Chapter 5 #2
A lot of men still didn’t accept the fact that if they wanted to have traditional wives, they actually had to be traditional husbands. If you didn’t provide or protect, then you were just some jerk who wanted a slave to do his unpaid labor and relieve his blue balls.
I’d been fairly lucky in that respect. Vincent was a homebody who loved to unwind by cooking and cleaning, and he didn’t give a shit about his friends teasing him for being a good house husband.
His love language was acts of service, and I adored that about him.
There was nothing sexier than coming home from a hard day at work to find your gorgeous husband pouring you a glass of wine and serving goat’s cheese ravioli from a spotlessly clean kitchen.
And to be fair, I did the same for him when he was neck-deep in commissions or coming up to a big exhibition opening. We did it for each other. We were partners, and partners supported each other.
It was too bad he was also a weak, lying, cheating bastard.
I let out a rough sigh. “So, it’s the same in all the Middle World realms, is it? Men feel disenfranchised because they get to a certain age, and they’re not handed a female slave on a silver platter anymore?”
“I’m afraid so,” Bart replied, his voice somber.
“It’s not the norm, but there’s enough bitter men with superiority complexes out there to make it a problem.
Witches and shifters are the worst because there are kids involved, and they’re very family oriented.
Vampires, not so much, because there are no kids, but even then sometimes a nestmaster will get too big for his boots and try to push his male superiority complex. ”
“And Detective Striker is the same.”
“One of probably millions. Can’t get a girlfriend. Doesn’t want to work on himself. Gets bitter about it and decides it’s society’s problem.”
“That’s it in a nutshell, isn’t it?” I sighed. “So, I’m going to hazard a guess and say that Connor has decided this is a great way to drum up support in the Middle World.”
“A ‘make manhood great again’ kind of scenario. Unfortunately, it will work on a lot of shifters, and a lot of witches, too. Traditionally, women hold so much of the power in those societies, and the men do get salty about it from time to time. So far, there hasn’t been anyone powerful enough to unite them. ”
“But Connor could.”
“Yeah,” he said gloomily. “He could.”
The elevator chimed. A disembodied female voice breathed out, Welcome to Cloud.
The doors opened, and white vapor drifted into the elevator, milling around my feet. “Ooh.”
I’d never been to Cloud before—I’d been in jail when it opened—but I’d heard all about it. Carefully, Bart and I edged forward through the man-made mist, exiting the elevator.
More white mist swallowed us. I couldn’t see a thing in front of me. “We’ll have to talk about this some more with Donovan.” I bit my lip, thinking. “They don’t have a problem with misogynists in Faerie, do they? Apart from Connor, I mean.”
“Oh, no. From a gender perspective, their society is actually a lot more egalitarian than any of ours.” Bart waved some of the mist away from his face, so we didn’t walk into any walls.
“They’ve never bent to gender norms. It helps that a lot of the species in the Upper World realms don’t even have a gender binary, and sometimes have multiple genders.
Some of them even change their biological sex to procreate.
Sometimes they do it just to have a laugh.
No, Faerie doesn’t really have a problem with sexism, but they do have bigger problems with classism and racism.
” He waved his hands through the mist frantically, reached out, and grabbed my arm.
“Where the hell is the ma?tre d’ podium? This place is freaking me out.”
“This way,” a disembodied voice called out. Thick clouds surrounded us on all sides.
We shuffled towards the voice. I couldn’t see an inch in front of me. Tentatively, I put out my hands and waved them in case I crashed into something.
A face appeared in the mist. At first, I thought it was a mask, but no, it was just a tall, haughty-looking young man dressed in a spotless white suit, with his hair swept back off his over-botoxed face. He blinked once. It looked like it took him some effort.
“Good afternoon,” he greeted us in a breathy voice. “Welcome to Cloud. Which name is your reservation under?”
“I don’t have a reservation,” Bart began.
“Excuse me?” The mask twitched. “I beg your pardon? Did I hear you correctly? You don’t have a reservation?”
“Uh, no. I?—”
“Did you think you were going to just wander in and get a table? Did you assume we might have a free spot where we could squeeze you in? Were you passing by and felt a bit peckish, and thought you might drop in to see if there was a table free?” He let out an imperious snort.
“As if we didn't have a three-page list of VIPs that we have to call if a last-minute cancellation comes up?”
I waved some more of the vapor away from my face, trying to spot his name tag through the mist. “Calm down, Crispin,” I said calmly. “We all know you’re booked out months in advance, you don’t have to do the whole we’re so exclusive, get the fuck out bit that you guys do.”
“We are, though.” Crispin sniffed haughtily. “How will people know if we don’t do the bit?”
“Well, Bart doesn’t have a reservation, but he’s just dropping me off for lunch. I do have a reservation. I’m Susan Moore, here to meet Juliette Forbes.”
The twitching mask grew still. “I see.” He bowed his head graciously. “Of course, Madam Moore.”
“You can call me Susan.”
“No, I will not. Now, please, follow me.” He glared at Bart one more time and stalked off, disappearing into the misty white vapor completely.
Bart squeezed my hand. “Will you be okay?”
“Of course,” I said. “It’s just Juliette. I can handle her with my eyes closed and both hands tied behind my back.”
“Gah, the visual!” He shuddered dramatically. “You forget I’ve seen her sex dungeon, Sue. It’s burned into my retinas.”
I sniggered and squeezed his hand back. “You don’t need to worry about me, Bart. I’ve got this.” I smiled at him fondly. “The last two years have been a nightmare, but I feel like I’m finally getting my confidence back. I know who I am. I know I can handle anything that anyone throws at me.”