I break down the empty box and stand it against the armchair, picking another box and bringing it over. This one is full of much the same, small mass market paperbacks, these seeming to be paranormal in nature, seeing as the cover models have sharp fangs to go along with their rippled torsos. I stack them on the shelves, straightening the spines and matching the author names.
The third box I open makes me laugh. It’s full of every VB Lowe book ever written. The author just happens to be none other than Vivian Lowe, wife of Corbin Lowe, one of the men on my security/mercenary team and co-owner of my Club Alias. I feel the smile on my face the entire time I set up Vi’s books in Astrid’s new bookcase, thinking about my friend and his wife’s story. Talk about fate. Ten years after they divorced, Vi had contacted a Dom at my club who turned out to be Seth, Astrid’s sister Twyla’s now-husband. Vi was looking to interview a real-life Dom in order to portray the lifestyle accurately in her bestselling romance novels. Seth talked to her for months, teaching her through messages and videos all she needed to know about BDSM for her books, and little did he know, since she went by her penname, he was actually speaking to Corbin’s ex-wife. He found out very quickly once Corbin saw her name.
When Vi showed up to the club to watch some BDSM scenes in the flesh, she was greeted by the Dom/owner she believed she had become friends with online, but unbeknownst to her, it was Corbin beneath the hooded mask. So much happened in the following weeks, Vi believing it was still Seth she was speaking to and learning from. Until the entire situation imploded. But now, the Lowes have two children and are happily married once again.
Done with that box, I open the fourth once it’s on my couch, and my brows furrow. This isn’t more of the small mass market paperbacks from the first box. These are larger, trade size, and the covers aren’t just beefcakes in silly costumes.
On top is a red cover, a girl kneeling with her hands tied beautifully behind her back. Brie Learns the Art of Submission by Red Phoenix. I read the back, thinking it sounds familiar, and I discover it’s about a woman who goes to a school to learn how to be a proper submissive. It’s the same book one of my patients, Evelyn Richards, used to talk about all the time in the beginning of her journey into the lifestyle. For some reason, it strikes me as odd for Astrid to own a copy, even though I just went through her entire box of VB Lowe books, but I chalked that up to her knowing Vi, thinking maybe she had given Astrid a set of the collection, knowing she likes to read.
But then… when would that have happened? Seth boxed up all these books before Astrid ever met Vi. Which means she would’ve owned them before she knew her brother-in-law works side by side with one of her clearly favorite authors’ husband.
I look down into the box, pulling out the Fifty Shades Trilogy by E.L. James. I don’t put much thought into her having these. Every woman I know has these books and have watched the movies, so it’s not surprising she owns them too, since she’s a romance reader. But beneath those three are more books of D/s love stories. I carry my armful over to the corner, starting a new shelf on the third bookcase then returning to the box. I scan the back of each one, especially the ones with vague covers—a set of cufflinks, a single calla lily, a glass of whiskey—and every single one, a BDSM romance.
The entire box.
Then the next.
And the next.
Until all the boxes are empty and there’s barely any room for new books. I definitely underestimated how many books were in each box. But what my mind won’t get past is the fact that three-quarters of her collection are BDSM. And that’s only what she has in paperbacks. She has a Kindle she reads on every day that could have a countless number of stories about the very lifestyle I lead. How could I not know this about Astrid, after she’s lived here an entire year?
But I can’t kick myself too hard. It’s not like she’s ever opened up to me before yesterday. The bits and pieces I’ve learned about her since I met her wouldn’t even fill an entire one of my notepads, not anything she’s willingly provided anyway. Just things I’ve picked up on, like the way she likes her avo-toast.
“Knock, knock,” I hear from the doorway over my music, and I’m so deep in thought that it surprises me, and I whip away from the bookcase to find Astrid just inside the study. She points to my speaker on the desk and raises her brows, and I give her a nod, so she walks over to it and turns it down before coming to me. “I texted as promised.”