few hundred bucks—okay, pounds, each time.
I scroll back to the most recent charges and realize Daniel just dropped several thousand dollars—or pounds—there in the space of an hour.
What the hell could he be buying?
Like I don’t know...
The phone rings while it’s still in my hand.
“Hello?” I whisper, my soul hollowed out.
“Hi, babe. I’m so sorry, I should have called earlier. Lost my card in a taxi the other day. Don’t worry, the bank has a branch in Inverness, so I’ll—”
“Did you lose it every time you went to London? Soho, specifically? Oh, or when you were in Belfast nine months ago, did you lose it at the Kama Sutra Experience? Or The Pony Party in Cleveland?”
There’s a long pause. A horrified pause. “What?”
He sounds so shocked that I’m filled with hope. Maybe someone else has his card! I bet that’s it. Someone else has his account numbers, and Danny’s got so much money, and he rarely checks the other account, so he probably didn’t even notice!
“Your account got locked. I didn’t want you to be stranded in Scotland without access to your accounts, and so I used the login info you gave me—”
“That’s for your account. Our account. The one I would let you share as my wife, a joint account. Only my primary checking!” Daniel’s voice is... different.
Panicky?
“I know, I know, and I wasn’t trying to be nosy,” I’m sounding panicky now, too. “But you do realize it’s like the same master account with different suffixes for different checking accounts, right?”
The pause that follows tells me no, Daniel did not know that.
“Look, they’re just clubs. A lot of my clients are men, and they like to do something they think is a bit wild, a bit naughty, when they’re ‘off the leash’ so to speak.
You know? Get away from the old ball and chain, see a different pair of tits. ”
I jump in my seat like I’d grabbed the hot end of a curling iron. He’s never spoken like that. Sounding so coarse. Harsh.
“Well, I’m down to trying some clubs or something with you.
You just have to tell me upfront,” I say, voice shaking a little.
I’m actually not sure if I’m okay with that or not—not because I’m not adventurous, but because I think you should only do kinky stuff with people you trust. Actually, you should only do any sexual stuff with people you trust. How can you trust a stranger you just met?
My supportive, if shaky, offer isn’t met in kind. Daniel’s voice is horrified. “What? No! Junie, God, no. I want to marry you.”
“I know. I want to marry you, too.”
“Well, wives don’t do that. This is for... This is for the lads, you know? A bit of recreation on the side. It’s healthy, I swear. Just looking. No touching.”
“Oh. Okay. Um. What exactly are you looking at that costs three thousand pounds?”
My gardening center shopping spree doesn’t seem so lavish anymore. I thought that was a huge present, months’ worth of spoiling. But... He’s dropping three grand on himself in one night? Or on his clients?
I don’t think that’s very professional, and Daniel’s introduced me to his clients who’ve been in the area in the past few months. They radiate professionalism and polish. I’m starting to doubt everything he’s saying.
“Just a private show for me and a few of the partners, that’s all.”
“Are you telling me a bunch of bright young guys and old farts in suits are all in a BDSM and swingers club together? Doing what?”
“Daddy! The playpen is free now.”
I actually do fall off my stool now, hitting my elbow on the countertop as I go down, then landing hard on my knees on the floor. “Daniel Hepple. You tell me the whole truth right now, or so help me, I’m going to go in and Armageddon every account I have access to.”
“Give us a minute, darling,” Daniel says, and there’s a lot of rustling and muffled whispering before his voice directs back to me.
“Junie, look. I... I didn’t want you to know about this, but now that you do, let’s just leave it at every man needs a wife, his safe, sweet, fun place.
That’s you. You’re lovely. You’re like no one I’ve ever met.
I’m planning to sign on permanently to the Philadelphia branch, and I’ll be putting down roots in America for the rest of my career.
You’re going to be there for my home, my world, my business.
My love. The American wife who makes a Brit seem a little less suspicious to some of these people who grew up thinking everyone with an English accent is a Bond villain.
We’ll have everything you want! The big house, probably on the Main Line, with three kids going to private schools, a garden, a gorgeous fountain, maybe even a greenhouse—”
“Daniel. Stop. What the fuck are you doing right now?” I demand, voice harsh.
My soft, sweet side that has bloomed around Daniel is shoved back down, and every tough girl instinct is coming back up.
“Are you giving me a shopping list of all the good stuff marrying a rich real estate developer will give me? Are you trying to sell me on staying in this relationship because we’re a good match for your career and my broke-ass dreams of living in a pretty house with a garden of my own? ”
“Well, not only that, Junie Pie. I love you. I love your spirit, your sense of humor, your body, your—”
“If you love my body, why are you playing a sick version of ‘Who’s your daddy’ with someone at a club who gets paid to do private shows? I love you. I love being with you. You could tell me any fantasy that you—”
“My fantasy is that you never heard of this, June! You’re not meant to know! This is my private time, my escape! I want to have my little outlets. Looking, no touching, just... Just some me time.”
“But your ‘me time’ involves three grand of someone else’s time. Some girl or girls you pay to fulfill your fantasies? And if you can’t touch them, what exactly are they doing? Why is it so expensive?”
“That’s none of your business. See? This is for me.
My time. You don’t know about this. I give you enough other things, a vacation, a much nicer apartment than the shithole you were living in, beautiful clothes, a garden, access to a joint account—that’s enough.
These are my secrets, my private time. I don’t need a wife who doesn’t understand that a man’s business and personal life are separate. ”
“How is jerking off to girls you’re paying to gyrate at you business, again?” I ask. “And what exactly is it you expect a wife to do? Give you a pass to have certain secrets, even if they’re borderline adultery? Maybe even full adultery, depending on who you ask?”
“Sorry to interrupt, but this is just a reminder that the Playpen is only yours for one hour, sir. There are no refunds or partial credits for using it for less than your full allotted time,” comes a surprisingly businesslike voice.
“Goodness. No refunds,” I mock, pacing now. “That’s probably going to lose them a star on Yelp, or whatever the sex club version of Yelp is. Maybe Moan? Squeal?”
“Stop it,” Daniel’s voice is brusque, angry.
“No, I’m not going to get a refund for a service I don’t use but have already purchased, because they run this place as a business.
I’m just a client. This is all just business.
A ‘healthy’ release. There’s no love in it, Junie! You have nothing to worry about.”