Page 17 of Dark Surrender

“But we’re supposed to stay here. Mrs. Drake said…” Poppy looks across the pool at my wife.

“Well, Mrs. Drake can go sit on a corncob. Maybe I want privacy to fuck my assistant.” I wink, and she flushes. Reaching over, I pat her shoulder and flick my gaze at the house. “How about you head up to my room? It’s the last door on the second floor. Sober up a bit. Take a shower. Splash some water on your face. Whatever you want. I’ll bring the snacks up.”

Biting her bottom lip, Poppy nods repeatedly as if she’s committing this moment to memory before she stands, collects her things from her lounger, and goes inside. I wait a moment so I don’t draw attention. Thankfully, Penelope is too busy talking. One of the men is getting a blowie in front of everyone, as one of the naked waitstaff pushes the woman’s head up and down to help her along.

It’s weird to think… This life used to be exciting. The sex. The alcohol. The zero fucks about what comes tomorrow. But somewhere along the way, it lost its appeal. I’ve changed. Perhaps not for the better, but that’s up for debate.

Once Poppy’s long gone, I unfold from the lounger, leave my towel behind, and skate the edge of the party to the back of the house, where I dip in through the glass kitchen door, hoping to go unnoticed.

“Oh. Hi.” A female gasps as I enter.

It’s Ava, Harold’s woman, barefoot, wearing a white, flowy dress, pouring champagne into flutes on a gold tray. Her dark hair is pulled back in a low ponytail.

Raising my hands in peace, I chuckle. “I’m a ghost. Pretend I’m not here.”

With a snicker, she continues to fill the glasses. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Well, you’re still upright, so I’ll consider that a win.” I check the pantry to see what they might have stashed.

“You hungry?” she asks.

“Truth?”

“Always.”

“I need some fuel before I meet my assistant upstairs…” I let the implication trail off, so she can report back to Harold that I’m not fucking off, I’m just fucking.

“Oh.”

I chuckle at her discomfort. “Yeah.”

“But… your wife.”

“She…” I wince, then try to formulate some explanation that doesn’t out Penelope and Poppy. Ava doesn’t want the truth. Not really. It’s far too much to stomach. Being the mistress of a rich man, who takes good care of her, is her reality. Not mine. Who am I to pop that fantasy bubble?

To break the sudden awkward silence, I clear my throat. “We have an open marriage.” Which isn’t a lie.

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t know.”

I wave off her unease. “Most people don’t.”

She gestures to the tray of flutes. “I was gonna carry these out to share with everyone, but since you won’t be joining us, will you have your glass now?”

“Oh. Um. I…”

“I’m getting a promotion at work. I know it’s silly, but I wanted to celebrate.” Her tiny shrug is adorable.

Wanting to celebrate your promotion isn’t silly.

“Well, shit, yeah, okay,” I say, and Ava offers me a flute of bubbly and grins as I shoot it back. “Congrats.” I cheer to her with the empty glass, then carry it over to the sink.

“Thanks,” she whispers, then collects the tray. I open the back door so she can get through without an accident.

“Have a good night. Be safe,” I call as I shut the door in her stead. The small smile she flashes me over her shoulder is sweet. Turning on my heel, I raid the kitchen and fridge for snacks. Once my arms are loaded down with all the junk food, bottles of water, and whatever else I think Poppy might want, I race up the stairs to my bedroom, where I find her passed out on the bed.

Chuckling at the sun catching up to her, as it did with my kids when they were growing up, I set the snacks on the couch and turn to go shower, but the world blurs and I trip. Landing on one knee, I catch myself on the edge of the bed.

“What the fuck?” I choke and wobble to get up, but stumble again. My legs give out entirely, and my body hits the floor with a heavy, painful thud. Twisting my head to the side at the last moment, I inhale a ragged lungful of air before my world dims and goes black.