“That’s an interesting analysis.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“No.”
“Oh, come on. It’s such a specific number. Six seeds. Half the year. Persephone knew exactly what she was doing. And that’s why it’s the perfect word for you. You might not be in control, but it’s your decision to be with me, like it was Persephone’s decision to be with Hades. You’re a sub, not a victim.”
“Persephone gets a break every six months,” I point out.
“Please. No one gets a break from the lord of the underworld. You can bet she was a good little girl no matter where she was. Now, be good like Persephone and go to sleep.”
“Rufus?”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad you’re my dom.”
I hear a smile warm his voice. “So am I, babygirl. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
When I hang up I realize I haven’t added him as a contact in my phone. With a grin, I save his number, and enter it as Daddy.
* * *
I’m lying in the sun on my yoga mat, doodling in my new notebook when he calls. It’s eleven and I’ve done my workout and I’ve got nothing to do until four thirty when I have to leave for the theater. I grin when I see Daddy flash up on my phone, and I snatch it up.
“I’m at the store. What do you have for breakfast?”
“Interesting,” I say, adding another flower to the garden bed I’m drawing. “You plan on making me breakfast in the near future.”
“Answer the question.”
“Strawberry milk.”
“You’re kidding me. What else?”
“Nothing else.”
“You’re a dancer and you have strawberry milk for breakfast? What do you have for lunch?”
“A sandwich.”
“Let me guess. White bread and peanut butter.”
“No. White bread and strawberry jam. Sometimes cheese. No crusts.”
He mutters a curse word that I don’t catch. “Dare I ask what you have for dinner?”
“I don’t really have dinner. I have to dance.”
“Christ. I was afraid you were going to say that. You must eat something in the evenings?”
“Pocky sticks. Mini Oreo cookies. You know, stuff that I can throw in my bag.” I hear a frustrated noise and I picture him pinching the bridge of his nose. “What, you expect me to eat a meal and then dance on your stage?”
“I have to go, I just...” He hangs up, and I laugh.
He texts me when I’m on the way to the theater.
It’s your day off tomorrow.