His big, capable hands rested in his lap. He was going to hurt me later with those hands because I was lame and uncertain, and not making any progress. I was failing to launch.
“I feel horrible. I hate disappointing you,” I said, trying to elicit some sympathy. “It’s hard to have you connected to my working world, my art.”
“I’m connected to whatever I want, as far as you’re concerned. That was the deal we made, remember? You belong to me, body and soul.”
I looked around my workroom, at everything he’d made possible. I loved belonging to him, but at the same time, I was a failure, a disappointment, an underperformer who had to be punished. My friend Andrew had graduated at the same time as me, and he was already selling lots of his work.
“Sometimes I think I don’t want to do the jewelry anymore,” I said, looking back at him. “I just want to belong to you.”
I knew that would make him furious. It was exactly what he hadn’t wanted to happen. It was the whole reason he’d resisted letting me into his life, but now I was in his life and all I wanted to do was serve him. He’d paid a lot of money to help me become a designer, and now I didn’t want to design. He could force me to do it. He could force me to do anything in our dynamic, and I had no safe words to extricate myself.
He let out a long, sad breath, then reached to pick up one of the manacles I’d made. He turned it over in his hand and reached for my wrist. It worked on a delicate, hidden hinge, closing snugly around my skin and bones. I’d fashioned it with curved edges, but I hadn’t added any kind of padding. I didn’t deserve padding.
“You know I love you, Chere,” he said, fingering the clasp. To my ears, it sounded like he was trying to convince himself. I didn’t believe him. I didn’t trust him, which made me a very bad slave.
He closed the manacle with a snap and studied it on my wrist. I’d polished it until it shone. Without the fitting for the chain, the silver band could pass for a bracelet. He picked up the other one and put it on me so my wrists were tethered by the chain. He brought them together and covered my hands with his, and held them as he gazed into my eyes.
“These are beautiful,” he said, and it sounded like the sad breath he’d taken earlier. “You do beautiful work. The world needs this work.”
I tried to read his expression. I saw disappointment and doubt. Was he questioning us? Questioning whether he needed to let me go? The words burst out of me in a panic.
“Don’t leave me. Don’t make me go away.”
He released my hands and grabbed my face. I flinched as his fingertips dug into my cheeks. “Do you think I’d do that to you?”
“You did do it to me. You left me before. Twice.”
He gave me a harsh look, followed by a brisk slap on the cheek. It was hard to hold his gaze, but when my eyes slid away he grabbed my neck and I knew I’d better fucking attend to him. I didn’t know what I feared more, his punishment or his desertion. If he believed he was harming me, he would leave me. I knew that. He’d done it before.
Twice.
“I’m sorry,” I pleaded. “I’ll do better. I just want to be with you. The jewelry design, the business, it takes away from my time with you.”
“You used to love making jewelry.”
“Now I love you.”
I felt his fingers tighten. “We have plenty of time together outside of work. You need a life besides being my—”
He stopped talking, but I knew him well enough to understand the things he didn’t say. He wanted me to maintain a life outside of our claustrophobic emotional entanglement in case we had to part again. I knew he maintained escape plans. My career was one of them, because it prevented my complete surrender. My eyes filled with tears.
“Don’t leave me,” I whispered, turning my neck to get more air. “Please.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
We sat like that for fifteen seconds or more, staring at one another with his hand around my neck. I clasped my fingers together and the manacles clinked.
“I’ll find a client by next week,” I promised. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“We’re leaving for Paris in two days.”
“When we get back, then. I’ll use that time in Paris to create a marketing plan—”
“You don’t even know what a marketing plan is.” He let go of my neck and looked at my work. “You need to be out in the world, getting inspired, talking to people, telling them about your vision.”