“Your bonsai plants are beautiful. I’ve never seen so many in one place.”
“Thank you. They’re my hobby.” I come and stand beside her, looking at them with her.
“Is it hard, getting them to grow this way?”
I touch the leaf of the maple. “Not so hard. I keep them small and perfect and give them everything they need, and they seem to thrive.”
I look down at her, liking the smile on her face as she looks at them. My eyes land on the pale pink choker around her throat and I feel the urge to touch it. To feel her pulse beating beneath her fragile skin. To ask her why she started wearing it. She wasn’t the first week she was here. I noticed her jewelry every day because the pieces always looked so good on her. The choker looks innocent enough but I’m almost certain she’s wearing it as a collar, and the idea that it might be because of me is an enjoyable thought. She’s good at her job, and sometimes I have the impression that she works hard because the pleasure she derives from it isn’t purely about a job well done. The sir business especially makes me wonder if the collar’s because of me. For me.
I’ve done domestic kink before. Office kink, though, that’s something new to explore. I become distracted by thoughts of sliding her underwear down her thighs while she sits on my desk when I realize she’s asked me about the bonsai.
“Hmm? Oh, these ones are five or ten years old. I have others at home that are younger, but they’re not ready yet. It takes a while to train them.”
The training is almost the best part.
Lacey looks up at me innocently enough, but my thoughts as I gaze back at her are far from so.
Chapter Six
Lacey
Small and perfect. Everything you need to thrive. That sounds like an ideal existence. On my way home, I imagine Mr. Blomqvist tending to his bonsai plants at home, carefully pruning, positioning and watering them so they grow strong under his hands. I wonder what his home is like, and what he’s like in it. If it’s a house, and if he shares it with anyone, or if it’s just him, shelves of books, plants, and a comfy chair by the fireplace where he reads. I wonder if he has a pair of well-washed jeans and a white T-shirt that he wears on Saturday mornings to water his plants, before he walks down the street to buy a takeaway coffee and a croissant. It’s soothing to imagine him doing these things. Just simple things, but enviable, maybe because of their simplicity.
Mum and dad are still eating when I come back downstairs after eating my dinner, and for once I don’t go through to the living room to read, but join them at the table. Glancing at their plates, I think they had beef stroganoff.
Both look at me in surprise when I sit down. Neither comment on it, but mum smiles a little. I ask them how their days were and about mum’s tennis tournament this weekend. The aroma of their meal isn’t too off-putting.
Finally, I ask what I’m really curious about. “Dad. How did you meet Mr. Blomqvist?”
Dad mops up the sauce on his plate with a piece of bread. “Well, that was an interesting day. It’s gratifying to meet a man who appreciates both modern and classical art. It must be his background. Scandinavians are so cultured.”
I fight to keep a straight face.
“A few months ago he’d run into a brick wall with the people at the Laxos Museum. You remember that my cousin, Yannis, is a curator at the Athens Hellenic Museum?”
I nod. Dad was born in Athens, but his parents emigrated to London with him when he was just a baby.
“One of Stian’s colleagues put him onto me, and I put Stian onto Yannis. Yannis put in a good word for Stian at the Laxos museum, and so—” Dad makes an expansive gesture and reaches for his glass of wine. “Connections are everything in the art world. Modern and otherwise.”
Mum looks on, amused, leaning her chin on her hand. If dad is the flighty, arty type then she’s definitely the practical one in their relationship. I see how much she loves his energy, though.
“But you didn’t know Mr. Blomqvist, so how could you and Yannis vouch for him?” I ask.
“I know art people,” dad says emphatically. “I only needed to meet him once. A man like Stian Blomqvist has exquisite taste, and the utmost respect for the things he admires. The artifacts will be safe in his hands, and the Laxos Museum will benefit for years to come from the pieces’ exposure at the Albright Collection.”
That last part is probably true. Brits do love visiting Greece and the various archaeological sites—when they’re tired of the beaches and bars, that is. I have no doubt that Mr. Blomqvist will look after the pieces. He probably impressed dad with his well-cut suits and good looks. The tattoos, Mr. Blomqvist would be exasperated to hear, probably helped, as well.