A Melody of Surrender

A Melody of Surrender

This is a story about how intimacy takes different forms for different people, and how things we may not personally understand can have deep intimate meaning for others. It's a long, slow-burn romance about two women and their developing bond of love.

It explores intimacy through power exchange, dominance and submission, and there is a loving, growing D/s relationship at the heart of the story. If that's not your cup of tea you might want to skip this one and move to one of my other slow burn stories.

A big, heartfelt hug of thanks goes out to THBGato and SugarStorm for all their help in developing this story. Their suggestions and honest comments truly made it much better. I highly recommend that you check out their stories.

The title is lovingly borrowed from one of SugarStorm's amazing stories.

---

++ A Melody of Surrender ++

The carbonara was good. I had prepared it from scratch with the right ingredients and method. I was rather proud of that. I liked cooking, it was structured and fun to learn, and I could do it by myself through the internet. You might even say it was a hobby by now.

Oh, look at me. I had a hobby.

I smiled to myself.

I topped up my glass of Pinot Gris. I thought a nice white was a good fit for the carbonara. It felt a bit like a real Italian meal.

This was where Ben would have smiled and blown me a kiss over clinking glasses.

Afterwards we would have relaxed on the sofa, watched some Dr. Who and finished the wine. With a little Thursday buzz, we would perhaps have been feeling a bit romantic.

He would have been gentle, made sure I came before him. He was an attentive lover like that.

When he fell asleep, I would have lain awake for a while.

Wondering what was wrong with me.

It was a nice life we'd had. Our... my tidy, one bedroom Camden flat wasn't large but lovely and in a nice area. I had a good job, a senior position at the studio and Ben was a good man. We'd been friends for years before we got together. Living together for three years. Building a life.

Until a month ago.

When I just couldn't go through the motions anymore.

He was surprised. Hurt. But not devastated.

Maybe he felt it too, that there was something missing.

I'd said it was me, not him. It was a cliché, but it was true.

I clicked off the telly and went to bed.

I had an early morning.

---

Fridays at Bellwether Studios were often a light affair. There was a standing order for drinks after work at the half-closed rooftop bar we shared with the two other companies that were housed in the building; a fintech outfit and a legal firm. It was a great setup, and in the summer, we sometimes had live music up there, jazz, blues or DJ's.

I loved working here. Rowan was a great boss, perceptive and friendly, with an eye for detail. He recognised people's value and had put together a small but competent team. There were only ten of us, but the projects Rowan brought in were interesting and often felt like they were stolen from under the noses of larger agencies. His old contacts In the high fashion and art circles seemed like they were still robust, even though he had left the art directing game to set up his own creative agency five years ago.

It was after lunch, and I was polishing the slides for the Hemvind final presentation. Repositioning a Scandinavian homeware brand for the UK market wasn't a huge challenge, but as a brand strategist I'd had to do a bit of digging to find the emotional core beneath all the beige and birchwood.

I was going with less 'minimalist cold', more 'intentional sanctuary', targeting mid- to upper income young couples and families with young children. Heavy on sustainability and ethical production - buy fewer but better things, kind of thing.

The client liked it, so everyone was happy.

I just had to get Jules' lines to pop with Marla's creatives and bring the whole deck together before Monday.

"Cady, can you join us in the meeting room in ten minutes please?" Rowan knocked lightly on the top of my screens. I looked up at him, sleek dressed as usual, tailored suit, no tie.

"Sure, what's up?"

"Team meeting, everyone who's in. New client. Exciting times." He winked mysteriously and sauntered off to Marla and John's desks.

I looked at Jules to my right, he just shrugged, like he didn't know what this was about. We'd all find out at the meeting then.

Ten minutes later I took a seat at the far end of the table in our 14-chair meeting room. There were only six of us in there now though, Marlon and Chelsea were out on a pitch and Amir was on a photo run. That just left Rowan. The display was on but currently only our logo sat there.

A minute later he entered, quick on his feet, planting his coffee on the table. There was that glint in his eye he got when he had something exciting to share.

"Everyone, I have some news. It is not public yet, but it will be at around lunch tomorrow, so I'll ask you to sit on it until then."

He smiled, looking at everyone around the table.

"We have a new client." He clicked a slide on, and a collective gasp went around the table at the all too recognizable face and logo.

"Fuck me!" Jules was as eloquent as ever.

"I'll take that as positive recognition." Rowan's smile was even wider now.

Tessa had her jaw on the table.

"That's bloody Luz Valencienne!"

Even I knew that.

The supermodel-turned-businesswoman, heiress of the Valencienne fashion house, commanded the room even from the screen, complete with flowing blonde mane, glowing cheekbones and tinted glasses. She was a formidable beauty, having started her career at fourteen strutting her stuff on the runway side by side with the very best. She was now nearly thirty, head of the Valencienne house and openly determined to restore her family's moody and romantic but lagging fashion empire to former glory.

"I'm happy to inform you that Valencienne Atelier has signed an exclusive contract with Bellwether Studio for the rebranding and relaunch of the fashion house as... Valencienne Élan."

The new name appeared on the screen. Stripped back, white sans font on black. Arial. He was using bloody Arial to tell us it was carte blanche. Cheeky bugger. His smile simmered down to a smirk.

There was cheering, hooting, fist pumping. Rowan allowed for a moment of celebration and then raised his hands, calming the noise.

"The launch is scheduled as part of London Fashion Week this fall, in just 8 short months. Now, to make this clear to everyone; The partnership will be leaked to the news tomorrow, but the new name or any details of the rebranding - even the fact that there is a rebranding in the works - does not leave this floor. Do not utter it outside these hallowed walls, not even to your loved ones. Guard it as the single most important secret of your entire working careers, because it is!"

He looked dead serious and everyone understood. It was obvious, but sometimes you had to state the obvious. The contract lived or died with this secret being kept. Hell, with a client like this, the company itself might live or die with this secret being kept. This was all our jobs on the line.

My good brand strategist job at a cool creative agency had suddenly morphed into something else entirely. If we pulled this off, I would have the Valencienne Atelier rebrand on my resumé. Even if I just had a minor role in this, the prestige of just having worked on this account in any way would... Oh god.

My head swam as I realised that I was witnessing a potentially career altering moment.

I was so caught up in all of this that I didn't notice the woman who quietly entered the meeting room and stood off to the side by the door. Not at first.

Not until I noticed Marla staring, having a quiet, wide-eyed 'fuuuuuuuck' moment to herself.

I followed her stare and saw this serious faced, dark-haired woman standing there, looking like she had always been there. Easy. Calm. Somewhat edgy but professional looking. Her wavy hair was taken up in an oversized tortoiseshell claw at the back, leaving a few loose strands framing her face. A bit off-centre, it looked rather hastily done. But somehow, she didn't look like a woman who did anything with haste.

She wore brick-red lipstick and winged eyeliner that drew attention to her dark eyes and clean, sharp brows. A silver ring sat comfortably in a nostril, punctuating her angled face. Her outfit sat on her frame like it had been casually thrown on but was still perfectly structured. Tailored black tapered trousers with a single neat chain decorating her right hip paired with carefully half-laced burgundy Docs. A fitted pinstripe blazer over a Massive Attack T-shirt, the once black colour expertly faded to shades of grey. Her sleeves were unevenly cuffed giving her simple silver watch pride of place, showing the black line tattoos adorning her wrists.

It was office wear, but with an I-don't-give-a fuck twist. She looked like a controlled riot in very good tailoring.

A calm storm.

"Everyone, I want you to meet Ilaria West. She will be joining Bellwether as from today to take the reins on the Valencienne account as project lead. Ilaria is an accomplished art director, as I'm sure most of you already know, and has worked closely with Luz Valencienne herself in years past. We are very lucky that she's decided to throw in her lot with us and in truth, this wouldn't be happening if she wasn't a part of the package. I trust you will make her feel welcome."

A quick but friendly nod was all we got from her, but as Rowan went around the table introducing everyone, her eyes lingered for a second or two on each person.

"Jules Moreno, copy. Razor sharp. Deadpan. A poet in party wrapping." Jules grinned and gave a silly little wave.

"Marla Tran, art direction. Chaos in eyeliner. The good kind." Marla looked in love as she got a small nod.

"John Elwood, senior designer. Our Devil for all the details. Will chew you out if you mess with his files, so fair warning." I'd been on the receiving end of that once. It was like having a favourite teacher be very disappointed in you. Terrible feeling.

Rowan nodded toward Vicki, scribbling something quick in the margin of her notebook. "Viktoria Sandström, UX and digital experience. Doesn't speak unless she's right, so, always." That raised some smiles. Vicki was Swedish and didn't hold back when it came to opinions, which she held on everything from the quality of the office coffee to the state of world affairs.

"Tessa Doyle, studio coordinator-slash-trend oracle. Keeps us up to date, on our toes and inspired." Tessa was mid-scroll on her tablet, already amassing info on Valencienne, probably starting with Luz's own social media posts.

Finally, me.

"Cadence Harper, brand strategy. Knows what you like before you do. Sharp as knives, don't let the quiet fool you."

I nodded back as she inclined her head to the quick introduction. Her dark eyes lingered on me a moment longer. Measured. Like she was filing me away. It felt a bit strange to be honest. She looked like someone who would kiss you or kill you depending on her mood. I started to wonder how she would fit in. Coming in like this gave her a lot of weight in a small team. A disrupting weight perhaps.

"We've got three more out on missions right now, Chelsea Osei, our schedule sorceress, Amir Haddad, our knockout visuals man, and Marlon Ruiz, our mood and motion king. I've given them the heads up, so you'll meet them upstairs later."

He clapped his hands once, soft but final. "All right, that's the team." He looked at her smiling, inviting her to speak if she wished. She took a step forward, seemingly completely at ease with a room full of strangers.

"Thank you, Rowan, it's such a pleasure to meet you all, I'm very excited to be joining you for this project. I've followed some of your work and you absolutely punch high above your weight when it comes to large projects. I was especially impressed with your work on the Reverie Collection identity launch and the Terra Vita Project. Amazing results with a beautiful vision. Super concept work. I'm very happy to be a part of the team and look forward to working with you all."

Her voice took me by surprise. From her looks I'd expected it to be dark and gritty, husky even, but her short speech was delivered in bright, soft, sincere tones.

I could see Marla was mesmerised. The others were hanging on her every word. I had to admit, she was an interesting character. I found myself looking forward to getting to know her better.

"Ok guys, Ilaria and I need to go over some details for tomorrow, but we'll see you on the roof in an hour and a half or so, yes?" He strode out of the meeting room, heading for his office, the only one in our otherwise open workspace.

Ilaria West followed him with a quick nod and a not-really-a-smile-to-us.

As soon as they closed the door to Rowan's office, quiet pandemonium erupted.

"Fucking Valencienne Atelier!? Ilaria West?"

"No way!"

"Jesus Cady, don't you know who that is?"

That last one was Marla, who was looking at me wide eyed.

"Uhm I've heard the name, but I'm not sure that I've seen any of her work..."

"Are you kidding? She was the art director for Mirage:70, the whole 'art installation in motion' thing? The desert mirages, the book? Fuck, did you not see the Bardenas Reales film? Models appearing and disappearing in the shifting sand?

She was literally bursting at the seams with excitement. I did remember the La Maison Delacroix 70th anniversary shows, they had taken both fashion and art worlds by storm two years ago.

"That was her?"

"THAT WAS HER!" she shout-whispered. "She was nominated for the fucking Design Grand Prix at Cannes Lions for that last year. It was daylight robbery that she didn't win! The word is she walked off the set in the Bardenas desert because Valerie Delacroix wanted to change her vision. They had to beg her back. Jesus Cady, do you not read Vogue or i-D, or like, the bloody papers?"

I did, sometimes. I vaguely remembered an article about that Bardenas Reales shoot going tits up. Bloody hell. This was big.

Marla was having a full starstruck meltdown. She and Jules were practically squeeing at each other.

Tessa rushed out, head buried in the tablet. The others were standing up, and I joined them going back to my desk. Design celebrities or not, I still had a date with some Scandinavian birch, and I didn't want to spend too much of my Saturday on it.

While I worked on how best to assure the world that a sustainable home was the way to a fuller life, I thought about this incredible twist in our fortunes. It was Rowan at his best, obviously. He had massively outdone himself this time. The question was how an account that big and the addition of a heavy hitter like West would affect our well-established office ecosystem.

We'd see soon enough.

---

The music wasn't loud, and the mood was talking, not dancing, at these Friday after-work drinks up top. The Smiths did their best to drag the mood down as I walked into the glass covered bar area.

There wasn't a big crowd around our new project leader, just Rowan and a few others, but Marla was talking with her, doing her best to look nonchalant. Failing spectacularly. The resident celebrity seemed nonplussed by her fawning.

I watched them out of the corner of my eye as I asked Obi at the bar for a glass of white, listening to the Boy With the Thorn in His Side feel sorry for himself.

And when you want to live, how do you start?

Where do you go? Who do you need to know?

All good questions, really.

Morrissey finished his whining with a series of oh-ooohs and Don't Mug Yourself came on. My, this was an uplifting playlist. Probably something the fintech chaps downstairs had put together. At least it wasn't bloody Dry Your Eyes. The Streets wasn't my cup of tea.

I took my white wine and ambled over to Rowan's little group. I was in a good mood, the birch had behaved, we had an exciting new client and an interesting new coworker. All good Friday happy hour material.

"... no, I'm over in Dalston, got a flat in Ridley Road." Our new resident celebrity seemed to be as mortal as the rest of us after all, if her address was anything to go by.

"But you must have moved around a lot? Didn't you live in Berlin for a while?"

"Sure, yes, but I kept my place here all the same. My mother lives in Florence so I've got a place there as well. But it's nice to be rooted somewhere even if I flit about a fair bit."

Her bright, soft voice carried over the music that now had moved on to Bittersweet Symphony. I swear, someone needed to be talked to about this.

I watched her from the rim of their chat circle, not wanting to interrupt. She caught my eye, and I was treated to a warm smile that seemed completely out of character.

"Hi, Cadence, right? Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, uhm, nice to meet you too. Welcome to Bellwether."

"Thank you, I'm happy to be here." She radiated joy, the smile transforming her angled face to angelic.

Talented and beautiful too. Some people had all the luck. I felt a little warm inside under the light of that smile.

"Rowan tells me you and Marla were the brains behind the Terra Vita concept. That was seriously impressive."

Marla looked like she was going to pee herself fangirling, so I caught the ball.

"Thank you, I guess, yeah. Well, Marla did the heavy design lifting of course, I was mostly there just to plan and execute." I could feel my ears warming.

"Shut up, it was your idea, don't be so modest." Marla gave me a friendly elbow, still grinning ear to ear.

"Interesting." Ilaria's smile stayed on. She really was amazingly pretty.

I felt my blush deepen. I was never good at taking compliments. Or talking to pretty girls.

"Cady is our ideas and strategy wiz; she likes to hide in the back, but she's the glue that holds this place together more often than not."

Rowan winked at me over his glass, the bastard. He knew that I didn't like it when he talked about me like that in public. And he knew me well enough to know that despite that surface reaction, deep down I loved to feel appreciated, a sucker for earned compliments.

Even if they produced a furious blush.

"Oh, stop it Rowan." I turned to Ilaria with a smile. "We're a hard-working team here, that's what makes us good."

She nodded slowly and took a sip of her drink. Again, it felt like she was quietly taking me in somehow, assessing everyone around her for future reference. Like a shark, always moving. I suddenly got the feeling that she was quite intelligent on top of all the talent and beauty.

She wasn't aloof in any way, just understated, friendly but at a distance. Maybe it was just because she was the new girl. Perhaps she was nervous.

I laughed that thought off.

She definitely wasn't the nervous type.

When I got home, I was buzzed, energized by the challenge that life had just thrown me. Struck by how that intense but calm woman had swept into our lives, turning everything on its head.

When I closed my eyes that night, the thought of her winged eyes on me as we talked wouldn't leave me.

I hoped this wasn't going to unleash some drama. She looked like an amazing artist to work with. But she also looked like a friendly but barely contained storm.

As anyone with experience from our line of work could testify to, those two things often went together.

And that was usually when things tended to blow up.

---

There wasn't drama.

But there was tension.

We quickly found out that Ilaria quietly commanded every room she occupied, every meeting was her meeting if she wanted it to be.

There were no outbursts, no wrestling for authority, just a subtle presence that demanded attention.

She took the empty desk sideways opposite me, so I had her in my field of vision every time I looked up. Even just sitting there on the open floor she commanded an aura of competence and quiet control.

Rowan strangely seemed to love it. He was top dog here, it was his agency, but everyone could see how he loved that new energy about the place, the action, the step up Ilaria brought to everyone around her.

Marla was still in awe. Jules' creativity was through the roof trying to please her. Amir beamed as they spoke about blending analogue film slides and digital photography to create disruptive imagery.

She was everywhere.

And she had a vision.

I couldn't help being drawn into her influence.

She wasn't a brand strategist's dream to work with, art directors seldom are, but she respected my work and incredibly she knew some of it. She had clearly done her homework on us before coming here.

She listened when I spoke and she built on what I said or turned it on its head to break it down, find the core of it. And then when she found that, she usually threw it out or challenged me to rework it. She was like that with everyone, demanding but inspiring. Ever soft spoken and friendly but with that vision that would not be compromised, not budged.

The rebirth of one of the world's oldest fashion houses. The reimagining of a design dynasty.

She was as infuriating as she was brilliant. I loved working with her, even if it was sometimes frustrating as hell being relentlessly pushed to be better.

She had a vision but not a concept. And that's what we were here for. That was the job.

Find the concept, align it with her vision, make it resonate with tomorrow rather than yesterday, flesh it out, find original ways to make it stand out in a world of short attention spans. Make it into a solid base for the fashion dynasty to grow and flourish in the coming decades.

It was by far the craziest and most interesting project I had ever worked on.

We started slowly, talking, drawing up sketches, tossing words about, finding the shape of the thing. Ilaria explained her vision to the extent that she could.

She insisted that we take field trips for inspiration, from small art installations in backstreet galleries to the Tate Modern, leading us through the Photographing Britain in the 80's exhibition and gushing about Anthony McCall's Solid light.

We sat through hours of old Valencienne Atelier runway footage, taking notes and brainstorming ideas.

But three weeks later the concept still eluded us. We had ideas, inspirations and handles. But nothing solid.

That Friday, Ilaria and I still sat in the meeting room at six, with everyone else already up on the roof shaking off a hard day with a stiff drink or two.

I groaned, my head stretched back off the chair, hands hanging loose by the sides, stretching the buttons of my white blouse over my chest.

We had been at it since lunch, revisiting ideas, going through Marla's and John's sketches, circling the same themes... legacy, sensuality, reinvention. There were some good ideas there, but nothing that clicked.

"We need a drink," I sighed.

She pushed away the old Valencienne campaign folder that she'd been flipping through. Her soft voice sounded tired.

"You're not wrong. I could go for an Old Fashioned right now."

"Obi makes some mean classic cocktails with a modern twist, I'm sure he can make you a good one."

She looked down, her fingers shaking out her thick, wavy hair in front of her face, freed from the clip. I watched her pull it away from her angled face and tie it back in a low ponytail with the colourful silk scarf from her wrist and brushing some strands away from her straight nose.

A spark formed in my brain.

Something about her hand brushing the hair away from her beautiful face.

"Uhm... what if..."

She reached for her dark blazer.

"Come on, we're done today. I need alcohol."

"What if we don't lead with rebirth?"

She looked at me. "What?"

"What if this... isn't about becoming something new... but... remembering what Valencienne always was? Just... finally seen clearly?"

There was a slow silence. Ilaria sat there, her blazer over her arm, just looking at me. Eerily still.

"Say that again."

I blushed at her intensity. It was like her eyes were trying to see inside my brain.

"It's... not about reinvention. It's about... revelation. Like clearing up a fogged mirror."

She still just stared. I felt emboldened, she was listening.

"OK look, what if Valencienne Élan isn't about a new voice? It doesn't need a new voice. It needs to echo. Like... ancestral but sharp. A new wave but in the same voice. Like... a future memory."

And then I could literally see it. The click. When it all fit together in her brilliant head.

I felt goosebumps on my arms.

She leaned back in the chair, still staring at me.

"That's it," she murmured. "That's the concept."

Then suddenly she was a flurry of activity, pushing away the folders, grabbing a sketchbook, doing a quick sketch... bare hands... mirror shards.

"We build from that... we build the brand like a reflection shattered and reassembled... something fractured but whole. Reflected through time, but shining anew. That's the voice."

She stared at the sketch now, her voice just a whisper.

"That's Luz."

She stood suddenly, picking up the sketchbook, and reached out and touched my chin, directing my face up to meet her gaze, ever so lightly. Her eyes glowed with recognition.

"You are... remarkable."

A second passed, feeling like eons, with just the tip of her finger lingering on my chin, a hint of brushing as it pulled away. I exhaled slowly, only then realising I had been holding my breath.

The strange look on her face turned into a wide smile.

"Come Cadence. I'm going to buy you a drink. You've earned it."

And through all the excitement of finally hitting on the concept we had been trying to find for weeks, the celebrations up on the roof, the congratulations and hugs, I couldn't shake that brushing touch and little sentence from my head the whole night.

You've earned it.

---

I woke up late on Saturday morning. There was still a lingering strangeness to being alone in our... in my bed.

I made coffee and installed myself in the bathtub with my Kindle.

After a while my mind wandered back to last night. We'd had fun. Stayed late. Danced.

I put my book down and closed my eyes.

I loved dancing. There was something about it that made me feel free. Just moving with the music, to the rhythm, matching the movements of another person. Following their lead.

My hand brushed a nipple.

You've earned it.

Such a small gesture. Just a lovely little praise.

Earned.

And that light touch of her fingertip on my cheek. Just an offhand touch, but somehow... intentional.

It gave me an unexpected... deep feeling.

Joy.

She was... interesting.

And a good dancer.

Sexy.

I spent the afternoon at Camden Lock Market, having lunch and browsing through the stalls and shops. Looking behind the touristy facade, I found a beautiful second-hand silk blouse and a soft dark brown leather tote, large enough for my laptop. I was pretty good at spotting second hand stuff that went well together. I guess you might call my style a mix of good basics and lucky finds. Half second-hand, half sensible splurges. Good enough to look professional at the job but not eating up all my limited funds.

That night, as I closed my eyes, that touch came back and wouldn't leave my mind.

Why did that affect me so much?

Why did I feel like I wanted to earn her praise?

Thinking about it, I understood a little better what had been missing with Ben.

---

I Googled her, the day after she arrived. Sat around that Saturday after finishing up the beige&birch deck, trying to get a handle on who she was, this art design hero who had Marla starstruck.

She'd been busy. Just a year older than me at 30, she seemed to have been something of a whiz kid in the world of art and fashion design. She'd had exhibitions in well-known galleries in London, Berlin and Milan, mainly photos, collages and mixed media. Art director at a prestigious fashion mag in London for two years. Then she had really made it with that Maison Delacroix project two years ago. Vogue covers. Awards.

But one of the first things that popped up on search were pictures of Luz Valencienne exiting one of Berlin's infamous fetish sex clubs, in huge dark glasses, hand up to fend off the paparazzi. I remembered that. The tabloids had a field day with it, but it didn't land at first why that was showing up in my search.

The reason was the woman walking a step behind her, holding her hand. She had dark glasses on as well but there was no mistaking the angled face, the distinct fashion sense, even dishevelled after a night of... whatever it was people got up to at that club. The stories about those places were a bit extreme.

They'd lived together for two years in Berlin.

Lovers.

Jet set parties. Art shows. Fashion runways. Sex clubs.

My new coworker was an interesting woman.

And totally different from what I would have expected from what I could see on the internet.

In real life she was friendly, soft spoken, professional and inspiring.

Quietly confident.

Nothing like the haughty celebrity party animal the tabloid news and social media threads made her out to be.

In the pictures with Luz, she always seemed to be trailing behind. Holding her hand or touching her in some way, but in her shadow, somehow.

But then, Luz Valencienne was the type to outshine anyone, anywhere.

I went to work that next Monday even more interested in her, but no less intimidated.

---

It was Thursday afternoon, after six weeks of work.

The silence after her harsh words was sharp and echoing. The meeting room felt like a funeral parlour.

Ilaria stood at the head of the table, hand still resting on the notebook she'd just shut with a little too much finality. The tension in her body inundating the room like radioactivity.

Her eyes were tight. Focused. Brimming with clipped intensity that this time felt a little desperate.

"This feels derivative," she'd said.

A word to end friendships in the design community.

But it wasn't the words. We all said what was needed when it was needed from time to time.

It was the way she'd said them. Crisp. Low. Precise enough to cut.

I watched Marla's jaw set as she dropped her pen and closed her notebook. Jules shifted awkwardly, drumming fingers against his laptop as if looking for a way to vanish. Vicki's gaze was pointedly fixed on the table, her lips thin. Even John looked shaken, which was rare.

It hurt.

We had worked hard. Even if the concept wasn't fully fleshed out yet, no one in that room had coasted. Everyone had poured pieces of themselves into this draft. And now those pieces were scattered and... dismissed. Not cruelly, but completely. Perhaps unfairly, judging by the feelings in the faces around the table.

Rowan stepped in quickly, his voice calm.

"Let's take a short break. Ten minutes everyone. Reset. Air your brains."

Chairs pushed back. Feet scraped the floor.

No one argued.

Marla was first out, shoulders stiff as she walked. Jules followed, muttering something under his breath. Vicki and John left together, silent. Even Rowan ducked out, probably giving Ilaria space on purpose.

I stayed.

I didn't pretend to busy myself with anything. I just stayed in my seat, hands on the table. She hadn't moved. Her gaze was fixed somewhere over the centre of the table, not looking at me, not looking at anything.

"Can I... say something?" I asked.

Her head tilted slightly, just enough to show she'd heard. A small nod.

"That came out like arrogance... sorry, but it did. You can be... intimidating. But it wasn't arrogance, was it?"

That got her attention. Her eyes flicked to mine, guarded.

I breathed and kept going. In for a penny.

"It wasn't about being right. It was... frustration. Because you care. You're personally invested. Am I right?"

Something flickered behind her eyes. A blink.

"I've seen people blow up over work before," I said, a little more confident now. "That wasn't that, I think. That was maybe... being afraid the thing you care a lot about might not get said the way it's meant to be said."

Silence.

Then she sank down into the chair across from me, slow and deliberate, as though her body had only just remembered how to sit.

She looked at her hands for a moment, fingers resting on the sketchbook. Then she exhaled.

"You saw that?" Her voice was low, not sharp. Not aimed at anyone. I seemed to be out of firing range. "You're right. It's not just work. This is personal... to me."

I just nodded.

She looked at me for a long moment and then let out a breath, like a knot loosening. And I was treated to a rare moment where she just looked like a tired woman trying to do a good job.

"Maybe I'm too close to this. I care too much. Maybe it's too personal."

"Maybe. Or... maybe that's just what this project needs," I ventured.

There was a pause, a hesitation. Then she sat a little straighter, smoothed her jacket against her body, like she was brushing off that moment of vulnerability, and picked up the sketchbook again.

"I should talk to them," she said, her voice steady now.

I nodded.

"Yes, you should. But you can't ask people to feel what you feel unless you let them see where it comes from."

She looked at me a second longer than she had to, hopefully seeing that I hadn't been pointing out a weakness or failure. I felt like I'd gotten a glimpse of what drove her, inside. Like she wasn't all just confident edges.

"Thank you, Cadence."

When Rowan shepherded the others in a minute later, still looking glum, she stood off to the side much like she had that first day. Unassuming, calm. When she spoke, her voice had regained that soft commanding presence.

"I know I'm demanding. I don't apologize for that. But... I accept that this is not just professional for me. It's a very personal statement as well. And I accept that sometimes that may... affect my performance."

I had a feeling that was as close to an apology we were likely to get. She drew a slow breath.

"I'm asking you to... no. I'm trusting you to find the brilliance that makes that professional and personal challenge the most resounding rebranding success of the decade." I could feel a silent 'wow' sweep through the room. That was... steep.

But she continued, finding the eyes of everyone in the room as she spoke.

"I chose you, campaigned for you... Rowan and all of you... because I believe you can do it. You have the track record to prove it. And in the last six weeks I've seen it. I know it."

She held the full attention of everyone in the room now.

"I trust you. I trust you to rise to the challenge. I trust you to deliver that success. I trust you to be... astounding."

It was quiet, delivered with intense calm. Absolute certainty.

I felt the goosebumps rise on my arms.

"This? This is a part of the process. We build, and we fail, and then we build again. You know that's how this works. But it's easy to get wrapped up in what we think the concept should be. So, the challenge is to not think what it should be, but to feel... really feel... what it is."

Her closed hand was on her heart, intensely declaring her meaning. Her eyes were lit up with quiet passion, willing all of us into her vision of success.

I could see Marla straighten her back; eyes narrowed. Jules stared at the laptop, deep in thought. John was lightly tapping his fingers on the chair, alert. It felt like everyone was on the edge of their seats.

There was a sizzling energy in the room that hadn't been there five minutes ago.

Suddenly, Marla shot up and stormed out of the meeting room. We stared after her, not knowing what to do. In 30 seconds, she was back, holding the mirror from the bathroom, a wild glint in her eye.

"Marla... what..." Rowan started.

"She's right. We throw it all out. Fresh start. From this." She slammed the mirror flat down on the heavy meeting table, breaking it into pieces, making everyone jump from the loud breaking sound and the force of her action. The shards sat there in the middle of the table, like an installation of sorts.

We stared. Then Jules lifted a finger.

"Oh... ooohhh... yes!" He started tapping away on his laptop. Suddenly the room was alive with activity, people talking, pointing at the mirror shards, sketching things, writing things down.

I sat there, my mind doing furious laps around the concept, made real somehow by that broken mirror.

It sat there, fractured but whole, the light in the shards silently reflecting the melting pot of creativity the room had suddenly become. Looking into it, I caught dark eyes looking back.

Calmly watching me through the storm she had created.

Her gaze held mine in that mirror shard for a few seconds more. I couldn't look away.

Her small smile felt like it was there for me alone.

And then the spell was broken as Marla grabbed her attention.

And I was left with an empty feeling.

Missing the weight of her eyes on me.

Oh.

I stood and went to the bathroom, now mirrorless so I couldn't stare at myself in wonder. So, I stared inward.

That was... something.

There was a feeling there... a burning need... that wasn't there before.

Not with Ben.

Not with anyone.

Not like this

--

That Friday I was talking with Chelsea on the roof, Aperol Spritz halfway downed, as Ilaria came and planted herself in the empty third chair. She listened to us compare bar experiences; Chelsea liked high end hotel bars and half-hidden speakeasies with signature cocktails, I preferred live music back rooms filled with mismatched second-hand chairs and tables and interesting clientele bordering on the weird.

I felt weird, sometimes.

Chelsea laughed at that and went to get another drink.

Ilaria sipped her Negroni.

"What about you? Where do you go to have a drink?" I suddenly wanted to know. "Somewhere like The Connaught in Mayfair? Art Deco and ridiculously expensive cocktails?"

She smiled, looking up from her nefarious Italian mix of hard spirits, her eyes catching mine. I concentrated on sucking the dregs out of my near empty glass.

"No. Not that."

She didn't look like she was going to say anything more, but then she hesitated, like she was wondering about something. I waited.

"Do you like... live performance?" she asked.

"Sure, love it. You mean like music, bands?"

"More like art performance... poetry and things like that?"

"Oh... I haven't really been to many of those. Once or twice, back in Uni. But yeah, sounds interesting. I like the energy of seeing something live on stage."

She smiled and swirled the straw in her drink. She really was beautiful. I caught myself thinking that a lot now.

"Would you..."

She stopped, looking less confident than usual. It was weird, like looking at an unmovable wall that had somehow forgot how to... wall. Then her confidence seemed to snap back.

"There's this place near my flat, The Black Mare? It's just a back room pub off Kingsland Road, a bit like the ones you were saying you liked. There's a poetry open mic there tomorrow night, mostly locals, nice atmosphere. The performances are often quite good..."

"Oh, interesting..."

She turned her glass on the table.

"Would you... like to come?"

I was stunned. I think it showed. Her, inviting me for a drink at her local art performance club. It was surprising in so many ways. The kind of bar she liked, the strangeness of her wanting to hang out with me at all.

But the strangest thing was that it was so obviously a date.

She was asking me out... on a date.

I could feel my face flush red, ears burning.

In a million years I would not have expected that. And every day in every one of those million years I would have said the same thing.

"I'd love to."

In the sea of confident expressions I'd seen during the last weeks, her smirks and half-smiles, even the occasional laugh at a joke, I had never seen her real honest smile.

Not until now.

It was beautiful. Shining, raw and vulnerable.

And then she blushed slightly as well, and we awkwardly talked about that pub and what was on there tomorrow some more.

Never saying what we were thinking, not calling it out. Just letting it be what we both knew it was.

A date.

I had a date with Ilaria West.

---

I got off the Overground at Dalston Junction at just over nine, after changing at Highbury & Islington. Dalston was a little off my usual map, but Ilaria said she'd meet me at the station.

I tapped out and looked around. The station was a bit tucked away and in the dark, it felt like I was stepping into a different kind of evening than when I got on the Victoria Line.

I saw her coming my way as I turned into the street.

"Hey. You made it." There was that amazing smile again. I loved that unguarded smile.

"Yeah, of course." I smiled back.

There was an awkward pause, just a hesitation where neither of us knew what to say next, and then she turned and pointed the way.

"It's just up the road here and to the right. Not far."

We fell into step as we left the station. We passed the usual kebab shop neon, someone busking with a cracked, old acoustic guitar, a group of friends laughing too loudly across the road. It felt different from my usual haunts, but it was still London. Just a little less polished.

We walked mostly in silence, but not awkward. Just... aware of each other's presence.

I had fretted over what to wear all day, landing on my soft cream blouse tucked into high-waisted, grey trousers with pleats and pockets that worked. My navy wool coat and a simple gold pendant around my neck topped off the look coupled with red lipstick. I felt good about it when I left home but compared to her understated but smashing I-don't-care look, I looked too loud and too polished.

She looked gorgeous in a black silk button down and a charcoal fitted coat with narrow black jeans and scuffed matte leather boots that clashed with my heeled ankle ones. Her hair was loose and slightly windblown, the usual winged eyeliner her only makeup. Even the lipstick was missing, her face stripped down to essentials. I loved it.

She walked close, our sleeves brushing once or twice. I wondered if it was intentional. As we crossed the street, she paused for half a second. Then her fingers brushed mine.

Not accidentally.

I sucked in a quiet breath. Didn't move away.

She looked straight ahead as her fingers slid gently into the space between mine, not quite threading them. Her grip was loose and careful, like she might pull away if I gave her any reason.

I was careful not to. Just let it happen, the quiet tension of holding hands blooming between us like the first few notes of a song we didn't know the words to yet.

We crossed the street like that, not speaking.

Then she glanced at me sideways, her voice soft.

"You're not what I expected."

"Me?" I probably sounded incredulous. "You're not at all what I expected."

There was a brief silence, and I could feel her fingers moving in mine.

"Is that good?"

I wiggled my fingers a little, boldly getting a slightly firmer hold on hers, and gave her a smile.

She seemed happy with that answer.

The bar was small, intimate, all mismatched chairs and smelling faintly of beer, just as advertised. It was dark but warm, with a small stage up against a wall where a microphone and a high barstool stood silently waiting for the night's performers. A double bass stood in the corner, promising some music.

We got a pint each and secured a table a little back and off centre from the stage. This wasn't a place for fancy cocktails.

She drew her hair over one side, away from her face. It started to fall back right away. It was cute.

"I'm glad you came. I... wasn't sure you were interested," she said with a little smile.

I was seeing a side of her that I was sure very few people got to see. It was like she had dropped a mask. Not that her confidence was a mask, that was still there, simmering underneath. It felt more like a buffer zone of well-honed defences had been relaxed. Armour lowered and vulnerabilities exposed.

"Thanks for inviting me... I've got to say I... was a little surprised."

Those dark eyes met mine.

"Why?"

"I don't know. I don't seem... your type?" I regretted that instantly, screaming at myself inwardly. What an absolute arse thing to say.

She smirked and looked down into her beer.

"You mean Luz."

"Sorry, I didn't mean that."

"That's ok. It's not like you're the first to wonder."

She seemed to take it all in stride. Like she was used to people assuming that she was a jet set serial celebrity dater. I hated having fallen into that stupid trap.

"No, Ilaria, please... I mean it. I'm sorry. It's my own insecurities speaking. I don't know anything about what you look for in a date. That was stupid of me. It's just... I'm not used to being noticed by interesting people. By beautiful women... like you."

She looked into my eyes and reached for my hand, her fingers brushing over my knuckles.

"See, that's what I like about you. You're... real. You see things clearly. You get to the core so easily. You're just... all there. No superficiality. Just... you. And... I think you are very interesting. Remarkable."

"That's... uhm... thank you." I blushed and blurted out the thing that had been on my mind all day. "I... feel a connection with you. I can't explain it... I don't know what it is exactly that just draws me to you..." I suddenly felt I had said too much. But not enough.

"But... I would love to get to know you better."

She seemed to think before she spoke, looking serious.

"I have an idea... perhaps... but it's not for me to say. And I feel the same, Cadence... I would love to get to know you better too." And there was that shining smile again.

Our awkwardly romantic moment was interrupted by the introduction of the first act. A woman got on stage and talked about words being a force for change, then read a prose that could only be called a war cry for feminism with unbelievable force, getting the crowd to participate in the angriest parts.

"Wow, she was intense!" I said as the applause died away, taking a sip of my beer.

Ilaria nodded, smiling. I had a sneaking suspicion she had been watching me get drawn in with the crowd. Her knee was touching mine under the table. Even just that made me blush slightly.

Two performers later there was a break, and she offered to get us another drink. I hadn't cared much for the second act but the third was a Nigerian guy who played the double bass in a jazz style, making his lyrics sync beautifully with the music. I was having fun.

When Ilaria came back she put the pints on the table and drew her chair closer to mine. As she sat down her hand brushed my cheek. That light touch. Without thought, my chin followed that subtle direction, and her warm lips caught mine in a light kiss, tentative, exploring.

Her finger held my chin with the lightest of touches as she kissed me slowly, her lips loving mine just for a few seconds.

As she released me, I sucked in a breath.

She was staring into my eyes, her lips only an inch from mine, and I could feel her longing. Like it was barely contained behind her dark eyes and warm lips.

A calm storm.

Raging for me.

"Please...?" was all I could whisper.

Someone performed something on the stage but all I could hear was my heartbeat as she kissed me again.

I had kissed women before, my experiences reinforcing the cliché that a woman's kiss was softer than a man's.

But this was different.

Physically soft, yes... but there was a firmness to it I couldn't explain. It wasn't in her lips, or her touch. Somehow, she was kissing me not just with her lips.

And I felt it. That need. The thing that I hadn't named, had never known exactly how to look for because I didn't know what it looked like.

There it was.

In her kiss.

An intimacy I hadn't known existed.

It was frightening, because I felt it, and I knew I needed it. That I had been missing it.

The kiss broke and she smiled. And blushed. It was adorable.

How was I even using that word about this woman?

But she was.

I sat there shaking in the aftermath of her lovely and powerful touch, and watched her ears and cheeks go red as she took a large sip of her beer. And then she drew her chair as close as she could and put her hand on mine on the table, ever so gently, tilting her head, looking at me sideways.

"Was that... okay?"

"Uhh... yes. I mean... that was... oh yeah." Now I was blushing furiously.

She chuckled quietly, just a little joy escaping with that lovely unguarded, blushing smile, and it was beautiful. No masks, no buffer zones, no awkwardness. Just her and me. Both reeling after an amazing kiss.

She walked me back to the station before midnight. She held my hand the same way as before, a little tentatively, like to give me an option not to.

As my train approached, we stood close. I blushed once again, just from feeling her so close to me.

"Thanks, I had a great time."

"Yeah, me too. Uh, look... Cadence..." She looked awkward again. "I'd love to see you again... you know... outside of work. Is that okay?"

I felt like bursting with happiness.

"Yes! I mean... yes, I'd love to."

The awkwardness melted from her face, and her lips caught hold of my soul once again. When she released me, I moved away reluctantly to tap in and catch the train, looking back at her, standing there watching me until out of sight.

I got home all scrambled inside.

Beautifully scrambled.

In the best possible way.

---

"Morning." Jules was already at his desk, tapping away at something on his computer.

"Oh, good morning."

She wasn't here.

I went to get coffee and sat at my desk going through emails.

One by one the whole team ambled in, laptops were opened, headphones got put on. The first one and a half hours in the mornings were designated silent time, no unnecessary talking on the design floor. A good rule, but somehow, the silence felt uneasy today.

She still wasn't here.

And I didn't know what to expect. How to navigate this. It was just one date. A promise of another. But there was something real there.

And I didn't want to jinx that by having the whole office knowing right away.

She came in with Rowan around 10:30, they threw a general 'morning' at us and disappeared into his office. But not before she caught my eyes with just a hint of a smile.

I buried my eyes in the screen and opened a random document, trying to hide my glee at just seeing her smile at me.

Yeah, still scrambled.

When she came and sat at her desk, she caught me looking again.

There was that small smile again. Not the real unguarded one that made my heart beat faster and my skin go all warm and shivery. Just a little acknowledging one.

It was enough. It told me we were on the same page. Keeping it private for a bit.

An hour and a few cute looks later, mostly from me, she stood and put away her notes.

"Hey, want to go grab lunch?" She looked at me like we did this every other day.

"Uhm, yeah, I'm starving. What do you fancy?"

"Anything but Pret. How about that new salad place round the corner?"

"Sure. Sounds good." I nodded and went to grab my coat. Marla's eyes followed us out as Ilaria held the door for me. I could see her looking over at Jules as the door closed, eyebrows high.

Ten minutes later we sat together, picking at our salads. Well, that's to say I picked at mine, she ate hers gracefully of course. Like she did everything. With purpose.

"Thanks for last night. I loved it." The words felt lacking for the feelings I had about it.

"Me too." There was her real smile. I blushed, feeling all tingly inside.

"Do you go there often?"

"Sometimes. I like it there. It's... unvarnished. People just show up with the words they really mean. I like that."

"No pretence."

"Yes. Exactly." She wiggled her fork slightly at me. "Like you."

I blushed harder.

"I can be pretentious."

"No, see, I don't think you can. I think..." She paused, thinking. Smirking.

"What?" I smiled. She looked so cute with that smirk on.

She reached over the table for my free hand, her thumb brushing my knuckles once.

"I think you couldn't fake it if you tried."

The words were low, amused, but there was a serious undertone.

My heart stuttered a little. I opened my mouth, to joke, to deflect, but she was still watching me like she could see all the things I hadn't said.

I closed my mouth again.

Her thumb traced a small, deliberate circle over my skin before she pulled back, letting me go. There was reluctance in her movement.

I tried to control my breath.

"Ilaria...?"

Those calm dark eyes regarded me with interest. Waiting.

"I... er... last night was... perfect. I'd really like to do it again." Bloody hell I was bad at this.

"Have dinner with me." Her smile was perfect now, her defences cast away again.

"Okay." My smile widened to match hers. Then I had a thought.

"Oh! Let me cook for you. Please? I love to cook."

She smiled again. "I was thinking of a restaurant, but that sounds great. I'd love that."

I was so happy I almost giggled.

Okay maybe I did, a little.

And then she kissed me again.

It felt like if I could just live in those kisses, I wouldn't ever need anything else again.

---

Four days, three lunch dates and a lot of hot kisses later, it was Friday, and she was walking around my living room, looking at my pictures and studying my few awards on the wall. Rather insignificant ones compared to hers, but I was proud of them.

We'd left the usual Friday drinks on the roof early to catch the tube to my place. Our disappearance had not gone unnoticed. There was a gently inquisitive text from Marla. The office gossip machine was well oiled. I'd deal with it on Monday.

"I like your flat, it's cozy. Have you lived here long?"

"Four years."

"Alone?" I looked over to her. She was looking at the picture of Ben and I kissing in the London Eye. I suddenly felt flustered.

"Uh, no... with my ex-boyfriend most of that time. We broke up a few months ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

I closed the oven and wiped my hands on the kitchen towel.

"Don't be, we're still friends. That was kind of the problem. We were better friends than anything else. There was always something... missing."

"Oh. How so?"

I stared at her. Standing there in her second-hand looking but probably designer faded Joy Division t-shirt, perfectly French tucked in the front over her flat tummy. Her hair up in one of her oversized clips, the nose ring and her simple silver watch glinting in the golden hour sunlight. Entirely too glowing and perfect for my simple flat, but having her here made me feel things, good things. Scrambled but so very good.

"I don't know, really... just... something I need. I can't explain it."

I was beginning to wonder though, since that night at the poetry club, that maybe I knew.

She took a few steps to meet me. Took my hand. I expected her touch to be electric, but it felt soothing. Calming.

"Cadence..."

"You can call me Cady... you don't have to always use my full name." I whispered. I was used to people shortening it.

"I like your name. It's beautiful. Cadenza. Un momento sospeso. Una nota che non finisce mai."

My breath caught in my throat. I didn't understand Italian, but she sounded beautiful in her other language. Sexy.

She smiled, just a little, and came closer. "Why would I want to shorten something so beautiful?" The breath of her whisper was warm on my lips.

We kissed, slowly, but urgent with need.

I sucked in a breath as she let go.

"Oh god, how do you kiss like that?"

"How?"

"With your... heart... your soul?"

"That's all you."

"What? No..."'

"What do you need?" She whispered in my ear, holding me to her now. "What was missing?"

I nearly said 'You', but even though that was the answer, it also wasn't.

I closed my eyes, letting myself relax into her embrace. Said what it felt like. What I'd been thinking.

"I need... anchoring. So... I can let go."

She just held me, silent for a while.

"That's beautiful Cadence."

"It is?"

"Yes. It is."

The alarm for the oven rang on my phone. She slowly let go, kissing me lightly, then watched as I carried the chicken to the table.

"Oh, it looks good."

"It's just some lemon and rosemary chicken thighs, nothing fancy."

"Smells lovely."

I lit the candle, fetched the wine I opened earlier and poured us some. Annie Clarke's Slow Disco filled the background, her detached, melancholic voice complimented only by Bartlett's minimalist piano.

"Here's to the chef. Thank you for this Cadence, so much better than a busy restaurant."

I blushed.

We talked. I told her about my parents, growing up in Birmingham. My desire to travel. How I liked to cook, even just for myself. She listened, calm, interested.

Her parents were split up since forever. She had lived half and half in Bristol with her dad, and in Florence with her mum. She affectionately called her mamma.

We talked about relationships; I told her about Ben. How it had been easy to let him go really, because there wasn't real love there. More a habit of coexisting. No real passion.

She'd only had two relationships over a year long. Nothing real she said. Nothing fulfilling.

I wasn't sure I should, but... I was curious.

"What about Luz?"

She leaned back in the chair, picked up her glass and smiled, a little ruefully perhaps.

"We were together for nearly three years. I still... care about her, in a way. We left it on good terms; we both knew it wasn't going anywhere. She still asked me to come in on the rebranding, so she still trusts me, I guess." She sighed. "Maybe I see it as a kind of closure. More for her than me. I've already put that chapter behind me."

There was a hint of sadness in her voice.

"Luz is... loud. Emotionally, socially. Everything is turned up with her. Drama, beauty, chaos, you can't look away. People love the idea of Luz Valencienne. And she knows it."

A faint smile pulled at her mouth.

"It makes her both irresistible and unbearable. But in private she can be... different. It takes time to get there with her."

"And you?" I prodded, gently. Her eyes flicked to mine.

"Me?" She looked at me, the smile lingering but rueful again, her eyes sad.

"I'm... mostly quiet. I like things that whisper. Real things. Unpretentious." She smiled at me and then looked away again. "I know they say opposites attract but that didn't work out for us. She thought she wanted the same things I want, but... it's just not her."

She finished her wine.

"She couldn't... commit. Not like I needed her to."

The words were spoken casually but I could see the pain behind them.

"Hard breakup?"

"In a way. Luz is a brilliant woman. Just... not the right one for me."

Her eyes lit up as she said that, holding mine, like quietly hinting that perhaps she had the right woman in front of her now. I blushed, again.

"Should we move to the sofa?" I wanted to change the subject.

"Yes, I'd like that." She stood and took the bottle with her. "Thank you for this, it was excellent."

"You're welcome. I'm so happy you let me cook for you."

On the stereo Annie's amazing, haunting "But then you say, 'Please'" rang out low.

Ilaria moved to the sofa and sat down on one end, patting the seat next to her. I planted myself right there, leaning against her. Her hand came up to stroke my hair. It felt nice. We sat there for a few minutes, just enjoying the silence, the sensation of being this close. Then I felt her energy change, just a smidge. A movement in her aura, no more.

"Cadence... kiss me." Her voice was just as soft as ever. But there was expectation in it. A certainty. I wanted to kiss her, very much. I loved kissing her.

But there was also something else there. Something that had nothing to do with just the act of kissing.

I turned into her and kissed her, deeply, urgently. Letting go and admiring how her dark eyes shimmered with colour when I got this close, I kissed her again, harder. My hand found the subtle curve of her hip, fingers snaking under her shirt, touching warm skin.

"There's no rush, sshhh cara." Her fingers found my cheek, cupping it, kissing me slowly, lightly. My heart slowed down again, melting into her touch, following her lead. It felt like dancing.

I wanted her. She wanted me. But it was like she had... a rhythm to follow. She whispered between kisses.

"I don't want just sex Cadence. I want... more. I want you."

She looked at me with that strange almost-sadness in her eyes.

"All of you."

"Yes. Please. I want that too. I want you."

Her hand came up to my head again and lightly directed me to rest on her shoulder again. She hesitated. Like it took something out of her to say what she wanted to say.

"You unbalance me... in the best way. You touch a part of me that... isn't easy to reach."

I waited, listened. Held her hand. She was saying such beautiful things, but it was like she didn't expect me to think so.

"Cadence... intimacy isn't easy for me. It's... complicated. And... I don't rush into sex with people unless I really care about them. I need to get to know them. To find harmony... I'm not an easy person to love."

"I think you're a wonderful person Ilaria. And we don't need to rush anything. I would love to get to know you better. I want to know all of you."

I looked at her out of the corner of my eye and saw that she smiled at that. This wasn't a hard conversation, it was... intimate. It felt good.

"You really are remarkable." Her fingers caressed my hair. "What you said, earlier. About needing to feel anchored to let go. What did you mean?"

I hesitated. She was asking about things I didn't even fully understand about myself. But the tone in her low voice made me want to try. For me more than her.

"Honestly... I'm not quite sure. It's a feeling. Sometimes I feel... overwhelmed."

I breathed, trying to find the shape of my feelings, focusing on the flickering light of the candle on the table.

"Like... like there's too much of me, all at once. Too many thoughts, too much noise, too many decisions, planning. Everything is just... too much. And I..."

I broke off, struggling for words. Her hand moved slowly through my hair, not rushing me, just being there.

"I guess..." I tried again, slower, trying to find the right words. "Sometimes I feel if I could just... let go somehow, it would finally be quiet... in my head."

I closed my eyes, trying to explain these strange intangible feelings.

"But it feels like if I do, I'll... float away. And so... I need an anchor, so I don't get lost. So I can be free."

I exhaled, frustrated with myself.

"I'm sorry, I'm not making any sense. I don't really know what I mean."

Her hand had gone still on my cheek.

"No... I think you make perfect sense. I think..."

"What?"

"I would like to be... an anchor for you. If you want that." Her voice was a whisper.

I turned my head and looked at her. This confident woman was eerily still, like she was handling something very breakable with great care. I wasn't sure if it was me or her that were in danger of breaking, and I wasn't sure what to say. I didn't really know what it was that I needed. But I had an idea. A shape, an outline that I needed coloured in.

"Yes. At least... help me understand?"

I kissed her, more urgently than before. Every time my lips touched hers my soul burned.

I had never felt like this before. With anyone.

It had a name, this intense, burning feeling in my chest, though it felt way too early to say it.

This time she leaned into my kiss as my fingers traced her collarbone and explored the subtle swell of her breast. She hissed in our kiss as I found her hard nipple through the t-shirt, slowly brushing my fingers over it.

The warmth of her hand on my thigh edged closer to my hip, her fingers still guiding my cheek in the kiss. Urgent now, passionate.

I tweaked her nipple. She inhaled sharply and I felt her body shudder. She wanted this. She wanted me. Feeling her lust for me was intoxicating.

I pulled up her French tuck and slipped my hand under the t-shirt, feeling her toned abs under my fingers, moving up the warm skin of her torso to find her small breasts, naked and soft, filling my hand. She groaned as I pinched her nipples one after the other.

"I want you," I breathed into the kiss.

"Cadence... I..." she whispered, as her hand finally cupped my breast, making me shiver.

I felt her hesitation. I pushed a little.

"Do you want me...?"

"Yessss..." Her whispered exhale rippled against my lips.

"Then let me be yours."

Her breath caught.

"Don't say that... unless you mean it."

"I do. Please... take me."

I felt her hesitation evaporate as her tongue and hands explored me just a little more forcefully, pulling my body against hers. Her touch on my skin as she undressed me felt electric, pure passion. Her breathing felt intense, loaded with anticipation.

I couldn't remember being so incredibly aroused in my life.

Her mouth caught my nipple as she tossed my bra away, shooting an electric current directly to my clit. I ground it on her thigh, inhaling the pleasure, holding the back of her head as she devoured my heavy breasts, licking and sucking my nipples, nibbling on them. She wrapped her arms around my back, rolling me over on the couch, coming up to kiss me and her knee pushed against the heat between my legs. I moaned in her mouth as she kneed my burning pussy and pinched my nipples.

I was in heaven. This beautiful, wonderful woman wanted me. All of me. I wanted all of her. I wanted to give her all of me. I wanted to know her, be hers. Oh god her kisses were so hot.

I sucked her tongue, pulling on her shirt, but she grabbed my wrists and pinned them over my head, pulling away from my lips and looking into my eyes from an inch away, her breath hot on my face.

"No. Not yet."

I groaned with want, twitched my arms against her grip. Felt how she held me tight. Pinned under her. Feeling controlled. Burning with lust.

I could see it burning in her eyes as well.

The kiss was harder now, deeper, more urgent. I could feel her grip on my wrists tighten as she sucked my tongue and then she moved down my neck, making my shiver, kissing, sucking, licking, down to my collar bone.

"Stay." She let go of my wrists, but the steel edge in her soft voice was enough to make me hold my breath, and my arms above my head. I wanted to obey. I wanted her to be in charge. I loved it.

Her hands came to my tits, those electric fingers running over my soft curves. She expertly circled my nipples in a slow tease, and then she pushed my tits together and her hot mouth was on me again, sucking both my nipples in between her lips, nibbling on both together, making my breath hitch and my back arch.

"God, you taste good." Her breath was heavy. "I've wanted you for so long."

"You can have me... take me... please..."

She made a quiet growling sound into my tits, making me shiver.

Then she was suddenly up by my cheek, her body on me, her breath hot in my ear, whispering.

"You want to be mine...?"

Her words rushed to my heart, making it pound.

"Yessss..."

"Say it." Her tongue followed her words into my ear.

"I want to be yours... make me yours... "

There was that sexy quiet growl again. It was the hottest sound I'd ever heard.

I felt her shiver against me. Her lips caught my earlobe, and her whispers slipped between them as she sucked it.

"You... are stunning... amazing... I need you... so much..."

She was suddenly on my lips, kissing me fiercely, unbuttoning my pants, then quickly moving to pull them down, drawing the clothes off my legs and tossing them after my bra. I lay there naked, with my hands over my head, her hungry dark eyes feasting on my body, her look felt like she was touching me as she ran her eyes slowly from my hungry lips to my breasts that flowed to the sides, lingering there, making my nipples scrunch up even harder, then over my soft belly down to the trimmed patch of hair over my pussy, taking in my already swollen and wet lips.

She was still fully dressed, sitting on her knees between my legs. I felt completely exposed as she devoured my nudity with her eyes, like a work of lewd art or porn on display just for her. I shivered with arousal.

Her eyes found mine and it felt like being locked in her grip again.

"Touch yourself for me. Show me."

I flushed, feeling at once embarrassed and horny as hell. I had never masturbated in front of anyone... not like this. Not on display... on demand. It felt both a little humiliating and incredibly hot to be ordered to show myself like that... it made me feel sexy... I wanted to do it.

For her.

I wanted to do whatever she wanted me to.

My hands came down to my stomach, slowly brushing my nipples on the way, pinching them. Her eyes followed my fingers as they raked over my trimmed bush.

I watched her face as I opened my legs for her, pulling my knees up, fully displaying my pussy for her viewing pleasure.

She was breathing heavily, and as I touched my finger to the wetness at the base of my lips, slowly drawing it through them up to my clit, she huffed out a breath.

God, I felt sexy. Watching her eyes go wide at my moaning as my wet finger touched my hard clit made me feel like I was her whole world, like nothing existed but me and her.

My fingers circled my clit, falling into a slow rhythm of pleasure. It usually took me a while to work up when I was alone, but now I was so high on arousal already it felt like I could cum in an instant if I didn't pace myself. All my senses felt heightened, my fingers and toes tingled, and my breath was shallow as I masturbated on demand.

Show me.

I did. I grabbed my tits and pinched my nipples with my other hand, making the pleasure flow through my body. I sucked my fingers deep into my mouth to get them wet before I reached down and slid two inside me, moaning as I filled my pussy and fucked myself for her. I felt the orgasm build quickly and my eyes locked on her face, the rapt attention and arousal I saw there firing me up even more. I wanted to cum for her, but at the same time I didn't want to cum yet. I wanted her to make me cum. But I was so close now...

My fingers pounded my pussy harder and found my sweet spot, making me groan with pleasure. My clit felt on fire as I rubbed it in quick strokes. My eyes widened as she looked directly at me, watching the building pleasure in my face. I was so close to orgasm now. I held my breath and...

"Stop. Now! Hands above your head."

Her voice was sharp, and her eyes wide, making me stop without thinking and throwing my hands up again. My whole pussy throbbed, my clit pulsing for that little extra touch that would have pushed me over the edge, my breath came in quick, shallow heaves. My whole body felt on fire, squirming for the orgasm but robbed of the release.

And now she drew her t-shirt up over her head, exposing her exquisite little breasts and her tattoos to me, making my ache for her touch even more acute. She got naked in front of me as I lay there, still wide open for her, a stream of my wetness leaking down over my ass with every twitch of my pussy. Exposed and yearning to feel her on me.

Right then, I would have let her do anything to me. Anything at all. Anything she wanted. Just for her touch. To feel that gorgeous, lithe naked body on mine. Her fingers inside me. Her tongue on my clit.

She crawled over me, her lips coming to meet mine, her thighs brushing mine, nipples tracing my skin, the contact of skin to skin spreading fire everywhere our bodies touched.

"You stopped." Her whisper trembled against my lips.

"Yes."

"Why did you stop?"

"You... you told me to."

"Did it feel good... to obey?"

Her nipples touched my breasts, warm, electrifying.

"Yesss..."

Her lips moved from mine, drawing a line of small kisses over my cheek to my ear.

"Good girl."

A wave of emotions flushed through me, making my breath hitch and my body respond like I was being touched. For a split second I thought I would cum just from her voice.

Then her fingers were on my clit, slowly dragging over my pussy, feeling me, spreading me.

"Oh... oh... oh god yes... please..."

"You are so close, aren't you?"

"Yesss! Please... "

Her fingers slipped into me, not deep enough, not hard enough, just stoking my fire, then slowly sliding over my clit, teasing, keeping me on the edge.

"God... fuck... fuuuckk... please."

Her hand came up to hold my wrists down, her kiss felt possessive.

"Please... what?" She was smiling now... clearly enjoying my agony.

"Please make me cum! I'm so close! Please!?"

Her fingers played with me expertly, holding me where I couldn't quite get where I wanted, but priming my body with pleasure so I knew that it wouldn't take much. Just a little harder, a little deeper, a little more direct, and I would explode from her touch.

She played my pussy like an instrument of desire, her eyes locking on mine, her lips an inch from my mouth.

"Ask my permission."

Fuuuckkk. Oh fuck yes!

"Please, please let me cum. Please can I cum. Ilaria? Please? Please can I cum for you? Please?!"

My voice went from half-embarrassed whisper to cum hungry growl in seconds. The idea that she controlled my orgasm took hold deep in my soul and in that moment, I felt like the only thing that mattered was that she would allow me to cum. That if she wouldn't let me, then I wouldn't.

It was one of the most intense feelings I had ever felt during sex, and I could feel how my clit responded, how my pussy pulsed for that orgasm that I couldn't have. Her fingers moved a little faster, bringing me closer, making it harder to fight.

"No. Not yet."

I sucked in a breath at her denial. In an instant I went from hoping for the orgasm to rush over me to fighting it, trying to hold it off. I begged her even harder, increasingly desperate to get that sweet release and just as desperate to make sure I didn't cum until she said it could.

When she slid her fingers inside me and started strumming my clit with her thumb as she fucked me, I knew I wouldn't be able to hold back much longer. My pleading became frantic, no longer begging her to let me cum but begging her to grant me her permission before I'd inevitably lose control and cum without it. My hips ground up against her fingers fucking me, my head was shaking as I pleaded, my whole body was trembling on the edge of orgasm.

"Please... please Ilaria... Please can I cum...? Please...?" My voice was reduced to a desperate whimper as I held back with my last ounce of willpower, my eyes closed, trying to focus on obeying her. And then her hand went into overdrive, her fingers curling up against my insides, thumb hitting my clit harder, and I knew I would lose that fight in seconds, my breath stopping, my muscles tightening, my pussy clenching around her fingers. And then her voice saved me.

"You can cum now. Cum for me, cum for me Cadence, show me how you cum just for me. You've earned it."

The world disappeared. Nothing existed but the overpowering explosion of all my nerve endings igniting at once in a crushing orgasm. I stopped breathing as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through my whole body, surfing on her relentless pounding of my pussy and clit, and the feeling of her hand pinning mine down. And then I screamed, releasing the unbearable tension as it went on for what felt like eternity, spasming, pulsing, clenching, moving like fire through my muscles.

And then I just lay there, completely undone in a way I had never experienced before, twitching, limp, with her warm sexy body on top of me, her lips kissing me, her hands at my cheeks and in my hair, my arms around her and my aching pussy throbbing with the aftershocks. Revelling in her sweet, whispered acknowledgement of my obedience.

"Good girl."

---

Ilaria was quiet beside me, lying on her side, propped up on one elbow, my bedsheet drawn low across her hips. The Saturday morning light played on her body, soft and angled, catching curves and hollows.

She wasn't muscled, not in the way people mean when they say that. But she was... precise. All quiet strength and long lines, lying there with a casual dancer's poise somehow.

Her collarbones caught the light like high notes in the symphony of her striking body. Her ribs rose and fell in a slow rhythm. She reached out to run her fingers lightly from my shoulder, along the curve of my breast falling sideways as I lay on my back, down my soft tummy to my hip. The movement created a very sexy outline of her muscles moving.

She wasn't built for show, but she was softly fit. She had tattoos on her arms, shoulders, collar bones, back, between her breasts. Most of them simple black line art. Looking at her, I wondered how this gorgeous creature had ended up in my bed. In my life.

She was watching me back.

"You are so beautiful."

I blushed. She was lying there like a chiselled goddess, calling me beautiful. It didn't compute. I almost said so but stopped myself.

"You really think so?"

She took a breath and then smiled.

"Yes. I do. I love your body. Your soft lines. You are exquisite. A work of art."

She moved close, her toned calf running softly up mine as she draped her thigh over me. Her hand ran up my body as she spoke.

"I love your thighs, your hips, your sexy soft waist. And I could lose myself in your breasts."

Her finger came up to touch my chin. That small brushing touch, that featherlight connection to my soul.

"I want your honest eyes to be the first thing I see every morning. You wear your heart in them."

Her voice was so full of emotion It almost moved me to tears.

She gazed into my eyes for a few seconds and then a small playful smirk came over her face.

"And I absolutely love your hot ass."

I giggled as she snaked her hand under me to grab my full, curvy ass, coming in to kiss me.

As our tongues fought slowly in between giggles and roaming hands, I thought about how she had made love to me last night.

She was an incredible lover. She commanded the bedroom like any other room she occupied. Calmly, effortlessly. Equal parts demanding and inspiring.

Gentle and loving, but urgent and passionate.

She had done what I asked her to.

Taken me.

She didn't ask for permission, didn't treat me like I was breakable.

She took and she gave. She made me understand that she was in charge without forcing it, and she made me want to obey. To let her lead me.

It was beautiful and intimate in a way I had never experienced before.

She took her time building me up, teasing me, finding my buttons, my spots. And then she pushed them. Relentlessly. There wasn't a moment where she wasn't touching me somehow.

Her fingers in me. Her mouth on me, her tongue exploring me.

Her hands holding my face, feeling my body, feeding my need for grounding. Her eyes holding me close.

Her soft hands on my wrists feeling like bondage. Her thighs on either side of my face fencing me in as she made me eat her.

Giving her an orgasm was somehow even more fulfilling than my own had been. Seeing her writhe on top of my mouth, looking up her body into her eyes, her fingers interlacing with mine, crushing them as she shook on my tongue in ecstasy, spreading her wetness all over my face, it was heaven.

Submitting to the quiet force of her will as she directed my movements, positions, took what she wanted, gave me the freedom not to think, not to wonder what next, but just to feel.

It felt right. All of it. Deep inside, it felt just right.

The second time I came, with her fingers buried in my pussy and her tongue lashing my clit, I consciously let go of everything, any control I could have exerted or anything that once would have made me hold back. I thrashed and screamed, not worrying if neighbours could hear, or what she might think of me, or if I was being too loud or doing it wrong in some way that would embarrass me later.

I just gave in. Let go of the thoughts. Embraced the feelings.

When she was done with me, I just lay there, spent.

My head on her chest, her arms around me.

Feeling anchored.

Feeling whole.

Wanting more.

---

"So... are you guys, like, an item now?"

I blushed.

It was right before lunch; Jules couldn't sit on it anymore. Marla looked excited. Amir stood there with his coffee halfway to his mouth.

I didn't know what to say. I looked at Ilaria.

"Yes." She said it like it was no secret. It wasn't of course, but still. It felt like a big moment to say it out loud to people.

"We're... together," I added, feeling the flush warm my face, feeling happy at her confirming smile.

Jules whistled slowly. "Nice. Since when?"

"Three weeks now," Ilaria said, picking up her coffee.

Three weeks and four days, but who was counting?

She reached out and offered her hand, smiling as I took it. I blushed even more at that subtly possessive display of affection.

She did little things like this. Put her hand on the small of my back to guide me through a crowd. Took my hand as we walked or just sat together. Brushed my hair away from my face. Not at work obviously, not until now at least.

Loving little gestures that made me feel hers, reminding me that she was mine.

Girlfriends. For real.

I was falling for her, hard. Well, no. I had already fallen. And she'd caught me.

We hadn't talked about my needs again since that night in my flat, but I felt that she was making a gentle effort, taking care to respect any boundaries that I might have... a difficult task when I didn't know them myself.

It was early days, but... I felt things that I had never felt before.

We went to concerts and art shows and strolled through galleries. I took her to markets and live music pubs. She took me to her favourite restaurants; I expected fancy white tablecloth ones, but I learned that she mostly went for stand-in-line food stalls, like Ethiopian injera and stew or West-African goat and flatbread. I loved it. She told me about the best kebab spots in Berlin and her time with Luz there. And although she was guarded about why they had parted ways there was obviously a story there.

I asked about the sex clubs. How could I not? She just laughed and said that was mostly Luz's thing, being seen, multiple partners. Then her eyebrow cocked and her smile went all devious and I blushed and quickly changed the subject before this discussion went places I wasn't prepared for. She just laughed and pulled me into a hug.

I told her about my relationship with Ben, and Thomas and Eliza before him. Ben was the only one that had lasted longer than a year.

Nothing had changed at work. She was still Ilaria West. Still in control. A creative storm in calm packaging.

But out of work she was softer at the edges. I was struck by how layered she was, and that I was being allowed to see the next layer under her work one. Or that she was allowing herself to let me see it.

It felt intimate. And it felt like, while it wasn't easy for her, she was happy to get the chance to open up. And that made me feel even more for her.

She was intensely arousing to me. Obviously. When we weren't together, I lay in bed at night imagining her hot, toned body, what her small breasts felt like in my hands. In my mouth. The taste of her sweet pussy on my tongue.

And the sex. Oh, the sex was incredible. She took the control I had dreamed of, just... deciding. Quietly demanding. Pushing a little bit every time, telling me what she wanted me to do to her, teaching me to pleasure her. Learning how to make me melt in her hands. Giving me the most incredible orgasms. Full body quivering ones like I'd never experienced before.

It wasn't just that first time, she was gently but firmly in charge, always. Giving me the chance to let go and be... used. I didn't like that word... it felt strange, but I didn't have another that truly described what I wanted. To fulfil her needs. To let her... use me... for her pleasure. Happily, her pleasure involved making me cum hard and often.

But only with her permission.

And I absolutely loved that. Just thinking about my orgasms being controlled by her made me shiver.

On the nights we didn't spend together I touched myself thinking of her. Thinking of how she made me do that in front of her. She loved to watch me like that, and I loved to see how much it turned her on.

But those nights alone in my bed, I didn't make myself cum. She never asked for that. Never told me I couldn't. It just turned me on like crazy. So those nights I brought myself to the edge again and again thinking about her body, her voice, her eyes, her fingers inside me, her kisses and her tongue on my clit, and then I stopped, heaving, throbbing. Because I didn't have her with me to ask permission. Then I'd fall asleep with my body aching for release and my mind yearning for her.

It was quickly becoming an important part of how I privately viewed our sexual relationship, that my orgasms were for her. Only for her. That my pleasure was hers to command, not for me to decide. It was an intense feeling that I loved and wanted to explore more.

The way she just held me sometimes, quietly, tight, it made me feel safe. On my sofa, or in her bed at her flat. Making me feel like I could trust her. That I could just close my eyes and let go of my worries in her arms.

The office gang were cool about our relationship. Mostly. There were some good-natured quips about love birds and U-Haul trucks. Marla wanted to know sordid details. I told her I didn't kiss and tell. She thought that was romantic and squeed a bit with Jules.

It subtly changed the dynamic though. I was now the famous art director's girlfriend. It felt strange having suddenly stepped into focus like that.

---

Ilaria did what she promised, helping me find my pace, but in her own way.

She gave me hints. Suggestions. Ideas. Led conversations to things that helped me understand what I was looking for. She used words like surrender. Letting go of control. Trust.

And still she somehow seemed reluctant to say what she was looking for. Why intimacy was hard for her. What she needed. Choosing instead to guide me gently towards what I was looking for. With words when we sat together and talked, with actions during sex.

And since she didn't say it, I didn't name it either. Because of course I knew what we were circling, slowly moving towards and exploring sexually. But neither of us was saying it out loud.

Submission. Dominance. The D and S in BDSM. An acronym that stood for whips and chains if you believed Rhianna, violence, pain and abuse if you believed the general media.

I didn't want that; pain wasn't something I enjoyed. And she didn't seem to enjoy inflicting it either. She rather seemed to take pleasure in pleasuring me.

So being subjected to whips and pain was not my thing, but... being dominated sexually... having a partner take control over me... submitting to someone's will?

Yes. Oh yes.

I'd fantasised about giving up control in bed since I'd started having sexual thoughts. It was one of the things I'd tried to give Ben hints about. That I wanted him to do. Tie me up. Blindfold me. Take away my responsibility and make me do what he wanted, just make me... feel.

It excited me. But it was so very, very hard to ask for. To say out loud. Humiliating even. He was a gentle, attentive lover, and he didn't get my too subtle hints. He did tie me up a few times, but it wasn't what I'd been hoping for. Half hearted, always checking if I was okay, if I liked it, if the knots were too tight, asking my permission to do things to me. Ruining my focus.

So, yeah. I wanted Ilaria to dominate me. I loved how she took control in bed and let me follow her lead. Obey her wants and needs. I knew I wanted her to tie me up and use my body for her pleasure. And although she had already shown me how naturally sexually dominant she was, I felt that she was still only showing me a part of that side of her. It felt like she was still holding back.

And I knew it was still going to be hard for me to say it out loud. To ask for more. It was like a wall in my head that I had to muster all my courage and will to scale.

But letting go... in the way I felt I needed? That wasn't just about sex. That was a lot deeper and more complex. And I had a feeling it was something that Ilaria had experienced, but it seemed like it was a hard thing for her to open up about. Like it was a few layers beneath the ones that I was being allowed to see.

But when we were together, it also felt like that once she was ready, she would peel all the layers away and lay her heart on the table, open and vulnerable.

And I could wait for her to be ready for that. I loved her already. I had never felt this way about anyone before. I was in love.

So I started reading about what it meant to be submissive, not just sexually. About giving up control. I finally allowed myself to open that closet in my mind and try to understand the part of me that was hiding in there. To search for answers beyond the kink and bondage stories I had often used to fuel my masturbation fantasies.

About D/s relationships, the basics, the many pitfalls. The roles and rewards.

And that's when I finally started to understand myself.

Put a name to my need.

It was both scary and liberating.

---

Three weeks later, The Black Mare was nearly full of people. It was the third time we'd been there together, and I loved the vibe every time. It was raw and hot, emotions pouring, hearts opening, pain shared, joy celebrated. I'd come away exhilarated both times and I was looking forward to it.

I was wearing my dark wash jeans and a simple white t-shirt this time, less polished than when I'd come here first, more in the vibe of the place. My second-hand leather jacket that I'd scored at Camden two years back was hanging on my chair.

Ilaria was looking gorgeous with her wavy hair loose, in her skintight black jeans and matte boots, a black tank top under white pinstriped button down meticulously French tucked so it looked casual.

We'd had some beer, and we'd kissed, held hands and whispered lover's nothings in each other's ears all night. The five acts up until now had been outstanding, powerful, loud, exhilarating, making the audience clap, stomp their feet, whistle. There was a powerful energy in the room, and I loved it.

Ilaria was having fun, laughing, applauding, her face lit up with happiness. We were two lovers in a bar and nothing else mattered.

She was so beautiful, so full of life and so relaxed here with me. All her body language and her animated face said that she was happy, here with me. She was glowing.

As she brought me a new drink from the bar and put it down on the table, I grabbed her and kissed her deeply. And I said it. I just said it, because right there and then I felt it with all my being, and I felt like saying it. It felt right.

So, to the background of Nick Cave's Into My Arms playing between acts I laid bare my feelings and opened my soul to her.

"I love you Ilaria. I love you and I want to be yours. And..." I hesitated because I still wasn't sure what I meant fully, but I was sure I wanted to know. And I was sure I wanted to know her.

"... and I want to learn to... surrender to you. If you will teach me"

I whispered it into her ear, that simple out loud confession a huge effort of will, and then I looked into her eyes and kissed her.

"I love you."

She was silent. Very still. But I had learned the difference between her usual calmness and the deep calm that settled over her when she needed a moment to herself.

I didn't fret over her not saying it back. I didn't wait for it. I didn't expect it then and I didn't need it. Because I already knew that her feelings for me were real. Everything she did told me. It was in her every word to me, her every touch, in her embrace, in the little moments like the flick of her hair as she winked at me or the brushing of mine behind my ear so she could see my face better, in her calm, loving look as she watched me over our desks at work, in her beautiful, genuine smile that still felt like she reserved only for me. It was all there.

I took her hand and leaned against her, happy. Happy to have told her my feelings, happy just to exist with her in this moment, knowing that she knew how I felt about her. That I wanted all of her, all she was willing to give me.

And then I felt her relax. Exhale. Like when the only cloud in the sky moves away from the sun and you can finally feel the warmth on your face. Her hand squeezed mine and she looked at me, her eyes shining with emotion.

She got that look on her face, the same one she wore at work when she had to say something difficult but true to move the project in the right direction. A deciding look. And just for a second, I got scared, because she suddenly let go of my hand and stood up.

But then she smiled, and in a heartbeat, she was away from me and up on the small stage, tapping the mic, silently gesturing for the music to be turned down.

She cleared her throat.

The mic was ready. The music silenced.

I had my hands on my cheeks, eyes wide, awed that she was up there. Wondering what she was going to do. It seemed that some of the regulars knew who she was, there was loud applause from two or three tables. Like they had seen her do this before. Perform on that stage.

Did she write poetry? Perform here regularly? Her name wasn't on the blackboard on the wall, was this spontaneous? A thousand questions flew through my mind.

But she looked as calm as ever as she took off her shirt, baring her tattooed arms. She had told me all her tattoos meant something to her, that they were like a scrapbook of memories, feelings, identity.

A mended heart took pride of place on her right shoulder, the only one to have shades of red for emphasis. Two delicate, intertwined female gender symbols on her forearm and a compass without cardinal directions, just a black needle pointing down. a long stemmed, thorny rose snaked up from her right wrist, its leaves seemingly soaring away on a wind. A three-armed octopus-like spiral unfurled on the inside of her left wrist, half hidden under her silver watch. Many others. I knew them all intimately by now.

She projected a powerful image up there in the spotlight, her hair pinned back and her arms bare, just a woman in a simple tank top and jeans, and still she silently held the attention of the whole room. She looked at me once, moved her lips to the mic and closed her eyes.

I watched her take a slow, deep breath, the crowd silent with anticipation. Then her soft, bright voice reverberated through my soul, and my world was never the same again.

"I don't want obedience born of duty.

I don't want fear.

I want love."

Her slow, deliberate words rang out in the silence.

"I want the slow, sacred surrender

given freely for affection,

offered like an open hand,

for safekeeping.

Intimacy.

I want the moment when our eyes close,

when the world falls away,

and the silence whispers: I am yours, and you are mine, and we are one."

Her eyes opened and instantly found mine. Her voice trembling slightly with emotion.

"This is my need.

To be entrusted.

To hold what is given,

to honour it,

to carry it in my heart, as carefully as breath carries a word."

Her fingers came up to lightly trace the parallel black band tattoos on her forearm, one slightly thicker than the other. She closed her eyes and let the quiet, intense passion of her words fill the room.

"To become the ground you choose to fall against,

knowing it will catch you,

Knowing it will not falter.

To become the anchor that you choose to tether to,

knowing it will let you soar free

and keep you safe.

This is my need.

Trust.

Not demanded.

Not expected, not seized.

But willingly offered,

in the hush between our heartbeats,

in the space between our souls.

Trust.

The kind that lets you place your heart in my hands,

fragile, beating, alive,

and know it will be shielded there, not broken, never bruised,

but loved, respected, guarded."

I was shaking. holding my breath, tears welling. Her soul was stripped bare on that stage, her feelings torn open in front of me. I couldn't imagine the strength needed to open up like this in front of the world.

She was perfectly still now, the moody stage lighting illuminating the tension in her face and body. She paused, slowed down, and her voice became nearly a whisper, thick with emotion.

"I don't want a throne.

I don't want reverence.

I want a covenant of equals.

A breathless binding of choice and devotion,

woven not from bonds or chains,

but from cadenza,

the free note that rises and falls, unafraid of letting go,

the improvised crescendo given only when you know

that the unfaltering rhythm will always guide you.

A melody of surrender.

Generously offered.

Reverently accepted.

Held sacred between two souls who chose it.

I want the weight of surrender entrusted to me,

and the solemn vow etched forever in my bones:

Never break it.

Never falter."

When the sound of the last word died, there was a moment where the audience released a collective breath as the quiet but heavy weight of her performance settled.

Then the applause broke like a wave, loud and rising, chairs scraped, hands clapped hard, a whistle from somewhere near the bar. But she didn't move.

She just stood there, eyes still closed, one hand loosely touching the mic stand. Her chest rose slowly, like she was breathing through something thick.

And just for a second, I saw it flicker, fast and real.

She was afraid.

It hit me like the sudden thick heat when you step out of the air-conditioned coolness and into the humid warmth of the blazing sun on your Mediterranean holiday.

She had opened her heart and now she wasn't sure what I would do with her raw, beating emotions.

She opened her eyes and found mine. The room was still clapping. She didn't seem to notice, just looked at me like I was the only one there. There was an unspoken question in her eyes.

I got up without thinking. I didn't care who was watching. I didn't care what they might be wondering.

I just stood and walked straight to her, past the tables, the faces. And when she took the step down from the stage, I met her there. I didn't say anything, I just reached for her and wrapped her in my arms and kissed her.

I felt a fraction of hesitation but then her hands came around me and she melted into me, her tension released, her worries calmed. Relief quieting her fear.

We stood there, in front of the hooting crowd, but alone in our private world, and I whispered in her ear.

"That was beautiful. Thank you for giving me that."

Her hand came up to my face, lightly brushing my cheek.

"I didn't scare you away?" There were tears in her eyes. The calm exterior stripped away, her raw insecurities exposed.

"No! I'm still here, I'm not going anywhere."

She closed her eyes, and her kiss burned with passion.

She didn't let go of my hand for the rest of the night.

Later, as we walked the quiet ten minutes to her flat, through the backstreets under the yellow-orange glow of the streetlights, my mind raced. I thought about what she had given me, the opened door that she'd left for me to step through if I wanted to. If I dared.

We were still girlfriends, lovers, but something had shifted between us. Like a subtle change in focus that makes everything a little clearer.

With each step I felt my need grow, the need to explore what she was offering. The urge to feel what I believed I needed to feel.

Safe. Loved.

Caught and held.

To fall against her, knowing she would catch me.

To give her that trust. Surrender control.

When we made love that night she didn't take, she gave and gave again. She played my body like a delicate instrument, raising me higher and higher each time until we fell together into a slow rhythm of kisses and caresses, hugs and loving whispers.

And all I could think about was this growing, thrumming need in my heart.

To know what it felt like to be anchored to her.

In a covenant of equals.

---

I woke up on that Sunday morning, the sun sneaking in between the curtains, warming my one leg that her soft dark green bedsheets didn't cover. The mismatched pillows were on the floor, the dark wooden chair still held most of our clothes. I was alone.

I could hear the humming heartbeat of Massive Attack's Angel playing on low in the front room outside the half-shut door. Mezzanine was one of her favourite albums.

I lay still for a while, thinking.

Replaying her words from last night. Her intensity. Her stripped-down soul. The emotion in her eyes as she watched for my reaction.

And my feelings.

They were the same.

Sex hadn't satisfied them. They sat deeper in my soul.

I needed to know.

I sat up and gathered the bedsheet around me, and walked slowly to the door, standing there, watching for a while.

She was sitting at her work table, a cup of coffee steaming by her side, a book in her hand.

A picture of Sunday morning calm in a black tank top and panties. The instantly recognizable first bright notes of Teardrop came on, the piano adding weight to the beat.

She looked up as I took three steps into the front room, watching her, working up the nerve to ask. She smiled as she saw me but then tilted her head looking curious.

"Hey. What is it?"

Love, love is a verb

Love is a doing word

Fearless on my breath

Shakes me, makes me lighter

Fearless on my breath.

Elizabeth Fraser's ethereal voice underscored my shaking and uncertain words.

"What you said last night... I want to... I want that. I think. I want that surrender... that intimacy. With you. But... I don't know how."

Her face went still but her breath deepened.

"Will you... help me find it? Please?"

She looked at me for a second that seemed like an eternity, her expression unreadable. Then she closed her book and put it on the table, moving the chair a bit away from the table so she was facing me, just a few steps away. She sat up straight, her shoulders relaxed, her eyes never leaving mine.

"Let go of the sheet." It wasn't an order, but she wasn't asking.

I shivered at the understated power of will behind her words and relaxed the grip of my fingers on the sheet at my shoulder. It unravelled and fell to my feet. I stood there naked in the morning light, unshielded, waiting for whatever came next.

"God, you are beautiful."

I could feel my face and chest flush warm under her gaze.

Teardrop on the fire

Of a confession

Feathers on my breath

She offered me her hand, palm up.

"Come." Again, not asking.

I was pulled towards her offered hand with a gravitational force, there was no question if I would take it, if I would go to her. It was a certainty, an unequivocal truth, and I fell into that truth without hesitation.

I took the five steps towards her, hyper aware of the cold hardwood floor under my bare feet, the low thumping rhythm of the music, the feel of the air on my naked skin, the subtle bounce of my breasts as I moved.

I stopped in front of her, slipped my hand into hers and instantly felt grounded by her hold. Like she was a continuation of the floor, the house and the Earth beneath it. I took a shaking breath as I let this feeling trickle through me, filling my senses.

She was looking up at me, back still straight, feet planted on the floor, knees apart to accommodate my closeness.

"How do you feel cara?"

"Good... yours."

She breathed slowly.

"Cadence... I don't want to take anything you don't want to give. This is very important to me. Do you understand?" The calm intensity in her eyes was mixed with raw emotion.

"Yes."

"Do you want to surrender to me? Be mine?"

"Yes. Please."

Again, there was a moment where she watched me, like she was looking inside my soul, looking for any hesitation. And then her mind seemed to settle.

"Kneel."

A simple word carrying a world of meaning.

My breath hitched. It was what I had been hoping for, unable to ask for. I moved before I could lose my nerve, lowering slowly, deliberately onto my knees, her hand steadying me.

The floor was cool against my skin. The music hummed through me, a steady low pulse pulling me deeper into the moment.

I relaxed onto my heels as she let go of my hand and her fingers came to my cheek, guiding my head to rest on her thigh.

"Relax your body. Close your eyes. Feel this moment." Her voice was low and steady. "I'm here. And I'm yours, if you want to be mine."

I let my hands fall open against my thighs, breathing in the hush between us, feeling my body tune to the rhythm of her silence rather than the low hum of the music.

Feeling the warmth and strength of her muscles under my cheek.

Letting my senses attune to her.

Kneeling by her feet.

In that suspended moment, the noise of my racing thoughts melted away, leaving only her presence, her gravity. A tender, magnetic pull that let me drift free, as if I was tethered to a safe, solid ground. Anchored.

My mind, usually cluttered with thoughts, plans and fears, fell silent, empty like the space between the notes of a song.

Quiet.

And then her fingers threaded slowly through my hair, brushing it back from my face with a touch so light, so tender. Like she was holding something sacred.

Her thumb traced a slow line in my hair, behind my ear, repeating over and over, and the world outside the room stopped existing. Everything but her touch and my heartbeat stopped existing as she whispered steadily to me.

"That's it cara. Just feel. You're okay. You're safe. I've got you. My girl. My love."

And then the lump rose in my throat and the warmth spilled over, slipping down my cheeks without warning. Silent tears, not of happiness or sadness, but of recognition.

The aching realisation of how long I had been carrying that hunger, that burning need, how long I had been waiting for someone to see me like this, hold me like this. All of me. Not with demands, but with a reverence I hadn't known how to ask for.

It was messy and silent and unstoppable. Shoulders shaking, jaw tight, my breath escaping in ragged little huffs. The tears falling on my hands, pressed flat on my thighs. My mouth open, lips shaking in a silent aching sob.

Catharsis.

Ilaria's hand didn't falter. If anything, the steady, brushing touch of her fingers anchored me more firmly, letting me cry without shame, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And in the hush between our heartbeats, in the space between our souls, something had opened that I never wanted to close again.

---

"I love you Cadence."

She was beside me, our faces inches apart on her bed. Her breath warm on my skin as she whispered.

"I wanted to say it... when you did, but..."

"You did say it, on stage, in front of everyone. It was beautiful," I whispered back.

Her little blushing smile was adorable.

"Still... I love you. Ti amo cosi tanto."

"I love you too."

We kissed, slowly.

My fingers traced her arm up to her shoulder, up to her cheek.

"Thank you, for... earlier. Everything."

"How do you feel?"

"Seen. Finally."

She kissed me again. I pulled back early.

"Ilaria..."

"Yes cara?"

"I want this. I... I need it."

"I know. And I know how you feel, because I need this too. Just like, from the other side."

Her skin was warm and soft under my hand. I felt safe in her arms. Ready to say what I needed to ask her.

"I've... been reading. About, uhm... protocol?"

"You have? We don't need to talk about this right now."

"But... that's what you want... need. Yes?"

Her hand found mine at her cheek and her breath deepened.

"I need... intimacy." She sounded hesitant, like this was as hard for her to put into words as it was for me. Then she took a breath. "And for me intimacy is being trusted... to be trusted to be in control. It's not a role... to play... it's who I am."

She spoke slowly, like she was choosing her words carefully.

"When you kneeled for me, it wasn't because I told you to, but because you needed it. You needed me to hold you, all of you. And I... I need to be needed like that. Intimately."

I watched her, listening. All her layers were peeled away now and I saw into her beautiful, raw heart.

"Protocol is a way to bring structure. And I... I do need structure. Balance. But what matters most to me is communication. We need to communicate. Not just now, but always. We need to tell each other what we need, how we feel, when it's too much and too little. We both need to know what is expected, and if we are prepared to fulfil that. Okay?"

Her eyes were questioning, begging even. Hoping that she'd made herself clear. It still felt like she was afraid of scaring me off.

"I understand. And I'm not asking for anything intense," I said. "But I think I'd feel... I don't know... safer, if I knew what to expect... and what you expect of me. When we're alone. Or when we're out... or at work."

Her warm, giving smile she seemed to keep only for me.

"I understand cara. For me, protocol is just that, a way to give you a frame of reference, something known to lean against. I don't want it to feel like performance, like you're putting something on for me. It's about finding our rhythm. Is that what you want?"

"Yes."

She kissed me again. Those kisses pierced my soul every time.

"Okay, then we can do that. How about we keep it light, at first? In private, okay?" She continued as I nodded. "You surrender to me; I accept control. You offer your service because you want to. I want your obedience, but you always decide if you are willing to offer it. If you are not, then you say so and we talk and learn more about each other's needs and boundaries."

I felt the lump threaten in my throat again. I nodded and kissed her.

"Yes, thank you."

She shifted slightly, her fingers brushing the hair from my face.

"When we're in private, you ask my permission to kneel. Whenever you need to. And if I allow it, you do it with intention. Not to please me, but to centre yourself."

I swallowed. My heart fluttered a little. This was really happening.

"You may ask to kneel," she repeated, gently. "You don't have to. I won't assume it's something you owe me. But I will tell you to if I think you need it, or if I need it to centre myself or reinforce our connection, or even to initiate a scene when I want you."

I nodded again.

She reached out, touched my chin. "Eyes on me cara." Just that light touch and the pull of her will made me shiver a little.

I met them, those steady dark orbs, a vibrant brown in the afternoon light, but so dark it was hard to distinguish the colour from the black iris when the light was low. They felt like home now.

"This is important. Not just for you, also for me. If you ever feel overwhelmed, or uncertain about anything that is happening between us, like maybe I'm pushing you too far, you say 'yellow.' If you feel unsafe, you say 'red.' If something doesn't sit right, you use those words, and we talk. No punishment. No shame. You understand?"

"I understand."

She pulled me close and kissed me again, whispering.

"Safe words are for using cara, not for show. There is no shame in being safe. I will not forgive myself if I violate your consent."

I felt the heavy sincerity in her words; this was a real fear for her. She was afraid of hurting me, pushing me to places I didn't want to go.

"I will."

And then a thought rose that had been gnawing at me for a while.

"But what about... in public?"

"In public," she said, quieter now, "you don't have to do anything differently. Just be your amazing, remarkable self..." She hesitated for a second.

"But... if you want a signal... then we can find one. Like a grounding point? Do you want that?"

I felt a tightness in my chest loosen.

"A grounding point, yes. Like what?"

She paused and seemed to consider something.

"How about something discreet, like... if I offer my hand, palm up, like this..." her hand opened between us, offered to me. "... then you take it, and I'll know where you are. And you'll know your place, anchored to me."

I took her offered hand and her fingers closed around mine. It felt instantly right.

"And if I kiss your forehead..." she added and reached up to brush my forehead with her warm lips, "... you're allowed to let go. If you don't need it anymore."

I blinked fast. My throat tightened again.

She watched me. Carefully. Lovingly. Not a flicker of doubt in her face.

"You don't have to be anyone else," she whispered. "I don't want you to be anyone else. I don't want you to change. I love you for you. Just let me see you. See that... you're mine. That you need me... trust me... to hold what you want to give me. Everything else, we'll work out together."

"Yes. This... this is... yes, I want this." The tears were back; I couldn't stop them. But this time, they were happy ones.

She kissed me deeply, still holding my hand tightly.

"Then this is our truth now cara. You are mine, and I am yours."

I breathed. Allowed the feeling to settle. And as it did, I felt that I wanted to use the words. I wanted to say them out loud.

"Are... uhm... am I..."

Her fingers brushed my wet cheeks, giving me space to gather my breath and my courage.

"Ilaria? Am I... your sub... then? And you... then... my Domme?"

There was a quiet breath as the words settled between us. Just the brush of her fingers and our silent contemplation of what those words meant to us.

"Is that what you feel you need cara, already? To define us that way? It's... a step."

"Yes... is that okay?"

She breathed out and a little tension left her face, that I hadn't realised was there before.

"Yes... I'd like that cara. I want that too." She smiled and kissed my forehead. "We'll talk. Find our way."

I nuzzled my face into her neck. My body melted against her.

---

Over the next few days, we talked. About what we liked. What we wanted. What we needed. About what those words meant to us. It was the most honest conversation I'd had with another person about my feelings and needs.

I got to know myself better. I put things into words that I had only entertained in my fantasies.

We talked about sex, if and how our new bond changed that. I worked up the courage to hesitantly tell her I wanted her to tie me up... use me. She didn't bat an eye. After that liberating conversation I reminded myself that my girlfriend was a woman who'd frequented some of Berlin's notorious sex clubs. Asking for a bit of home bondage probably wasn't going to get her flustered. Maybe she even had ropes and cuffs in her closet already. I hoped so.

And then I gave her my orgasms. All of them. I gave up control of my pleasure to her. She listened as I nervously and hesitantly got the words out. That I didn't want to cum unless she gave me permission. Ever.

It was one of the hardest things I had ever said, climbing that wall of embarrassment in my head to express my need.

It was a way to feel her control in a deeply physical way.

And she accepted. But only after making sure I was certain it was what I wanted, and a conversation about commitment and punishments. She suggested something that would make me feel the shame of having betrayed her trust in me. It felt right, and while the idea of taking punishment from her sounded intimately erotic, I didn't want anything physically painful.

So now my pleasure was hers. I had to ask permission any time I wanted to cum. Even when I was alone. And of course, it made me want to masturbate all the time just so I'd need to ask her.

The first time I sent her a text from my bed, asking to cum, I was panting with arousal, my fingers dancing on my clit, my body on the edge of release. And when the text finally came it just said 'No', and my fingers flew away from my pussy.

I truly didn't know what I had been hoping for more, a yes to be able to cum thinking about her, or that no, reinforcing her control over me.

It was all deliciously mixed up in the best way possible.

---

It was Wednesday morning.

I woke up early, before the alarm. The light was shining in my face, the sunrise catching me through the curtains in Ilaria's bedroom. The bloody things never seemed to stay properly drawn.

She was snoring, cute, quiet little snorts. She always kicked off the bedsheets, so I admired her nudity, her long toned legs, the trimmed dark bush that only half-hid her delicious outie. Her small hot tits, dark brownish nipples smooth and soft in her sleep, her inked arms stretched up on her pillow. She still had 20 minutes before the alarm.

I didn't want to wake her, so I snuck quietly to the loo and then walked out to the small, open kitchen to put the kettle on. That was mainly for me, Ilaria's Italian side showed when it came to tea. She hated it, only going for coffee, espresso mainly.

"Real coffee should be Italian and strong enough to hold a conversation," she had explained, those first days at the office when Chelsea had tried to offer her filter coffee in a mug.

As I was filling the kettle I looked at the time, still 7 minutes before the alarm. I suddenly had an idea, and the intense urge to do it took me by surprise.

I meticulously prepared her sacred Bialetti moka pot and put it on the stove. Then I got her favourite espresso cup, the one that she always reached for when she wasn't thinking, and put it out on the small kitchen table. I didn't have time to warm up some croissants, but I fished a biscotti out of her jar on the kitchen bench.

I heard the alarm as the moka pot steamed and two or three minutes later she came ambling out of the bedroom, rubbing her eyes.

"Cara? Are you up already?

"Yes... I... uh... your coffee is ready." I hesitated. Nervous. Maybe she wouldn't understand. I mean... it was just coffee.

She stopped a few paces away as she saw me, kneeling by her chair with my hands flat on my thighs, back straight. Her cup ready and steaming on the table with the biscotti on top.

She looked at the cup, and then into my eyes, and came towards me. My breath hitched and the tension left me as her fingers reached to touch my chin, lifting my face in with tender gesture.

"Thank you cara. That's wonderful."

Then she bent down to brush her lips to my forehead ever so lightly as she sat down.

I felt high. Endorphins rushing through my veins, giddy with happiness at having offered her my service so naturally. At having completed that simple protocol with her. Reassured her that I was hers. Been reassured that she was mine. Reinforcing our bond.

Through offering her a simple cup of espresso, and myself.

"You're extra beautiful when you're happy cara," her smile shone with the morning sun as her finger traced my cheek again. "Come, sit with me."

I stood and poured my cup of tea, a part of me regretting giving up my place at her feet. Then I sat opposite her.

"My own naked barista. I could get used to that," she teased, glancing suggestively at my breasts

"I'll remember that," I said, catching her eyes as she looked up again, still feeling light headed with emotion.

We made our way to the tube for work, holding hands the whole way.

Even though we had talked and set up our structure, found our boundaries and matched what we wanted from each other, that day was the first day I felt like the true version of myself. In control of my own version of intimacy.

I finally knew what I needed, and I wasn't afraid of living it.

---

Work was crazy during the next three weeks. The first official concept meeting with the Valencienne Atelier team was coming up fast and Rowan and Ilaria were driving the office hard so everything would be ready and perfect for when they walked in here.

My time was mostly split between harassing the design team and lining up the deck with Chelsea and Tessa, with Ilaria overseeing and feeding us directions and last-minute changes.

As the deadline got closer, her fuse shortened, and everyone had to run faster to make her happy. She brushed it off when I tried to talk about it one evening the week before the meeting, when she had made Jules spend the day reworking miniscule changes to his lines and driven John and Marla up the wall with microscopic rearranging issues in the fracture designs.

At one point I had made her coffee with the machine she had brought to work, gone to her and offered her the cup and my hand, palm down, in the hope that it would calm her storm. When she took my hand, she looked at me and in a second or two realised that it wasn't for me this time. I felt some of her tension leave her as she allowed herself a few deep breaths in our space, before she kissed my forehead with whispered thanks and let me go, turning away and sipping her coffee.

I could see that Jules had noticed, Chelsea too. But I didn't care. She had needed me. I understood that although she made it look like our public protocol was simple and perhaps mostly for me, these acts of grounding were important to her as well.

It didn't calm her storm completely but took it down to gale force.

She was nervous, on edge. Not her calm self. The personal stakes were high.

Luz was coming to the meeting.

I was nervous, on edge about that as well. But for me it was less about the client meeting and more about the fact that my girlfriend's gorgeous, world-famous ex was coming to meet us.

And I knew it was stupid, but I kept thinking how could mousy little me ever compare.

Ilaria had told me in so many words that she and Luz hadn't been compatible. That they were so different it could never have worked. That Luz could never give her what we had.

She realised my apprehension at meeting Luz, and she understood, I think. She seemed a little apprehensive herself. I thought that maybe it was adding to her edge at work.

I focused on making the deck as perfect as possible and found anchorage in our blossoming relationship.

That week I woke up before her every morning and made her coffee, waiting calmly on my knees for her to come and accept my offered surrender. Centred. Focused. Calm.

As the meeting grew nearer my stress built, and I needed her more. And she saw it and met me there.

And I found that even when we were both under that level of stress, our emotional bond became even stronger and more intimate.

---

It was finally Friday morning.

Meeting day.

I woke up in my bed, alone. Ilaria was already up, and my alarm hadn't even gone off yet. A pang of regret hit me as I realised that I had missed my chance for our morning ritual.

She was coming out of the bathroom already dressed to the nines in her edgy but carefully structured style, looking sharp as knives.

"Oh, sorry, did I wake you? I've been up since five, couldn't sleep." Her voice was as soft as ever, but the nervous edge was unmistakable.

"I'll put the kettle on. I've laid out clothes for you on the chair. Come have breakfast with me when you're dressed and ready."

She smiled and disappeared through the bedroom door, leaving me alone with my disappointment of having failed our morning ritual on this of all mornings, and wondering about the clothes she'd picked out.

That was new.

Half an hour later I walked into the kitchen, dressed.

I couldn't deny I looked good in the black knit fitted turtleneck and my slate grey, mid-length wool skirt. I didn't wear that much because I felt it overly hugged my hips. I knew she liked my curves, but I wasn't much for showing them off at work. I was thankful for the opaque black tights, she knew I liked to feel covered when I was nervous.

She had dug my charcoal narrow cut blazer out from the back of the wardrobe. I'd bought it a year ago but rarely worn it, but right now it gave the outfit definition, a little edge. She had even steamed it for me.

My black ankle boots were waiting by a chair at the living room table. They looked newly shined. Had she been doing that this morning?

I walked to her, conscious of the last items she had laid out for me; matching bra and panties in a beautiful blue flowery lace pattern, a set I had never seen before.

A steaming cup of tea was already on the table with a warm cornetto al cioccolato on my plate. She was holding her cup of espresso, probably her second that morning.

I wasn't sure what do. It looked like she expected me to sit with her, but I was feeling the need to centre myself with her, missing my morning ritual.

She smiled at me. Despite the stress levels of the day, it was her real, warm one. 'My' smile.

"You look beautiful cara."

I blushed, despite myself.

I stood by the chair. It was stupid, but the combination of the stress of today's meeting, my expected routine for this morning being upended and her laying out clothes for me on this day, for this meeting, was making me nervous. I was probably reading too much into that, but I couldn't help it... it felt like she was dressing me up for Luz.

"Uhm... Ilaria... I..."

Her brow furrowed, sensing my unease.

"What is it?"

"I... "

I couldn't say it. Ask for it. I had just done it in the mornings, on my own, already on my knees when she came out. This was harder, somehow. With her sharp dark eyes watching me. Waiting.

Suddenly her hand came up. Palm up.

No words. Just a recognition of my need for her.

I exhaled and took it, feeling her at last, but the nerves still gnawed at me.

"I'm sorry... I don't know... it's just..."

"On your knees."

I sank to the floor almost automatically, exhaling the tension as my cheek found her thigh.

"Breathe cara, feel your heartbeat."

"Thank you... I'm sorry, thank you..." I whispered.

"Shhh... don't apologise for how you feel."

I breathed and focused on her thumb stroking my knuckles.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"I... It's just... it's stupid."

"No, it's not. Tell me. Is it something I did?"

I exhaled, let her gravity pull me in.

"The... the clothes. Why today?"

"Do you like them?"

I hesitated.

"Yes, I Iook... professional... and nice."

"And... the underwear?"

I smiled, feeling the blush warm my ears.

"Yes. They make me feel sexy."

"Good. I'm looking forward to admiring you in them tonight."

I felt the low sensuality of her voice become heat between my legs. But that was for later.

"Is it... because... of Luz?"

I felt her go still.

"Oh... I..." she stopped and stood up, gently pulling on my hand.

"Stand up cara, I don't want to talk about this in protocol."

She kissed my forehead quickly but sincerely as I stood, but this time she didn't let go of my hand but took the other one, looking in my eyes.

"I just wanted you to feel confident today. That's all." She looked troubled. "Luz can be... a lot, and with our history... It was just my way to try and give you a bit of extra armour." She squeezed my hands a little.

"I'm sorry cara, it didn't mean anything else. I love you."

She touched her forehead to mine, whispering.

"I'm yours. You are mine. That is our truth. I'm very sorry if I made you feel less."

"It's okay... I love you too... I just... It's just... a lot, today."

"I know cara. I know. I'm sorry."

---

The office doors opened a little too fast, banging against the stop. A long-legged golden blonde whirlwind blew in, wearing a crimson coat that looked like it had been tailored to catch the wind as she moved. Her cream silk high neck ruffled blouse framed her supermodel face like smoke around fire and the sleek black pencil skirt caught every graceful movement, managing to be at once professional and extremely suggestive of what lay underneath.

A posse of three smartly dressed fashion house execs followed in her wake.

"Bonjour tout le monde!"

A smiling Luz Valencienne waved her oversized designer sunglasses at the room in in general acknowledgement of everyone who might be in the room but made a beeline for Ilaria, the staccato crack of her murder heels on the hardwood floor announcing that this office and everything in it was now her domain.

"Enchantée, chérie."

She held Ilaria close with a very familiar double cheeked greeting and lingered long enough for everyone present to understand that they shared something deeper than a working relationship. Ilaria was calm, generously accepting the familiar greeting with a warm smile but staying professional.

"Luz. Lovely to see you as always. It's been a while."

Luz looked at her like it had been much too long indeed.

I bit my cheek. My insecurity was flaring just being in the same room with her. And at the same time, it was impossible not to be drawn to that deadly blend of Spanish heat and French charm. She was easily one of the most beautiful and sexy women I'd ever met. Seen. Bloody hell, on the planet probably.

I was reminded of what Ilaria had said about her once; that she was loud, dramatic, and that she wielded the concept of Luz Valencienne like a weapon. Seeing it in action close up was awe inspiring.

"You've met Rowan of course," Ilaria took control, or tried to. It was weird seeing her be second in command of a room. She quickly introduced the team. Everyone was present on the floor; you didn't get the opportunity to meet someone like Luz Valencienne every day.

Luz blew through everyone with enchantées and cheek to cheeks that felt both warm and sincere. I blushed as her cheeks touched mine and those hazel eyes stared deeply into mine for a second. She smelled like the promise of sex on a bed of flowers on a warm summer day.

Ilaria's eyes caught mine briefly with a small private smile, like she knew too well the effect Luz had on us mere mortals. I smiled back, a little more nervously than intended. I thought of that blue lace extra armour that she gave me this morning, understanding the sentiment a little better. In my mind I was already comparing myself with her absolute goddess of an ex and no way in hell was I ever winning that race.

The presentation was already up when we filed into the glass meeting room, the mirror shards now arranged across the centre of the long table like a minimalist sculpture.

Rowan introduced those of us in the room formally when everyone was seated in the meeting room, walking them through Chelsea, Marla, John, Tessa and me a little more formally than he'd done for Ilaria on her first day here.

Then Luz swept through introductions on her side. The three suits were an intimidating group. Director of Brand Strategy Margeux Vinet looked like French business fashion made flesh, in a panther black haute couture pantsuit with bright red nails and matching lipstick. Head of Visual Identity Tomás Délgado was a haughty looking Spaniard in a pinstripe suit and thick framed designer specs, and Global Partnerships Lead Bree Cohen was a fast-talking American with a sleek ponytail, in a slim fit grey suit that showed off her broad-shouldered fit physique. She was already scribbling notes on her tablet.

It was easy to feel like the little fish in that pool of sharks.

Then Ilaria took over, in her element, having quietly wrestled control of the room from her ex. Her voice was precise and professional.

"You asked us to reinvent Valencienne Atelier as Valencienne Élan. But we haven't done that."

Cohen narrowed her eyes, Délgado's brows furrowed. Vinet was an ice sculpture.

Luz just smirked, like she knew Ilaria too well to expect her to follow orders.

"Valencienne Élan is a revelation, not a reinvention," Ilaria continued. "It doesn't need a new voice; it already has a voice. What we want to do is to bring that voice back into focus. Not distorted by trend or nostalgia, but remembered, clearly. Echoed. Reframed."

The slides clicked forward, quick, stylised black-and-white portraits layered with translucent overlays of fractured glass and vibrant colours. Velvet textures. Ink calligraphy blended with Amir's amazing photography. Memory and future in a kind of dance, designed to give an overview of the ideas in the concept.

"We built the brand from fragments of the house's lineage, its romantic edge, its opulence. But instead of covering the cracks, we let them show, elevate them. We embraced the fractured, because we believe it makes the whole more powerful. More human."

Luz shifted forward slightly in her seat. Watching. Not interrupting. The suits seemed unmoved, Vinet's narrowed eyes were a mystery, Délagdo still looked haughty and Cohen scribbled like a madwoman.

The screen faded into a high-contrast black-and-white portrait of a tailor's hands, fingers pinning velvet against a dress form. Overlaid with fractured glass patterns, calligraphic lines sketched like veins across the image.

"We started with texture," Ilaria continued. "With the weight of cloth, the tension in a stitched seam, the absence of anything disposable. Because that's where Valencienne Élan lives, in the tactile memory of opulence. In the moments between structure and softness."

The slide changed, on one side, a high-resolution scan of cracked marble, on the other, a blurred photo of a woman laughing, mid-motion.

"So what if the fractures aren't a flaw? What if they're the feature?"

The slide changed to a gorgeous extreme close-up of ink handwriting on shining white silk. Valencienne Élan, in the precise calligraphy of a master, but subtly broken up by the silk's hills and valleys, like it had been casually discarded. A photographic masterpiece cooked up by Ilaria and Amir

"Luxury is often defined by precision. But heritage is defined by imperfection. We build this brand from fragments, not just from the house's lineage but also from its interruptions. Its edges. It's fragments, its future echo."

In a brief animation the silk broke apart, like glass catching light and splintering into reflected fragments, then slowly reforming into the new logo. Marlon had really outdone himself there.

"We let the cracks show," Ilaria finished, her tone sharpening just enough to draw focus. "Because we believe they don't diminish the identity. They reveal it."

And then she let the silence breathe before she advanced the slides. Luz seemed captivated. Cohen was scribbling a hole through her tablet. Délgado had his glasses off, leaning forward on the table. Vinet still just sat there looking sharky.

Now the images gave way to atmosphere: colour palettes drawn from faded brocade and oil paint, shadowy interior shots, campaign mock-ups that felt like memories you couldn't quite place. Everything glowed with something intimate, not grandiose, but, something felt, something you knew but weren't sure where from.

Ilaria spoke slower now, her voice more deliberate.

"We aren't chasing reinvention. We are chasing resonance. We want Valencienne Élan to feel like something you already knew before you touched it, something you remembered the first time you saw it. Like clearing up a fogged mirror."

Her eyes flicked to mine as she stepped back slightly, letting the visuals speak.

"This isn't about branding a product. It's about restoring a relationship. Between the house and its audience. Between past and present. Between silence and voice. Between once fractured and whole anew."

She turned slightly, her eyes landing on me briefly before she turned to our guests again.

"And with that in mind," she said, voice warm but steady, "I want to hand over to the person who gave this concept its emotional foundation and helped us see the story in it."

She looked at me, just long enough. Her face didn't soften but I felt the shift, the silent pride.

"Our brand strategist, Cadence Harper."

I couldn't help blushing at her introduction, and as I stood, I felt the immense weight of all those eyes on me. Ilaria passed me the clicker as I moved past her, her fingers lingering in mine just a fraction longer than necessary, eyes catching mine with a flicker of a warm, encouraging smile.

As I turned to face the room and my eyes met Luz's, I saw that our little moment had not gone unnoticed. She was leaning back in her chair, her face blank like she was reevaluating me.

It was nerve-wracking being the focus point of her scrutiny like that.

I straightened my back, took a deep breath and clicked the remote. The collage of old Valencienne ads layered up on the screen, time flowing in pictures.

"I want to talk about memory. Specifically emotional memory, the kind that sits just beneath our conscious recall. Memory that shapes our preferences before we even realise we have them."

It wasn't flashy but it was mine. My research, my personal approach. And I was proud of it. I tried to let it show.

"We don't want to sell nostalgia. Nostalgia is stagnation in the yesterday, looking back for the sake of not moving forward. It's easy. Derivative."

I felt the room flinch internally at the curse word and paused a fraction to let it sink in.

"We want to build something more resonant, something we like to call 'future memory', the sense that this brand already lives in the buyer's imagination. Like they've worn it before, in another life, or maybe just in their dreams."

The slides progressed to my mood board, not divided by demographics but by emotional states; longing, belonging, quiet confidence, edge softened by elegance, deep want.

"Valencienne Élan's audience isn't defined by age or gender or geography. It's defined by sensation, by emotion. The client base we are speaking to is emotionally fluent, people of every age group, every gender, everywhere in the world. They are aware of themselves, aware of the sensational world around them, aware of the importance of narrative identity. They don't just wear a brand, they internalise it. The brand is part of their id, their subconscious, because it already lives in their memory, because it has always been there."

The suited sharks were nodding quietly, even Vinet's red nails were tapping her notebook thoughtfully. I hadn't lost them. They were interested. It gave me the confidence I needed to bring it home.

"The brand language is shaped around this central theme of fractured clarity, future memory. We use deliberate dissonance, combining the handwritten calligraphy with clean serif typography, layering emotion with sensory information, luxury with loss, shadow with glow. It's all about contrast."

Our mock up ads finally graced the display, mingled with campaign stills and packaging prototypes, all variations on the fractured mirror motif, all styled beautifully in John and Marla's elegant, vibrant designs and Amir's photography.

"We want the consumer to see themselves in the fractures. Not broken, but human. Not nostalgic but recognised. This is how we speak to their inner emotional narrative, not just to their desire for something new."

They were listening. I looked around the room, meeting their eyes. Luz's hazel orbs held my gaze as I finished up my part of the presentation.

"Valencienne Élan doesn't need to scream. It doesn't chase attention. It creates it. It endures. It's inevitable. Like something that doesn't just survive time but shapes it."

One last slide. The logo and tagline, set clean in black calligraphy and serif font against the soft white silk, feeling almost tactile on the screen.

"Valencienne Élan - Elegance revealed."

I let the silence stretch.

"And that's our concept. Thank you."

I felt Luz's intense eyes follow me as I went to my seat, still looking at me as I sat, regarding me with open interest now. I tried not to focus on her, instead looking around the table quickly to my own team, meeting happy looking faces.

At least I hadn't completely botched it then. I was trembling a little now that I was sitting down and the adrenaline rush of standing and presenting wore off quickly. The suits were all looking at me still, whispering between themselves, making notes.

Luz leaned back in her chair, eyes flicking between me and Ilaria sitting next to me. I felt my insecurities rise again. It felt like she was looking inside me. I felt my breathing go shallow.

Rowan gave me a wink as he stepped up.

A tiny but deliberate touch on my left knee made me look down. Ilaria's hand was on her thigh, palm up. My eyes flicked to her face, but her attention was on Rowan now, as he thanked us and welcomed comments and questions about the concept before we then would move on if they were happy about the direction of the work.

I held my breath for two or three seconds and then let my hand fall under the table, finding hers, my anchor. I exhaled the tension away slowly as her fingers closed around mine.

Everyone's attention was on Rowan, answering Délgado's and Vinet's questions about the underlying themes, specific items of design and so on.

Except Luz. Her attention was still on me.

Until she looked to my side and met Ilaria's eyes. The connection lingered a second or two and then Luz looked away. There was something left unsaid in that eye contact. Something old.

She recovered quickly, the charming smile weaponized again, now aimed at Rowan.

"C'est magnifique Rowan, I love it," she exclaimed a little too loud, talking over Délgado who seemed unfazed, probably used to it. "You have delivered what my dear Ilaria promised you would!"

A silent sigh of relief went through our team. She liked it. Vinet still looked as unmoved as ever, but the others were already nodding, marching to the beat of their queen.

"Thank you, Luz, I'm very pleased that you are happy with the concept. I truly believe it's the best work my team has come up with to date." He smiled sincerely.

"Of course there's a lot of work still to be done, developing the strategy further, honing the design, deciding on the paths to take with final presentation and launch. We will obviously be working on this with you and your team, so I would like to invite you all up to our rooftop bar for drinks after we finish here. It's all quite informal, but an opportunity to get to know each other a little perhaps."

Vinet seemed unimpressed, Délgado looked like he wouldn't say no to a cocktail, Cohen scribbled still. Luz proclaimed it was a wonderful idea and of course they would be delighted.

Rowan then suddenly gave the floor to Ilaria again, to answer any remaining questions and go over the outline for the work plan.

She started to move. And I panicked inside.

We were in protocol. She held me. I couldn't let go.

The thoughts rushed at me, stacking up, my grip on her hand tight. As our hands came up to the edge of the table, I was fighting the urge to let go. Even though we had held hands like this in the office before, it somehow felt wrong right now to let... the strangers... see our protocol.

No.

To let Luz see it.

But her lips brushed my forehead as she stood, and I felt the silent "shhh cara" on her breath as her fingers let me go. I let out my breath, suddenly feeling silly for my irrational panic.

And then I felt Luz's eyes on me again. I looked up and met them as Ilaria started talking, expecting judgement.

But there wasn't any in those wide hazel eyes. Only quiet assessment. Like she was filing our small moment of intimacy away as a piece of a bigger picture. And suddenly I could feel the intelligence behind those eyes, cleverly hidden behind the charm and the loudness.

This was a woman not to be underestimated.

---

The rooftop bar was full of people when I got up there, having excused myself for the loo to get a little time to myself to breathe. Presenting wasn't my strongest suit, and this had been all kinds of stressful.

The playlist was seductive bossa nova jazz now, probably put together by Rowan himself. Jules was holding court by the makeshift bar, talking too fast with a beer in hand, Cohen strangely hanging on his every word. He didn't hate the attention. Vinet was sipping red wine a little off to the side, a little too obviously not interested in anything our wordsmith had to say.

Rowan was talking with Délgado, both nodding like CEOs at a summit. Marla, Chelsea, Tessa, Vicki and some of the guys from downstairs were grouped around Luz and Ilaria, who were standing side by side out by the railing, deep in conversation. Ilaria was smiling. Luz was animated, talking with her hands.

Standing close, touching her arm. Smiling. Eyes flashing.

Flirting.

I pretended to look for the olives.

"She's really something, isn't she?" Vicki slid in beside me at the bar as I waited for Obi to pour me a white wine.

"Uh... yeah. Certainly interesting."

"They say she hosts wild sex parties at her estate in the French Riviera. Sounds fun. I wouldn't mind being invited."

There was no sensual undertone, no embarrassment either. Just her usual Swedish matter of fact opinion stating. Nudity and sex were issues Vicki talked about freely like it was the weather.

I swallowed half my wine.

"Tessa said you were great at the meeting. Well done."

"Oh, thanks."

She smiled brightly at me, took her drink and moved in the direction of Luz and Ilaria.

I watched her go.

Ilaria caught my eye as Vicki caught Luz's attention.

I looked away.

I didn't know why.

There was just...

It was all...

"Give me another please?" I handed Obi my glass. He took it with his usual smile, reaching for the Pinot Gris.

There was a touch on my elbow. A presence behind me.

"Cara?"

I turned to her, eyes down.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine."

I was still avoiding her eyes, and I didn't know why. There was just something...

She leaned into me, bringing my face to her neck. She smelled lovely. She only used perfume for special occasions. When she wanted to impress.

"No, you're not," she whispered.

My feelings were all over the place. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her hand, palm up.

"Come here."

I met her eyes as I took her hand, the firm feeling of her fingers closing over mine calming me down. She was mine. I was hers. Here. Now.

"I shouldn't have left you alone."

"No, it's me, I'm sorry..."

"Don't apologize for your feelings." Her voice was softly commanding. "Stay close to me, even if I let you go. Within touching distance."

I breathed a little easier as she guided us around the roof, mingling, chatting, smiling. I felt better, calmer, the feeling of a win started settling in. I had been good today. I finally let myself enjoy it.

And I had my girlfriend at my side. My amazing, rockstar girlfriend.

She calmly worked the room, talking to everyone, complimenting people, making sure everyone knew they had been an important part of today's success.

We were at the bar getting a refill when Luz appeared at our side, waving her glass at Obi.

"You always had impeccable taste."

I felt Ilaria stiffen at my side.

"What do you mean?"

Luz toyed with her glass.

"Just that I'm impressed..." she looked at me "... with you."

Those hazel eyes held mine, like she was looking for something.

"Thank you. That's nice of you to say." I didn't know if I should blush or run.

"Nothing nice about it, I don't impress easily. You're obviously talented."

"She is." Ilaria's voice was soft, but there was possessive iron in it.

Luz looked at her. They held eye contact for a few seconds; it looked like a continuation of a silent conversation they knew by heart, until Luz looked away, her eyes going to my hand in Ilaria's.

A rueful smile played on her lips as she caught my eyes again. Confident. Intelligent. Her larger-than-life personality blossoming outwards like a heatwave.

"You know... it's a rare thing to find, what you have." She paused and looked at Ilaria.

"Love suits you, mi reina. I'm happy for you both. Truly."

She raised her glass in a silent nod and turned away, catching Rowan's eye and sauntering off to meet him, the dazzling smile back in force.

I breathed slowly.

Ilaria turned to me.

"Are you okay?" she asked, quieter now.

I nodded. "Yes."

But the air between us felt heavier. Full of things unsaid, pasts not quite buried.

I held on to her warm hand. When she let go, I stayed close to her side as ordered, letting her closeness ground me. But somewhere deep in my chest, my heart was still waiting to exhale.

Because I had heard it. The unmistakable regret and longing behind those words, betraying real feelings still simmering.

Mi reina. My queen.

---

My tea was steeping on a quiet Saturday morning when my phone pinged on the living room table. Ilaria was on her way to Bristol to visit her dad. I was looking forward to meeting him, he sounded like a kind, supportive man. It would have to wait though, my mum and dad were in London for the day shopping and I was going to meet them for an early dinner. Ilaria and I were going do the whole meet the parents thing soon, I was both nervous and excited to introduce her to them.

We weren't living together but it felt a bit like it as we spent all our time together, no longer sleeping apart, waking up together every morning. We slept in my flat in Camden half the time and Ilaria had moved a lot of what she needed day to day to mine. But then we often spent weekends at her place, so some of my clothes were over there. It worked for us. It felt right.

I picked up the phone on my way to the sofa. It was a message from Marla.

- Have you seen the fucking MailOnline? Call if you need me!

What the hell...?

I punched the Daily Mail's website into the browser and felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.

"FROM LUZ TO LOW-KEY: GOLDEN LION RUNNER-UP ILARIA WEST FLAUNTS NEW LESBIAN LOVER AT STEAMY DALSTON DINNER."

Our names. A huge picture of us kissing filled the screen.

My stomach turned to acid and I put my tea down, hand shaking. The glass clicked a little too hard against the counter.

I breathed. Ilaria had warned me that something like this might happen. That there would be cameras, perhaps news items. Around the Valencienne launch certainly, if all went by plan. She was quite well known.

But I hadn't expected this tabloid shit.

I couldn't leave it alone. I opened the article.

There we were. Me and Ilaria in pictures from outside Miso & Thorn, a tiny Japanese place she loved. They were taken through the glass, probably last Thursday. There was one of us laughing. Another of us holding hands across the table. A close up of us kissing. Intimate moments, now exposed like something pornographic.

The copy was even worse.

"Sources say West's relationship with illustrious lover Luz Valencienne ended dramatically, with insiders citing emotional volatility and power struggles behind closed doors. Is the enigmatic designer turning a new leaf with this understated British beauty? Or is she just another conquest in the ongoing saga of the fashion world's most magnetic lesbian heartbreaker?"

Understated British beauty. Some sweaty, balding tabloid turd probably meant that to be flattering. It made my skin crawl. I felt dirty. The fucking Mail.

It was probably all over the internet by now. My mom would see it, my friends, my peers in the industry... everyone always saw that fucking rag even though everyone pretended not to read it.

I buried my face in my hands. When Ilaria told me that someone would eventually take pictures, I'd nodded, said okay, said I understood.

But I hadn't understood this. The judgement. The comparisons. The horrible feeling of helplessness.

Luz was in the piece, of course. Red carpet photos of her dazzling the cameras in a backless barely there red dress and a diamond choker. That picture of her and Ilaria coming out of the club in Berlin of course, it was tabloid gold. The caption refreshed the reader's memory about that 'lesbian fetish sex scandal' and wondered if 'voluptuous brunette Cadence Harper' was already privy to West's 'taste for late night loving at London's after dark clubs'.

I was going to be sick.

The key turned in the front door.

"Cadence?!"

She winced when she saw my face, dropping her bag on the floor as she came straight to me..

"Oh, cara..."

"I saw it."

"Of course you did." She wrapped me in her arms, holding me tight.

"Is this what it's going to be like?" I asked. My voice came out flat. "Paparazzi? Lies? Some arseholes deciding if I'm... enough?"

"You are enough, more than enough," she said instantly. Fiercely. "And they are just arseholes. Don't let them get to you."

"It's so... belittling. The world thinks I'm... what...? Some intern who stumbled into your bed? Got seduced at a sex club?"

Her embrace tightened around me. "You're not."

"I know that. You know that. But they... they..." I broke off. There was no point.

She sat me down, held my hands, quieting down. "It's just what they do, to everyone. They twist things, make everything ugly. You've never been looked at like this before. Dissected and exposed. I know how it feels. I'm so sorry you're going through it, I wish I could stop it. But you're not alone."

"I feel so... small," I whispered.

"I know, cara. But this doesn't change who we are, it doesn't define you, or us. It's just small men thinking they're clever."

I didn't say anything. I couldn't. The hurt was too thick in my throat.

"Cadence..." she stepped back slightly, lifting her hand to my cheek. "Do you remember what you said the night after you knelt for me the first time?"

"That... you make me feel brave," I said, blinking back the tears.

"Then hold on to that now. Not because of them. Because of us. We are real. And they can't touch that."

I let out a shaky breath. "I just... didn't expect something like... I don't know what I expected... I wasn't ready..."

She smiled, soft and sad. "You don't have to be. Not all at once. But... you get used to it, I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but you will. It stops grating and just becomes this mild annoyance. Because it's not real. Nothing they write is real. We are."

I leaned into her palm. She kissed my forehead.

"I love you cara, nothing will ever change that, nothing anyone writes or says can ever change that. I'm yours. Always. Only yours."

I looked into those beautiful eyes and kissed her. There was my truth. I leaned my cheek against her shoulder, and once again thanked all the gods for how lucky I was to have her in my life. If paparazzi shots and idiot tabloid articles were a part of being with her, then I would have to learn to deal with it and pay that price. Because she was worth it. She was worth so much more.

But as I tried to focus on that, the nagging feelings of inadequacy that had been piling up in my head ever since I had seen Luz with Ilaria whispered their poison in the back of my head.

You're not enough. She's settling with you when she could have so much more. Someone better. Someone more beautiful. Why would she choose plain old you?

I knew it wasn't true. I didn't really believe that treacherous voice in my head.

But when it's your own voice, feeding on a lifetime of insecurities, you can only pretend you're not listening.

--

My head was heavy on the pillow. The blindfold blocking out the world, leaving me with the sensations of her touch and the mess of my thoughts.

Ilaria's tongue played on my body. Luz played on my mind.

With every loving touch, every burning kiss, every grab of my hair, every lick, I wondered if she had touched her the same way. Saw it in my head.

The thoughts just came. Intrusive. Unwanted.

I hated them.

---

We were pretending nothing was wrong.

That's how it had been for a few days, more silence than talking, me not giving myself fully to our lovemaking.

It was me.

I was trying to keep it together, not ruin what we had with my insecure stupidity. But every time she looked at me with those storm-dark eyes, not saying anything, I unravelled a little more. It felt like she was waiting for me to crack, so she could pick up the pieces.

I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to release this burden I had built by myself. But the words sat in my throat like a stone. Every time I tried to say them, I swallowed them instead. I was angry at myself, ashamed, and worse, jealous. Ridiculous, burning jealousy that I couldn't admit to without sounding small. Feeling small and ugly inside. Ilaria had done nothing wrong. But still, I couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't stop playing it over and over in my mind, torturing myself.

I saw Luz's hands on her arm, her lips too close when they talked. Her laugh as Ilaria said something funny. I saw the smile Ilaria gave her, not the one she gave me, but one I hadn't seen before and didn't understand. It clawed at my insides.

I was curled up on the bed with my laptop on my knees, pretending to work. Ilaria was in the living room, flipping through vinyls like she wasn't looking at me between every one. I could see her through the open door. I felt the silence stretching. Tighter. Thinner. Getting ready to snap.

She stood finally, walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, close enough to touch. But she didn't.

"Cara," she said, softly. "Can we talk?"

"I don't know." My voice came out smaller than I wanted. I cleared my throat. "What about?"

"You've been pulling away from me."

I closed the laptop.

"Is it about Luz?"

I didn't answer. She waited.

The words rose in my throat, flooded my tongue like bile. I tried to swallow them down once more, but then she reached out and touched her fingers to my shoulder. And I cracked.

I put the laptop away and stood. "Yes. Yes! Is that what you want me to say? That I can't get her out of my head? That I keep picturing her hands on you, your lips on her, and I hate it? I hate that I do that. That every time you touch me, I wonder if you touched her like that, and I hate myself for thinking it?"

Ilaria stood too, her hands out. "Cadence..."

I stepped back, away from her, closing my eyes.

"No! I know it's irrational! I know it's not fair! But I can't turn it off. I feel like some jealous cliché. And you've done nothing wrong. You've been perfect. And still I'm losing my mind over a woman you haven't touched in over two years!"

"Cara please, if I've done anything to hurt you, to make you believe that I would ever hurt you then..."

"No, Ilaria, it's me, it's me! I'm so bloody insecure!" I nearly shouted. "I love you so much and I trust you absolutely, completely, more than I've ever trusted anyone in my life, and still... I can't..."

I took a deep breath, not sure what I was trying to say, unsure of what would come out. Afraid of it.

"... I can't shake the thought... of her... and you... and... and..."

"Cadence... cara please... there's nothing... "

"I know! I know there's nothing between you! I know..."

The tears were spilling down my cheeks now, as my emotions dialled down to whispers.

"But she still loves you... It's obvious... how she looks at you... and... how..."

"How what cara? What are you trying to say?" There was hurt in her voice now. In her face too. I was hurting her. It burned. I didn't mean to, I never wanted to hurt her.

"... how... how can I ever be enough for you when... when you've had someone like her? When... you could still have her if you wanted? She still calls you her queen! How can I be enough?"

I whispered my defeat through the tears.

And there it hung between us.

Distorting the space between our souls. Disturbing the hush between our heartbeats.

The silence was devastating.

And in the silence, I heard my words, played back everything I had said, and I understood that what I had been trying to say about me being insecure, about me being the problem that needed fixing, that to her it sounded like I didn't trust her. And that not being trusted was the worst thing I could make her feel.

Suddenly, I was so afraid. So horribly afraid that I had ruined it. Pushed her away. I froze, not daring to speak. I just watched her, standing there in front of me, way too still, the tears glistening in her eyes.

I started shaking my head, silently mouthing no, no. I didn't mean it, not like that.

She looked away, at the bed. Then she took a deep breath and looked at me again, like she had decided something. I closed my eyes. I didn't want to see it coming. I didn't want to see it in her face when she told me this wasn't going to work.

"On your knees."

Her voice was still soft but lined with razor sharpness.

I fell to my knees in front of her, bent forward.

"Position."

My back straightened, my hands flat on my thighs, and I breathed. Just breathed. Trying to quiet my panicking mind.

Trying to focus on letting her just hold me. All of me. My body. My soul. My insecurity, all my self-doubts, all my love.

She slowly came to her knees in front of me, her finger brushing my cheek to make my eyes meet hers. And I could see the hurt in them, even if she tried to hide the pain behind a passive face.

"Ilaria I'm so..."

"Don't speak. Listen."

I pressed my lips together, obeying. Swallowing my screaming need to tell her how sorry I was, to beg her to forgive me. She held my eyes as she spoke slowly.

"I... I'm obviously not... happy about... what you said. But maybe not for the reasons you think." There was a moment's hesitation, a small pause. "I want you to listen very carefully, I'm going to tell you three things. One, I'm going to push you... because I think you need a push right now, and it's important that you know that this is not punishment. I would never punish you for your feelings. This is just a push."

I nodded.

"Two, I need you to promise me to remember your safe words. Do you promise to use them if you feel you need to?"

I nodded again, my mind both settling into the familiarity of our protocol and wondering furiously what this scene was going to be, why she was initiating a scene when we obviously needed to talk this through, making me stay silent when I desperately needed to explain.

"Good. Three... I need you to know that I love you, deeply. Do you know that?"

The lump rose to my throat again. I nodded desperately, trying to silently convey how much I loved her too.

"Alright." She rose, went to bed and then came up behind me. I stayed still as she put the blindfold she kept in the nightstand over my eyes, blocking out the world. Then I heard her walk out into the kitchen. Cupboards were opened and closed, the water ran for a bit, and then she came back to stand in front of me.

"Put out your hands, palms up." She placed a small bowl in my hands, filled with water, making me hold it in front of me like a bowl of Japanese tea. Elbows at my sides, arms out.

"You will hold this bowl until I take it from you. You will stay in position until I end the scene, and you will not spill the water. Not a single drop. Do you understand?" The voice wasn't her usual soft now. It was an iron rod with some soft padding.

"Yes."

"Good."

And then she left the room.

I sat there on my knees, blindfolded with a bowl full of water in my hands. Wondering when she would come back. What she was doing out there. I couldn't hear her. I couldn't see.

I focused on the bowl. Not spilling the water.

Making tiny adjustments to my position and my posture to make it a little more comfortable. Not spilling.

Thinking about what she said. That she loved me.

Thinking about what I said, hurting her.

She hadn't yelled or dumped me. Not yet at least. I didn't really expect that... but emotions are irrational. She'd said she loved me. I held on to that light, desperately.

The floor was becoming harder. My elbows needed stretching.

How long had she been away? Five minutes? Fifteen? Fifty? I wasn't sure. I'd lost sense of time. Maybe she wasn't coming back. Maybe she had just left. Maybe this was my punishment.

No. Not punishment. A push.

The bowl was heavier now. Not really, but it felt like it was. Sitting in the same position was making my muscles stiff. The urge to just put it down grew and grew, took over my mind. The urge to release myself. Quit the scene. I knew I could. I only had to invoke my safe words and then in an instant I could put it down and stand up without shame. She had made me promise to use them if I had to.

But it might disappoint her.

I resisted.

But it was becoming harder, the relentless urge to put the bowl down was screaming at me now. I was sure it had been at least half an hour now. Maybe an hour? It felt like an hour.

Where was she!?

I started to feel lost; I couldn't feel her in the apartment; I couldn't hear her, not even her breath. It was dead quiet. I was on the verge of giving in.

Don't give in. Don't.

I was fighting now. Fighting myself, fighting the hard cold floor, fighting the pain in my arms and legs, fighting the stiffness in my back, fighting a war with my own mind.

Don't give in.

Stay.

Stay!

And then suddenly she was there, standing in front of me. I felt her more than heard, and then she came down to her knees like before and took the bowl.

The relief coursed through me. My breath heaved.

I hadn't failed. I'd held it. The bowl. My trust in her.

I trusted her.

I'd entrusted her with me. With my love. My soul.

That trust was whole still. Our bond unbroken.

She took my hands. Her touch was soft. Comforting. Calming my quick whimpering breath.

"Cara... I'm here, you're safe. You did well."

My shallow breaths deepened slowly, her touch and voice calming me.

"How do you feel?"

I focused on taking deep breaths and let the feeling settle, embracing it.

"Proud."

I heard her smile. I felt it. Her thumbs brushed my knuckles.

"I told you once that I'm not an easy person to love." She was speaking quietly, the steel gone from her words, with only melancholy softness remaining. "But... I don't love easily either. I've had relationships before... with Luz, yes. With others. But love...? No."

There was a sadness in her voice that I'd never heard before.

"I thought I loved Luz... once. She still thinks she loves me. And... for a while, back then, we were... happy."

The word sounded like it hurt.

"But... Luz doesn't love, not really. She is brilliant, beautiful, impossible not to adore. But she doesn't give. She can't. To be with her is exhilarating, flamboyant... but one-sided."

She hesitated for a moment.

"She could never give me what you give me. The intimacy of trust. She could never have done what you did just now... stayed in the scene for this long, on your trust alone. On your love... for me."

My blindfold was wet on the inside now.

"Cara... I will tell you everything, all of it, if you want me to. Everything we were. Everything we did... Everything about how it could never have been what we share, you and me. None of it is secret from you. None of it is sacred to me..."

She suddenly drew a quick deep breath as her voice broke. The blindfold came away from my eyes, making me blink against the light. She was sitting on her knees in front of me, tears running down her cheeks.

"... you are. You are sacred to me. Only you. Only you cara. Only you."

She raised herself to touch my forehead with her lips, light as a feather, lingering long enough to give me the wetness of her tears.

I put my arms around her and hugged her tight to me, kissing her deeply.

"I'm sorry Ilaria, I'm so sorry. I trust you, that's not what I meant, I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry... please forgive me..."

"Shhh cara, I know. I know. That's not what this was about. Not at all. I know you trust me, I know you love me. I love you too. More than I can express in words."

She held my cheeks and looked into my eyes.

"This was you, trusting yourself a little more. Knowing yourself a little better."

She kissed the salt from my cheeks, kissed the hurt from my soul, kissed my stupid feelings away. Her lips felt like salvation. Her embrace was my home. Her whisper caressed my ear.

"Do you feel better cara?"

"Yes. Just hold me. Please hold me."

In her arms, under her loving kisses, my intrusive thoughts finally melted away, the poisonous voice of my insecurities finally silenced, and only she remained.

My love. My anchor. My ground.

I finally let myself fall against her, knowing she would always catch me.

---

The station at Camden Town was packed with people as we half-elbowed our way out onto the street two weeks later.

"I can't believe you've never been here!" I was feeling giddy at having something fun to show her that I loved.

Ilaria donned her designer Celine sunglasses and looked up the high street teeming with tourists on a Saturday morning.

"I haven't lived in London that long so there's a lot of places I haven't been, actually. I can't believe you come here like every other week! It looks so touristy."

"I know, but it's usually not this bad, the summer weekends are quite bad. But then there's also a lot more life here." I couldn't stop smiling. She took my hand and smiled back.

"I love how excited you are over this, so what's first on the agenda?"

I pulled her closer.

"First, a kiss." I planted a big one on her lips.

"Thank you for coming here with me."

"I can't think of a better way to spend my day, cara." She kissed me back, a lingering, loving one.

"Come on, there's so much you're going to like here. Vinyl, T-shirts, cool clothes, jewellery! Everything your heart desires!" I waved my hands in a mock dramatic announcer style, my smile reaching between my ears.

She laughed out loud at my antics and let me pull her on by her hand. "Lead on then! But you're going to have to feed me sometime, I've only had my coffee this morning. My naked barista forgot my cornetto." She faked a pout my way.

"Shush, your naked barista knows what she's doing. You don't fill up on cornettoes when you've got a market full of street food to explore."

Her mouth pulled up at the corners. "Fine then, I'll let it go this once. But I'll have you know I was thinking up devilish punishments for this shameful omission in your duties."

My eyebrows shot up, half thinking she might be serious.

"Oh don't worry, I wasn't, I promise I wasn't. I shall defer to your judgement on the issue of cornettoes on market days." Her eyes narrowed playfully. "Although those punishment ideas were rather delightful..."

I pulled her close again and silenced her with another kiss. "Stop it, I promise to feed you delicious things."

Her smile beamed and warmed my heart. I loved that smile. My smile. The one that let me read her love for me like an open book in the curve of her lips and the deep twinkle of her eyes.

We ambled up Camden High Street holding hands, laughing at the tourist trap t-shirts with terrible jokes that adorned most of the shops there, having a peek at a few interesting ones in between where some rare vinyl and retro band t-shirts might be hiding.

Ilaria bantered a bit with the punks on the bridge and then walked around to the Stables and browsed through, slowly working our way towards the street food stalls by the canal.

I always found the chaos of the market comforting in a way, the mingling smells of street food, the lovable mismatch of the stalls and vendors selling everything from art to vintage clothes, vinyl, leather and furniture. The hum of half a dozen languages tumbling into each other across the cobbled walkways. This place was mine, my rhythm, and today it was ours. I loved sharing it with her, watching the interested look on her face as she browsed the stalls for the first time.

She looked slightly lost at first, her sunglasses pushed into her hair to keep it from wafting into her eyes. "How do you know where anything is?"

"I've been coming here since I was in Uni," I grinned, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward a side alley filled with antique stalls and reclaimed furniture. "It's actually quite easy when you know how it works."

She let herself be led, her pace relaxed now. She looked happy. We both needed that.

I ducked into one of the little covered tunnels where the smell of old paper and sandalwood hit you in the face, dragging her toward a second hand clothes stall that often had something I could use. The woman behind it, same as ever, gave me a nod.

"You know everyone here?" she murmured "You could live here," she murmured and trailed her fingers over a rail of colourful dresses on hangers. "You fit right in." I blushed. She said it like it was beautiful. Like I was beautiful in it.

Later, after walking through most of the market, we sat on a stone ledge by the canal with bao buns and a box of churros, our fingers and lips sticky with pork belly glaze and chocolate. She laughed when I licked my fingers extravagantly, I told her it was the only way to enjoy a meal like this properly.

Her eyes were light, soft. She looked out over the water, chewing slowly.

"This was a good idea," she said, chewing on a churro. "Thank you for bringing me."

"You've been working too hard," I said. "You needed a day."

She nudged me gently with her shoulder. "We needed a day."

We watched a boat cycle the lock, kids with ice cream, a couple kissing in the line for crépes, a woman with like 50 handbags hanging from her shoulders navigating through the lines, no doubt headed to her stall. A hopeful dog watching a man eat a hot dog. People just... existing. It made the storm of the last month feel far away. It wouldn't be for long. But for today, I had her just for me. And we were okay.

As I was thinking, looking into space, she snatched the last piece of churro and plopped it in her mouth triumphantly.

"Oi, thief! That was my piece!"

"Payment for my missing cornetto!"

"You're terrible!"

She laughed and kissed my cheek.

"No I'm not, you think I'm adorable." I looked at her open mouthed, just sitting there smirking at me like she knew all my thoughts. I'd never used that word with her.

"And how do you know that?" I bit my lip, not knowing why I was so self-conscious all of a sudden.

She leaned her head on my shoulder and laced her fingers in mine.

"I see how you look at me sometimes. No one looks at me like that." Her voice was soft and she squeezed my hand.

We sat there watching the bustling market, the canal at our backs. I leaned my head to the top of her hers, her hair tickling my cheek, enjoying this perfect moment of stillness in a sea of people and noise.

She sighed, her fingers moving softly in mine. I nearly didn't hear her whisper through all the noise.

"We could do this."

"Do what?"

"This. Saturdays. Markets, shopping... everything..." She hesitated for a second.

"A life."

I blinked, my heart catching.

"You mean..."

She raised herself up and looked me in the eye. I was struck by how she looked both nervous and loving, not at all her confident self.

"I mean... I love you. I love this. Us. Together... I want that... more than anything."

"I love you too. And I..."

And right there, I just knew what I wanted.

"Move in with me."

"What?"

"Move in with me. Let's do this. All of it. Together." The moment hit both of us softly, not planned but feeling right. "A life... together."

I held her eyes, seeing her smile blossom slowly.

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes. Oh yes."

Her smile was wide and emotional, and I thought I could see a tear before she grabbed me close and kissed me deeply, lovingly, slowly. An island of tranquil certainty in the organized chaos of the market.

--

The flat smelled like lemon and garlic and fresh basil when the first knock came. I was still barefoot, wearing my flowery linen dress Ilaria liked, and there were two glasses of Chianti already half-finished on the little kitchen island. She'd been fussing over the ragu di chinghiale for an hour, muttering to herself in Italian, taste-testing with a wooden spoon, adjusting the salt like it was a matter of national importance. It probably was.

For once she had insisted on cooking as her best friend was over from Italy. It was the first real dinner party we hosted in our flat.

Our flat. It felt so good to say that.

I opened the door to find Liv, my best friend from Uni, holding a bottle of white and a box of pastries like she'd just walked in from a London lifestyle magazine shoot.

"You look annoyingly domestic," she said, kissing my cheek. "Is that a real herb garden on your windowsill?"

"Don't judge us. We just moved in together; we're in our plant era."

Ilaria looked up from the pots, wiping her hands on a tea towel and smiling. "Hi Liv. Welcome. Please come in before I burn something and blame the guests."

Liv stepped inside, her eyes scanning the flat. Ilaria's art made the place warmer, the vinyl turntable now taking pride of place by the window, some lamps, chairs and her work table fitting in with my old furniture. A mix of hers and mine. Ours.

Liv raised her eyebrows at the new art on the wall since she was here last.

"Is that a naked woman painted in gold leaf?"

"It's an original Franck," Ilaria said, still staring at the ragu, trying to bend it to her will.

Liv raised her eyebrows like she knew who that was. I was pretty sure she didn't. I had no idea, but according to Ilaria he was both famous and German.

I just smiled. "Don't disrespect the golden lady. It's a touchy subject."

Soon enough another knock came and Giulia, Ilaria's childhood friend from Florence, arrived with a bottle of Brunello and a laugh that carried through the entire flat. She hugged me like we'd known each other for years, kissing my cheeks.

"So you're the famous Cadence," she said in that beautiful Italian accent. "I'm so happy she found someone who can actually keep up."

"I try," I said, blushing. "She's not exactly slow-paced."

"I'm quiet and adorable!" came a huffed interjection from the kitchen.

Giulia threw her head back and laughed. "No you're not!" She took me by the arm. "When we were fourteen she ran away from school to crash a fashion show in Milano. They found her on the train with a fake pass and five stolen lipsticks."

"They weren't stolen," Ilaria said, coming out to grab her in a fierce hug. "They were misplaced."

We sat at the living room table, plates piled high with pappardelle and ragu, wine in hand. It was casual, loud, warm, fun. There was a playlist humming in the background, some classic Italian pop, Portishead, St. Vincent, with a few Lana del Rey tracks snuck in.

Giulia took over the storytelling like she was born for it, painting pictures of their teen antics in Florence with such colour it felt like I could see them.

"And then there was the Republic of 5B. She staged a coup in our class and rewrote our whole timetable because she thought it was a form of oppression that we had to do so much Math and Science."

Ilaria groaned as we rolled around in laughter, hiding behind her wine. "You swore you'd never tell that story."

"I lied, it's my favourite story!" Her trilling laugh filled the flat once again. "She switched double Maths for Art, cut Religion entirely, and put in a daily 20-minute recess after every class. When Signora Benedetti arrived for class, 'The New Republic of 5B' was written in big block letters above the new plan on the whiteboard, and Ilaria announced to her that we were doing art class all day. She got sent home for two days."

"Good thing I was only at that school for a few months at a time, Signora Benedetti didn't like me much. But we did get more art time!"

As the laughter filled our flat, I could imagine the two of them running wild during Ilaria's long summers in Italy. It was nice, the way she relaxed into her own past, her edges softening in the fun nostalgia. Her hand brushed mine as Liv was telling Giulia about her job as head of marketing for a big retail chain. I leaned in and kissed my lovely girlfriend.

"You were a menace," I whispered.

"I was not. I was high-spirited," she whispered back.

"Oh get a room, you two!" Liv booed us playfully, not able to hide her smile. "You're making us singletons look bad with your happy cooing."

Later, with dessert served in the better seats, Ilaria and I were curled up close on the sofa and the room was warm with wine and stories, Liv caught my eye across the room and smiled again. She had taken to Ilaria quickly and was happy for me.

As the night wound down and coats were gathered, Giulia kissed both my cheeks. "Thank you Cadence, this was wonderful." She looked at Ilaria. "She's good for you, don't let her go."

I smiled and held Ilaria's hand as they made plans to meet up at Giulia's hotel tomorrow and we waved goodbye from the door. Our flat was quiet again.

She turned to me, her eyes shining. "You make everything feel like home."

I pulled her into a kiss, soft and sweet.

"So do you. Thank you for the pasta, it was marvellous."

The evening had been full of laughter, clinking glasses, ridiculous stories, and honest joy. We curled up on the sofa, my head in her lap and her fingers idly twirling in my hair as she finished her wine.              

And I thought: This is it. This is love. This is home.

This is what I want.

Forever with her.

--

Vinet hated the concept.

She didn't say it out loud, but it showed in everything she did in the month after the presentation, as the two teams worked together. She criticised everything from the basic mirror shards idea to the design mock-ups to the demographics analysis. Something was wrong with all of it. None of it good enough.

As she knew Luz had already given it a green light, she did it indirectly, never saying outright that she didn't think it was good enough but instead lacing all her suggestions and ideas for potential changes with passive aggressive language and behaviour.

At first, I tried to look at it as a constructive dialogue from a woman with a wealth of experience at the highest level in my own field, but as the weeks wore on and it became more and more obvious that Vinet and her team were actively trying to change basic ideas of the concept and design, moods began to sour.

In one of those meetings the room had fallen too quiet once again after I finished my presentation. We weren't here to present anything new though, we were supposed to be recalibrating, Rowan trying to get the teams back in sync after weeks of that simmering friction.

Vinet crossed one leg over the other, smoothing her already perfect black skirt. She glanced down at the stack of data analytics and support material in front of her like she was seeing it for the first time.

"It's certainly a strong visual," she said, not looking at anyone in particular. "Very... conceptual."

I waited. That tone always meant something was coming.

"But I wonder," she continued, her tone bordering on haughty, "if we're not perhaps overestimating the appeal of fractured mirrors and... symbolism. The average consumer," she gave the word a faint curl of the lip "isn't necessarily coming to Valencienne Élan for a philosophy lesson. They want beauty. Clarity."

This again. I kept my expression still. Neutral. Calm. Focused on breathing. Rowan didn't say anything, but he was watching me.

"I appreciate the feedback," I said, folding my hands lightly on the table. "But I'd argue, as I've done since day one, that this concept is about clarity. It's about honesty. We're not reinventing Valencienne. We're revealing it. Showing people what was always there. The cracks aren't flaws," I looked her directly in the eye to emphasize the point I'd been making for weeks now, "they echo the great heritage of Valencienne Atelier."

Vinet arched a perfectly shaped brow.

"Heritage can be a tricky thing. Some people don't want to be reminded." Her red nails were clicking on the table now, a sure sign of her growing irritation.

"Some do," I said simply. "The numbers we've pulled from your customer data, your social listening, even the archival responses to your relaunch tease last season, they all suggest a hunger for authenticity. For legacy. Your potential clientele wants to feel something. Not just own something."

Her lips thinned. I knew that look. Displeased, but not because I was wrong. Because I was standing my ground.

"I just wonder," she said, flipping through her notes without looking up, "why you're so confident this concept translates off the page. That it lives."

I felt a tightening in my chest. She was unbelievable. I tried to keep my voice even.

"It does. It's not just a visual system, it's a narrative structure. And I'm confident because I've done this before and I've done the research. Extensively. We've tested the language, the visuals, the activations. It holds. And it resonates. People don't want to be sold perfection anymore. They want to be part of something that speaks to what they've lived and to what they dream their life could be. Something that mirrors their own fracture lines."

She opened her mouth, but I didn't let her get a word in. There was a point to make here.

"The only reason it hasn't lived fully yet," I added, "is because it's being asked to prove itself in the vacuum of a meeting room, over and over again. It needs to get off the ground, and then I promise you it won't just live, it will soar."

Vinet's eyes shot icicles my way. But she drew back in that passive aggressive, razor-sharp way of hers, giving me the look that we all knew too well by now, the one that said I hadn't won the argument, but that she'd suffer my folly for now and mount another assault in the next meeting. It was infuriating.

"Well," she said after a moment, "You certainly believe in it." The tone left no doubt that she certainly didn't.

"I do," I said. "Because it's good. Because it's right. Because it works."

I saw her mouth twitch. Not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. An icy blend of both.

Ilaria shifted beside me, her hand resting casually on the table, fingers just brushing mine. Nothing obvious. Just there, present, calmly enjoying my win. I could almost feel her inward smirk at Vinet's frustration with being unable to break me.

I knew it wouldn't be her last attempt. I didn't know how long I could calmly argue the same things in meeting after meeting until it became all too obvious that the Valencienne shark didn't take me seriously as a professional.

Luz wasn't around to give them direction. She hadn't graced us with her presence since that first meeting, preferring to direct her people from the sidelines and coordinate with Ilaria alone. From the way she had turned my feelings inside out just from being in the same room with me for an afternoon, I was relieved she wasn't showing up to every meeting.

But it was obvious that even if Luz was impressed with our work, her Director of Brand Strategy was not. And she wasn't impressed with me at all, that was obvious from the start. Vinet wasn't happy with Ilaria either but seemed to understand that she was Luz's personal pick for this project and there wasn't much she could do about that. The rest of us, on the other hand, were fair game.

She tried to bully her own photographer in, instead of Amir. She took issue with every design decision Marla and John had poured their souls into for months. Chelsea's project management and overview seemed nowhere near good enough for her and she even picked at Vicki's meticulous coding and UX design.

Meetings with the Valencienne team felt like audiences with the Ice Queen. She fully earned the nickname, sitting silent under anything we presented, clicking those blood red nails on the table, every click feeling like a dissenting shout. Then picking everything apart.

Even Ilaria's calm facade was starting to crack. As the weeks wore on towards the deadline it felt like we were only inching forward, having to play defence at every turn to make our vision into reality. She was often irritable in the evenings, like it took all her self-control and energy to battle Vinet without fighting her outright, trying to steer things in the right direction.

We were both swamped with work, often spending evenings on our laptops preparing for the next day's battle. But however swamped, tired and irritable we were, she always made time to connect with me. Sometimes it was little things like taking my hand, initiating protocol as we went out for lunch, calming both of us, feeling each other's needs, offering smiles and loving words.

Sometimes it was raw and furiously sexual, ordering me on my knees and feeding me her pussy, her fist in my hair as she stood over me and mashed her clit on my face, releasing our frustrations.

Sometimes it was a quiet, romantic dinner at home, with candlelight and cuddling on the sofa, talking about everything and nothing.

We made time to connect.

In spite of all the frustrations at work, and our working through my stupid implosion over Luz, I had never felt as happy.

I woke up each morning looking forward to my morning ritual of offering my love her perfect cup of coffee and my heart. I fell asleep each night snuggled up safe in her arms. I spent each day loving her and being loved by her, in a way that I had never dreamed could be possible.

My girlfriend.

My lover.

My Domme.

That word still carried a huge weight for me, signifying not how she controlled me, but how I entrusted her with my heart, my feelings, my love, my life.

On a Sunday evening, cuddled up on our sofa with candlelight and wine, she presented me with a leather collar, a simple band with a small D ring in front, quietly asking if I would wear it for her in private, as a sign of our bond.

It's a very intimate thing, wearing your loved one's collar. One of the most intimate things that you can do. A symbol of my trust, of her responsibility, of our covenant.

As I knelt to accept it and the buckle closed at the back of my neck, my mind soared with the feeling of having a physical representation of my trust and love for her. I felt my insecurities disappear completely, feeling it around my neck, only the absolute certainty of our love and bond remaining.

She also gave me a beautiful necklace, a simple O ring hanging from a Celtic rope motif, wrought in delicate silver for me to wear if I chose to. She didn't demand it, didn't order me to, leaving it up to me to decide if I was ready to wear a symbol of our bond in public.

But I wasn't ready for that. I didn't want to have to explain or have people at work wonder about it. I wasn't confident enough to flaunt it to a world that didn't understand it and even thought it signified abuse.

It made me a little sad, because I had never felt as intimately connected with anyone. As completely loved and taken care of. And that was something I didn't want to hide. But it was a closet door I wasn't ready to open yet.

Ilaria pushed me in many ways in private, but never to do something I didn't want to, and she never pushed me out of my comfort zone in public without discussing it first.

As the days wore on in the war of personalities, Vinet's French haute couture haughtiness on one side, Ilaria's Italian testardaggine spirit of doing things right on the other, everyone became aware that something might break.

And then one Tuesday afternoon, all hell broke loose in the meeting room.

Ilaria was in there with Marla, Jules and Chelsea, presenting our less than enthusiastic take on the latest round of changes suggested by Vinet and the Valencienne team.

First it was just raised voices, then obvious yelling, and then the door slammed open and Ilaria came storming out in furious anger. She turned in her stride halfway through the door, shouting back at the room.

"You can get the fuck out right now Vinet, you hear me?! Piss off!"

The whole office was paralyzed. All traces of her usual calm, soft spoken exterior were gone. Instead, a ferocious storm now raged on the surface, her dark eyes blazing with anger as she went straight to her desk to find her phone. She angrily dialled a number as she strode to Rowan's empty office, soundproof enough for everyday online meetings but the glass walls not standing up to an outraged Ilaria West.

"Luz! I need to talk to you!" we heard as she slammed the office door shut, muffling her shouting some but not so that we didn't hear every word.

In the background Vinet strode out the door with her head high and her team slinking behind. Marla, Chelsea and Jules shuffled out to the rest of us on the design floor, half frozen, everyone's attention fixed on the hellfire raining down on Luz Valencienne in Rowan's office.

"Yes, I'm fucking angry! I told you last week to rein in your fucking French bulldog!"

We winced, all of us out on the floor. You didn't talk to clients that way. Marla's eyes were wide, staring at me now for some reason. Jules looked like he was going to pee himself. Chelsea's eyes were darting from the office door to me and back. Something was up.

"She's old-world Luz! She's guarding everything we're trying to change! She's sabotaging the project! I already told you! She's been trying to kill it for weeks!"

Silence reigned for a few seconds as she listened to whatever Luz was saying... or shouting in response. Out on the design floor everyone probably wondered if our career changing project had now morphed into a career killing one.

"I don't care what she's done or who she's connected to. I don't care that she was your father's favourite. She... No... Luz, listen to me..."

There was a second's silence like Luz was arguing her point, and then the glass shook with Ilaria's furious shouting.

"THAT BITCH CROSSED A LINE LUZ! She told us in so many words that the whole concept is shit and that EVERYONE knew I only went with it because the idea for it came from my new pet! MY PET, LUZ! And then she FUCKING DARED to ask if Cadence had me in a collar and leash and not the other way around! She reduced our relationship to a fucking fetish joke punchline! IN FRONT OF THE TEAM!"

My insides turned to ice. Marla's and Chelsea's eyes were firmly on the floor now. Jules looked like he was hoping to disappear. The others were either staring at Ilaria through the office glass wall or at me over their screens.

"Yes! Oh, I have your attention now?! Yes, those were her exact words! And you know Luz, I wonder, WHO could have told her about the intimate nature of my relationships? I wonder about that VERY FUCKING MUCH right now Luz! So, I'll make this very easy for you, EITHER THAT BITCH GOES OR I GO!! Do you understand me?"

Dead silence fell again. Everyone was very interested in looking at anything that wasn't me.

"No... NO LUZ! I will not work with that woman, EVER AGAIN! Do not test me on this! She is a hack and a bully and if you want Valencienne to waste away and become a sad little footnote in the history of fashion you are welcome to keep her in charge. But then you'll fucking do it WITHOUT US! It's your choice!"

Us.

My tears were welling, it was hard to breathe.

"Stop Luz, just stop, okay? No! FUCKING STOP! You can't charm yourself out of this! If there's anyone who should fucking know me well enough to know that you don't fuck with the love of my fucking life and walk away from it, IT'S YOU! That bitch is DONE, or we're done! SAY YOU UNDERSTAND!"

An icy calm fell behind the glass. Her voice was a bit lower but we could still hear every word.

"Yes... aha... oh, really? Yes, okay, you do that, you think about it. Think hard Luz. And while you're at it, think about how you're going to apologize to Cadence. You had no business outing her to that fucking bitch! To anyone! That's ugly Luz! You should be ashamed of yourself. You're better than that. Yes? Okay fine, I'll talk to you tomorrow."

The tears stung my eyes, and the lump was high in my throat.

My girlfriend was tearing apart her ex, our most important client, threatening the whole project, defending me, in front of everyone. Everyone who now all knew, or at least suspected, something about my life that I hadn't been prepared to share.

I was flushed, teary and sitting rigid upright as Ilaria came out of the office, phone in hand, looking like all three furies fused into one. She stopped just outside the door, taking in the scene, everyone staring at her wide eyed. She didn't say it out loud, but I saw her lips move in a quiet curse.

"Shit."

Then her eyes found mine and the lines of rage in her face softened and turned sad. She walked to my desk and opened her hands to me. Without thinking I stood and reached for her, but instead of taking my hand she pulled me into a tight hug, holding me close.

"I'm sorry cara." Her whisper was just for me. "I'm so sorry."

"Can we just go?" I needed to breathe.

"Of course, come on."

We gathered our things, laptops in bags, coats on arms. The others didn't say anything. It seemed like the project of our lives was going up in smoke. Ilaria took my hand, and we walked to the door. I felt embarrassed, trying not to meet anyone's eyes.

"Hey... Ilaria, Cady, wait." Marla was standing there, awkwardly.

"I just... look... We're with you, okay? That wasn't right, what she did. Said. Right guys?"

She looked around quickly. Chelsea and Jules nodded right away. They'd been in the room. Heard the words. The others weren't as quick but nodded as well. Vicki looked at me encouragingly, Marlon nodded half-heartedly, like he was thinking it over. Tessa looked quite shaken.

"Thank you, Marla. That means a lot. I'm sorry about this. I really am. I... I shouldn't have blown up like that." Ilaria was quiet, the storm blown over, at least on the outside. "Don't worry, I'll talk to Rowan. And we'll work it out with Luz. I know her. She'll come around. It'll be alright."

I wasn't sure any of us believed that right now.

---

We were at home.

I cried. She held me. We talked about what had happened.

She wouldn't stop apologizing for blowing up at the office, making everything worse, talking about us so everyone could hear.

"It's not your fault," I told her, "Marla, Jules and Chelsea heard everything Vinet said about us. They knew what it was about, I could see it when they came out of the meeting room, how they were looking at me."

"I know cara, but I shouldn't have..."

"Ilaria please, everyone would have known what she said about us anyway, and Marla and Jules obviously knew what she meant. Those two can't keep their mouths shut about anything on a regular day, and... well... the hot art director having the homely brand strategist on a collar and leash, that's some juicy gossip, right?"

However I might hate that, it was. The cat was out of the bag.

She sighed, knowing I was right.

"I'm still sorry. I handled that badly. I just... I got so angry."

"I know. It's okay."

"And you're not homely, you're super hot."

"Thank you."

We ended up on the sofa, in silence, just thinking about today, and tomorrow. Well, me at least. My head rested on her thigh, her fingers playing in my hair. And something came to me, something that had stuck from that shouting match.

Despite everything, I couldn't help smiling. I looked up at her. The corner of her mouth curved up.

"What?"

"The love of your fucking life?" I said quietly.

She blushed bright red. She nearly never blushed. And yet here she was, all flushed and adorable, looking at me with such love in her dark eyes I nearly started crying again.

"Yes," she whispered. "You are."

It was my turn to blush. I raised myself up and held her cheeks and kissed her softly.

"And you are mine. I love you Ilaria. I'm so lucky to have you in my life."

Our kisses grew deeper.

"No cara, I'm the lucky one. I am."

"Shhh..." I silenced her softly with my lips. And then I made her moan every way I knew.

--

Lying up against her warm body in our bed, with my head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat, my fingers lightly traced the outlines of the tattoos on her arm. Her breast rose and fell with her breath under my cheek. I was hovering on the edge of sleep after our languid lovemaking. Her fingers brushed my cheek slowly, lovingly.

She'd been silent for a while. Then I felt her chest rise with a deeper breath, holding it for a second, like a moment's hesitation.

"I've... I've never known anyone like you." Her voice was just a whisper. "I thought that... maybe I'd never find anyone... that could... really love me... like this."

I held my breath, afraid the wrong word would break the moment.

"After Luz, after... the ones before her... they... they all left when I asked for something real, something structured." Her throat caught. "They didn't really want me... not all of me. I thought maybe... no one would..."

Her eyes were closed, like if she opened them, it would make everything too real.

"But then... I met you, and you were so beautiful... so... amazing, just... and I... I was so scared of losing you too..."

I put my arms around her, holding her tight, silently letting her know I was here for her. Not going anywhere.

"But you didn't run, you saw right through my walls. You offered yourself to me, your body, your heart, your trust. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. You stayed, even... even when it scared you."

She drew a shaky breath.

I love you, cara," she whispered. You're everything I ever dreamed of..."

I brushed the quiet tears from her cheeks. "Shhh baby, I love you. I love you so much." Her breath grew quieter with my soothing whisper.

"You're so much stronger than me Cadence. I don't know if you understand... your strength carries us both. I still can't believe I found you."

I nuzzled my face deeper into her chest. Her hand moved to cradle the back of my head, holding me close.

"When Vinet said those things... I wanted to kill her for it. For trying to make something so sacred into something sordid."

"It's not sordid," I said softly.

"No," she whispered, "it's the most beautiful thing anyone has ever given me."

My lips found hers, salty with her tears, and the only sound that was heard in between our soft kisses were her near inaudible whispers.

"I'm the lucky one."

We fell asleep spooning, with my arm around her and her fingers laced with mine over her chest.

---

I called in sick the next morning. I just couldn't face them yet.

It was stupid. None of this was my fault. I was the same person as before. What did it matter if they knew I liked my girlfriend to be in charge? To... dominate me?

Yet somehow, it did.

Ilaria had spent two hours on the phone with Rowan yesterday, setting up a strategy to move forward... that is, if Luz and her team wanted to. Fortunately, he was on our side, having seen the shit Vinet had put us through in the last month.

After her whispered moment of vulnerability last night, I could see the furious storm raging again behind her eyes in the morning, as she prepared to go meet them.

We managed to have our calm ritual together in the morning, but as she left, she kissed me goodbye like she was going to war.

Ilaria had already called Luz a few times in the previous two weeks to try to defuse the situation that had been growing with Vinet. That hadn't gone so well it seemed. Vinet was long entrenched in her job at Valencienne and well versed in the internal politics that came with it.

Ilaria said she could fix it. That Luz knew she had fucked up and how much she had riding on this project being finished.

I trusted her. It would be alright.

At least I believed it better today than yesterday.

I tried to go back to bed when she was gone but couldn't sleep. I got up, tidied the place up a bit, read my book for a while and then decided I'd take a shower and go for a walk, get something to eat, see if I couldn't shake it all off. Hopefully, Ilaria would have some good news when I got back. As for facing my coworkers, well, I would just have to suck it up and go in tomorrow.

As I stood in the shower with my eyes closed, water cascading over my face, the image of me walking into the office and everyone staring at me wouldn't leave my mind.

When I got out, I stood for a long time just looking at my reflection in the mirror and thought of what she said. About how she felt. About me being strong.

I was outed as Ilaria's sub. Everyone knew. I could tell myself that they just suspected, that they didn't know exactly what our dynamic was, but they would talk, they would gossip. Maybe they had already wondered. They had seen the same tabloid articles about her and Luz as I had, seen the headlines about the sex clubs. They'd seen our subtle protocol dynamic at work, and even if they hadn't seen it for what it was, after yesterday's uproar they would put two and two together behind our backs. Vicki would probably ask though. She was direct like that. Marla might too.

Looking myself in the eye, I made a decision.

I was deeply in love with a wonderful woman who loved me back fiercely. I was happy. We were happy.

I would not let anyone belittle that.

I would be strong.

When I got on the tube again heading home from the city after a stroll round the shops in Soho and a lunch at Wagamama, thinking about my life and my relationship, I had even worked myself up to nervously look forward to tomorrow.

---

The smell of fresh brewed coffee filled the apartment as her alarm went off. I sat on my knees on the floor beside her chair, eyes closed, hands resting palms down on my thighs, waiting patiently for my love to come to me.

It was a ritual I loved, the same every morning, preparing her coffee and a breakfast cornetto or a biscotti. A moment just for us before we headed out into the day's activities.

Today was different though.

"Good morning cara. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you... Maestra..."

I held my eyes on the floor in front of my knees until she sat by my side and touched her fingers to my cheek, her beautiful dark eyes meeting mine, holding them a little longer than usual, digesting the honorific.

"Thank you cara. That's beautiful, I love that. It's perfect."

I could feel my cheeks and ears flushing with pride. She had never asked for an honorific, but I had been searching for a gentle one that could be mine, ours. One she might be happy with.

Maestra. My teacher, my guide. It felt just right.

She took her cup and blew lightly on the top, letting me sit there as she took her first sip before she invited me to get up and sit with her.

But today, there was something I needed before she allowed me up.

"Maestra... may I please ask you something?"

She looked at me curiously, searching my eyes.

"Of course, cara. What is it?"

This was it. No turning back. I opened my palms.

"May I... wear your collar today Maestra?"

The silver necklace in my hand glinted in the morning sunlight that sneaked through the window.

Her breath hitched but her eyes held mine after flicking down to take in the day collar in my hand.

"Oh, cara... you don't have to... "

"... Please Maestra? I want to." I held her eyes, let her see my conviction.

Her expression softened and she picked the silver collar gingerly from my palm and opened it. I lowered my chin and held my hair away as she fastened it around my neck.

I settled back on my heels again, breathing deeply, relishing the feel of the silver representation of my devotion against my skin.

She reached for my hands and pulled me to my feet. Her fingertips rested lightly on the collar as she kissed me.

"You are mine. I am yours. This is our truth."

I shivered at her loving whisper.

"That is true whether you wear this or not cara, please know that. But... seeing you wear it like this... wanting to wear it now... I'm so proud of you, my love."

I fell into her arms, eyes filling with happy tears.

"Cadence, you will tell me if you need me today, ok? Whatever I'm doing, you will come to find me."

"Yes Maestra."

She stared into my eyes, like to reinforce the promise.

"Now go get dressed, cara. You know I love my naked barista, but we need to be at the office in an hour. Wear something open at the neck. Your silk blouse perhaps."

"Yes Maestra." I smiled at her thinly veiled excitement at my beautiful day collar being in plain sight for everyone and went to get ready.

Dressed in my grey skirt and opaque tights, with my charcoal blazer over the white silk blouse, I looked myself over in the mirror.

The necklace caught the light, sitting high between my collar bones, the open neckline showing it off beautifully above my cleavage. A bit more provocative than my usual work outfits but still professional enough.

"Oh wow... I already can't wait to get you home tonight." Ilaria panted when I came out to put on my shoes, blushing at her hungry look.

I felt sexy and confident, and ready to face the world.

As the door closed behind us and we walked to the tube, I touched my fingers to my neck, feeling for her collar. To the rest of the world, it was just a pretty silver necklace. For me, it was a shouted declaration of my devotion to my love, a token of a true intimacy I would never be ashamed of. Love I would never allow anyone to mock.

Opening the door, hanging my coat, walking to my desk, saying good morning. I managed it without making eye contact with anyone. But Marla didn't give me a minute before she came to hug me.

"Good to see you, Cady. Are you okay?"

I breathed and looked around the room, meeting concerned eyes at every desk.

"Yes," I smiled. "I'm fine. Just needed a bit of time, that's all."

Marla's eyes darted to Ilaria who was busy getting her laptop started.

"Good, glad to hear it. We were worried about you. Sorry about, you know... that stuff with the Ice Bitch... not our business and all." I couldn't help smiling. She was usually the first one to be up in everyone's business, wanting all the sordid details. She was probably gagging to ask me.

Her eyes lingered at my neck.

"Anyway, Rowan will be here by noon, he wants a team meeting with everyone."

"Yeah, okay. Thanks."

By ten I'd managed to lose myself in layouts, mostly. I was acutely aware of looks pointed my way, over computer screens, from people standing in the kitchen. I tried to ignore them.

At half past, I went to get some tea. Vicki got in the kitchen after me, rinsing out her cup in the sink.

"New necklace?"

Her tone was light, her Swedish accent making everything she said feel playful. But her eyes were sharp, looking at me. Not unkind, just observant.

"Yeah," I said, pouring the water with more care than necessary.

She tilted her head slightly. "It's pretty. Not your usual style, though."

"Oh, you think?"

She smiled.

"It's more... specific, the ring? Like it maybe... means something?"

I met her gaze, and for a second, my first thought was to brush it off. But this was Vicki. She didn't pry to gossip. She didn't weaponize knowing things. Everything was straightforward with her.

"It does," I admitted quietly.

She nodded slowly, then glanced around to make sure we weren't being overheard, lowering her voice.

"So... is it what I think it is?"

My breath caught. She knew.

"I mean," she continued, keeping her voice low but even, "I know some people... into that. A friend of mine wears one, with a ring like yours. It means something special to them and their partner. Represents their bond."

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry.

"Yeah, it's... like that."

"Thought so," she said smiling. "It looks good on you. Not just the necklace, I mean the whole you and Ilaria thing. It's cool. It's obvious how much you guys love each other. You're adorable together."

I looked down at my tea steeping, the heat of the blush spreading in my cheeks.

"Thanks Vicki." I caught her eye, she was smiling. "You're not... weirded out?"

She gave a little snort. "Please, when I first moved here, I lived with a couple who washed their strapons and cock cages in the dishwasher. Nothing weirds me out. If you're safe and happy, that's all that matters."

She winked and pushed off the counter, leaving me smiling in her wake.

I sat back at my computer with my tea, catching Ilaria's eye over our desks. She gave a cute wink at my lingering smile as I opened the Jonhson presentation deck to finish my input for the deadline on Thursday. Best to get that out of the way before I picked up where I left off on my Valencienne analysis. A soft smile played on her lips as she buried herself back in her work.

When Rowan got back, he came to our desks, nodding to Ilaria, then turning to me.

"Cady. You're feeling okay?"

I straightened my back.

"Yes, thanks Rowan, I'm good. Just needed to breathe, you know."

He nodded, smiling at me.

"Of course. I've got your back Cady, hundred percent. We've talked with Valencienne and we're moving on. Luz is on board. I'm just sorry your personal life was dragged into this."

I looked between them, unsure what to say.

"I told him. Just enough." Ilaria looked apologetic. "He needed to know why Vinet... why I lost control."

"Oh. Okay." That was fair. A lot of people knew an awful lot about my private life now.

"Cady, your life is your life, I'm just happy that you guys are happy. Alright? But we need to address this in house, pull the team together. You both up for that?"

We looked at each other. I could see Ilaria was ready. This was no doubt a part of their plan. I gave a small nod and smiled, trying to look more certain than I felt.

"Yeah, sure."

Rowan turned to the floor and clapped his hands like this was business like usual. "Everyone, meeting room in five. Valencienne update."

A few minutes and a quick private moment later we shuffled in there with the others. Ilaria sat at the top next to Rowan. I opted for my old seat at the far end. A little distance between us probably made sense here.

Rowan stood at the head of the table, sleeves rolled, coffee mug steaming. His eyes swept the room, resting a moment on each of us before he spoke.

"Alright guys," he said. "You deserve an update. Let's not pretend we're here to talk about anything but the fallout from the recent outburst. We need to move past that and agree on how we keep things moving on our side."

Marla glanced at me. So did Jules. Neither said anything.

Rowan continued, voice calm but clipped. "Ilaria and I spoke at length and I just want to start by saying that although I believe she could have handled things a little less... shouty... I think her motives were true, and I agree that Vinet's challenge had to be met. The personal one as well as the professional one."

He let that sink in for a second.

"So, let's put that behind us. We've been in communication with Luz and the Valencienne top dogs and we have a clear plan for keeping the project on track. Luz is still on board. Délgado too. Vinet's out, she will not be handling anything regarding the project or the launch. We won't be seeing her again here. Cohen's gone quiet, but we're told she'll defer to Luz. So will the Valencienne board. That means we have a clear runway here. The show goes on. But I need to know, are we all pulling together? Is there anything we need to address in-house before we go on?"

The room was silent as people looked around the table. Some nodded right away, others looked hesitant. Then Marlon leaned forward and awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Look, uhm... I'm not saying I'm not on board," he began. "But can we be honest here? I mean... this didn't blow up over client revisions or a late asset or a bad design. It blew up over... uh... personal things. And personalities. And if that derails this project like this, perhaps can derail Valencienne, then I think we have a right to ask what personal line was crossed so deeply in the first place. I mean, I'm sorry Ilaria, but you really went off the rails there. Ripping out a client like that? If it had been me, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be working here anymore."

I stiffened, but I didn't move. Rowan didn't jump in. He looked at Ilaria. It was a fair question, I had to admit. And Marlon was right, any one of us would have been fired on the spot for going off at a big client like this.

Ilaria cleared her throat, looking around the room, meeting my eyes with a look that told me she was going to brush it off, give them as little as possible. Protect me at all costs.

But that wasn't what the team needed right now. Because right now we weren't a team, we were a 'them and us', and if 'they' didn't understand what had happened to 'us' the team wouldn't come together. Instead, it would keep eroding with gossip and whispered guesses. And then we would never get this project finished in the way we had all worked so hard to do.

Before I had time to think about what I was doing, I was on my feet.

The room turned toward me. Ilaria watched me in surprise, brow furrowing.

"I... I understand what you're saying, Marlon," I said, voice trembling. "I do. It's fair. And... I think you're maybe speaking for more than just yourself."

He didn't deny it. No one did. He was voicing this, but at least some of the others were thinking it.

I looked around the table and tried to gather my courage, my thoughts. The silence stretched a breath too long for comfort.

"I didn't intend for this to become... a problem... or public. I fell in love with a wonderful woman..." I looked at her, allowing myself a tiny private smile for her, "... the love of my life."

The warmth that bloomed in her face was beautiful. I lingered there for a few seconds, basking in her love, and then marched on.

"And... I certainly didn't think that our dynamic... our very... uh... private dynamic... would end up in Vinet's crosshairs, or anyone's. Or as office gossip."

Most of them were looking at the table, Vicki and Marla were looking at me though, Vicki still smiling at my little moment with Ilaria.

"But it did. And besides hurting the project, it exposed something that's intimately ours..." I stopped and breathed in to force down the lump that kept threatening to rise in my throat, "... and not for anyone else to judge. It's not something I'm ashamed of, I'm not. But I am afraid that people... you, and others..., won't understand, and will think it's something other than it is."

I glanced at Ilaria. Her expression was warm, encouraging. Her eyes were glistening through her smile. I felt her silent support like a tide keeping me afloat.

"I was afraid that if you saw that part of us, of me, you'd think less of me. Or that our relationship is somehow... tainted. I'm still afraid of that."

A breath. And another.

"So, I think I need to say this now, and I hope that you respect us enough to understand... so we can all move on from this."

Ilaria sat up straight, her eyes wide. I gave her a small questioning nod. I needed to get this out of the way so the team could move on. She gave a nearly indiscernible nod back. I relaxed inwardly. I wouldn't have gone on without her.

"I don't want to make this an HR moment here, but like Marlon said, I think it would help if we're honest about this. So, Rowan, is that okay?"

Rowan looked around the table and then nodded to me.

"Yes, alright, if no one objects... we're all friends here."

I breathed, steeling myself.

"Like I said, I'm not ashamed of my relationship. I love Ilaria, like I've never loved anyone else. And yes, there is a dynamic between us that's built on trust and intimacy that not everyone understands. It's consensual, and it's very private. So please understand that I'm allowing you all a look into something that's really none of your business. It shouldn't be up for any kind of discussion... but... since it obviously already is..."

I could feel the stillness deepening.

"I entrust Ilaria with my heart, my soul. She is my anchor, the unfailing rhythm in my life. I am Ilaria's, and she is mine. But she holds control... allowing me to give it up... and I trust her to hold me. And... so you don't have to guess at what that means, I am submissive to her. That's our private, intimate dynamic."

My eyes found my love as I touched my fingers to the silver at my neck.

"That's what Vinet was referring to. She weaponized our deeply personal connection, the most intimate part of our relationship, and she belittled it and threw it in our faces like it's mud for her to sling at her convenience. That's why Ilaria reacted the way she did."

I was shaking but holding off the tears.

A small rustle went around the room as people shifted position. This was probably a little more personal than they had been expecting.

"I know Vinet's acid and Ilaria's anger hit you all sideways. I know what I'm sharing probably makes some of you uncomfortable. Maybe you need some time to make sense of it or want to ask some questions. That's okay. But what's not okay is thinking we're some kind of liability now. Like the Valencienne project hangs in the balance because of who I kneel for in private."

Silence.

Jules cleared his throat. "No one thinks you're a liability, Cady." A murmur of approval went around the table.

I met his eyes. He meant it.

"Thank you, Jules. That means a lot. I love this job, and I give everything I have to the work. This hasn't changed that. We don't need you to understand us, but we need you to respect us. Respect our love. The intimate nature of our relationship is not for you to judge. Not for anyone."

There was a pause as I looked around the room and met their eyes. There was no hostility there. Curiosity yes, confusion perhaps, but mostly thoughtful faces. Vicki was still smiling, Tessa was looking at me wide eyed, glancing at the others. Ilaria was looking quietly around as well, meeting eyes, silently confirming that my words were hers as well.

Then Rowan cleared his throat.

"Okay, well said Cady. Thank you." He turned to Marlon. "You wanted honesty. That was it."

Marlon nodded slowly, looking awkward.

"Yeah. Alright."

Rowan looked around.

"I'm not sure there is anything more to say here. I... I just want to second that sentiment about respect, everyone... please remember that respecting one another includes not sharing something private that we have been entrusted with by our friends and coworkers, with others outside of this room." He let that sit for a second.

"Thank you, Rowan." Ilaria's voice was quiet. For once she wasn't in control of the room.

"I'm sorry everyone, for my outburst. I could have handled that differently." I was suddenly afraid I'd gone too far, shared too much. But then she continued, looking every one of them in the eye as she spoke, her voice soft and sincere.

"I need you all to understand that what Cadence just shared with you doesn't change who she is. It doesn't give you the right to think less of her in any way. She isn't weak. She's not anyone's... pet." She looked like that word and remembering Vinet throwing it in her face as a slur made her sick.

"She is strong. It takes incredible strength to trust someone with your heart, your life, in that way. And even more to open up about it like this. She deserves your respect. She always did, but now more than ever."

The room was silent for a few seconds. I saw encouraging smiles pointed my way, people nodding to Ilaria's words. I was blushing, my heart filled with love.

Maybe this would be ok.

Rowan picked up his empty mug and cleared his throat.

"Well put. Okay, Valencienne is still ours to win, people. But only if we hold this line together, as a team. And that's what we're going to do. So unless anyone objects, this conversation is over."

He looked around the room once, nodding to me, and then strode out. Tessa hurried out after him.

Marla came to me with a hug. Chelsea and Jules weren't far behind. I could see Marlon and Amir talking with Ilaria, patting her on the back. She didn't give off a hugging vibe at the office usually, but Vicki gave her one anyway and whispered something that made Ilaria look my way with a small smile.

As they went to their desks one by one, the room was finally empty. Just me and her, on opposite ends of the table. She closed the door and came towards me. I met her, finally falling into her arms. She let me get the emotions out of my system on her shoulder, then pulled back and looked me in the eye, her hands at my cheeks.

"You really are remarkable cara. Remarkable."

"You're not mad at me? I'm sorry, I wasn't going to tell them, but then Marlon... and the others... it just... it would have been worse if we didn't..."

Her beautiful smile opened up her face. The one she reserved just for me.

"No... oh no, no cara, I'm so proud of you. I love you so, so much."

I may have cried a little more then.

---

The week was a bit weird at work, like everyone didn't quite know how to behave around me. But as the days went by and they saw that we weren't letting this affect our work, the office mood tilted towards normal again. Regular meetings with the Valencienne team resumed with Ilaria and Rowan taking the lead, and I doubled my efforts at my part of the project, making sure that no one could say that the blow up was affecting my work.

Vicki was amazing, always ready with a smile for me and made sure to stop and chat more than usual. Marla and Jules felt a little more distant, but that was perhaps more about them trying to hold in their natural urge to gossip than them not feeling comfortable with what I'd shared.

Marlon and Amir avoided me a bit, but I wasn't surprised at that. They were both rather closed personalities from religious backgrounds, not much for sharing personal things at work. I just hoped I hadn't ruined things with them permanently.

Tessa was unusually quiet those first days. We weren't very close but she was usually friendly, vibrant and fun. I put it down to her maybe just needing a little more time to digest and made a mental note to find an opportunity to chat with her.

A few days later I looked up to see Marla and Jules standing there looking hopeful. "Hey, we're thinking of going for crêpes for lunch, want to join?"

"Sure," I smiled and got up, shouldering my bag.

I was happy to see the genuine smiles on their faces as I joined them.

The crêpes place was one of our favourite spots in the neighbourhood. Silky soft pancakes with savoury fillings and perfectly crunchy cheese at the edges. Jules always went for the super sweet strawberry and banana one, drenched in Nutella and powdered sugar.

"How can you eat that sugar bomb for lunch? My teeth ache just looking at it." I munched on my delicious ham and cheese and frowned at his sugar covered strawberries, secretly wanting to steal one.

"I need my sugar, you don't think this face gets so pretty all by itself?" He put on a mock sexy face, making Marla and me burst out laughing.

As we settled down, the ice broken, I could see they gave each other a quick look, obviously wanting to talk.

"Guys, you don't have to tiptoe around me, I'm the same me. I can see you're curious. Just ask."

They shared a look. Then Marla took a breath and dived in.

"We're just... okay you know us, we're a bit curious..."

"That's the understatement of the year." I smiled. Marla relaxed and blushed.

"Okay, fair play." Jules smiled too. Then Marla got a bit more serious again.

"Look... we just want you to know that you can trust us and that if you ever need to talk... about anything... we're here for you."

My heart warmed. They were looking out for me. It was sweet.

Jules looked at Marla and then me.

"We can see how much you guys are in love, I mean everyone can. And we're happy for you... a little jealous even, some of us." He smirked.

"Shut up!" Marla hissed.

"But... don't take this the wrong way, we're just looking out for you... are you... safe?"

They looked so sincere, not exactly worried, but concerned. I breathed and pushed down my first instinct to fiercely defend Ilaria. They were just being good friends.

I reached over the table for their hands, looking them in the eye.

"Guys, I appreciate the thought, I really do. But you don't need to worry. Yes, I'm safe. Ilaria is wonderful and she'd never do anything to hurt me. I feel safer than in any other relationship I've had, because I know exactly who I am and what's expected of me. And she knows what I expect of her."

Marla nodded, Jules still looked a bit sceptical.

"Okay, Jules, think of it this way: I'm in a stable, loving relationship with honest communication and established safe words. I'm actually a lot safer than you are when you hit up some strange guy you found on Grindr yesterday. Can we move past this and just be happy for me? Please?"

He had the decency to blush.

"Yeah okay, I get what you're saying. Double standards, yeah?"

"A bit. I get that our dynamic isn't something you completely understand, but please don't assume it's something dangerous. It's not. We're just two women in love, with a different take on intimacy than you guys. Ilaria is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Marla got an 'awww' look on her face.

"We are happy for you Cady, we really are." She squeezed my hand and let go.

"Thanks Marla, that means a lot."

"Sooo... kneeling, huh?" There it was. Jules had his curious face on again.

I could feel the blush creep over my face.

"Okay... yes, that's... one part of it, since I've already let that slip. Jules, sweetie, I love you, but like I told Marla that really isn't any of your business. How would you like it if people went about at work asking if you prefer topping or bottoming?"

"Ah, fair enough." He smirked. "Not like that's a secret though."

Marla and I cracked up laughing at his smug smile. Jules' preference for hunky bear tops was no secret at all.

"Ok fair, but you know what I mean. Come to dinner sometime and we'll talk over a glass of wine if Ilaria is comfortable with it. I'm not giving you any sordid details, but maybe a little bit more on the how and why. If you like."

Marla smiled. "I'll take you up on that. I'm curious."

"Another understatement." I smirked.

"Shut up! You can't expect to shag one of my idols on a regular basis and think I won't wonder!"

We cracked up again. It felt wonderful being back to normal with them.

I was out and it was okay.

---

Friday afternoon came rushing at us, as the Valencienne project had taken on its final shape and started to near its end. We would soon be handing the reins over to the executive team that would take all our hard work and preparation and turn it into reality.

It would start with an enigmatic ad campaign that would hit social media at the end of August with a guerilla campaign of physical ads popping up in London, Paris, Milan and New York a week later, then a series of teaser news items, magazine articles and finally a Vogue front page interview with Luz that would lead into the big launch show at the Tate Modern's huge Turbine Hall. Then after the show the follow up media campaign would fire on all cylinders for a month.

To me it looked like a monstrous plan with too many moving parts, much bigger than anything I'd ever been a part of before. But it seemed like to Ilaria it was just a worthy challenge. She was heading up the Valencienne executive team, as had been Luz's plan from the start, showing how much she trusted her ex's artistic vision.

I was standing at the rooftop railing with Rowan and Ilaria as they discussed the next steps and the handoff to the exec team in just two weeks. Rowan was immensely proud and couldn't stop praising the team. Ilaria was a little more subdued, knowing what a huge amount of work there was still to be done to take the project out of the slide decks and into reality. I could see that she was already starting to feel the pressure.

She gave me a kiss and asked me to get her another Negroni. I was happy to leave them to their shop talk and moved to the bar through the throng of fintech chaps who seemed to be celebrating something, champagne flowing, loud voices bantering.

I caught Tessa's eye over someone's shoulder as I pushed through and smiled. She seemed to hesitate a bit but then touched Chelsea's arm, pointed towards the bar and waved her empty glass, and started moving towards me.

She met me as I waited for Obi to finish opening up another bottle of champagne for one of the loud suits.

"Hey." She seemed hesitant.

"Hey. Everything okay?"

"Uhm, yeah."

She looked at Obi, who was wrestling yet another bottle, and then turned to me.

"I... I wanted to say... uhm... kind of since when you told us... about your... about you and Ilaria..."

I waited, a little apprehensive. She had been a bit distant since that meeting and she obviously needed to say something. She was usually very confident in everything she did, this nervous hesitation was very out of character. Perhaps she had a problem with me after all.

"So... yeah... I just wanted to say... thank you."

Oh. That wasn't what I expected.

"Oh, yeah sure, that's okay, I just thought that we needed to get this... like... out of the way..." She shook her head so I stopped.

"No... I mean thank you for... coming out like that, like... making it... respectful. It meant a lot... to see that it can be done." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Not all of us are ready to face the stigma."

"Oh, you mean... okay, yeah, I absolutely get that. So you...?"

She just nodded. Looked around like she was afraid someone might hear.

"Not the same as you, but yeah... oh, sorry, I don't know what you're into, really, I just assumed... from what you said..." She stopped her rambling, taking a breath again. "Uh... sorry... so yeah... I'm into some... pretty heavy stuff... "

"Hey, you don't have to tell me, you're safe with me, okay." I smiled at her, taking her hand. She swallowed. I could see this was a hard confession for her to make, even just to me.

"I'm sorry, I just... I didn't think I would ever be able to be open about who I am..." There were tears in her eyes now.

"But then you just came out like that... in front of everyone... and... it was okay and... now... now I feel like maybe... someday..."

As I gathered her up in a hug and told her that she had a friend, that I understood, and to find me if she ever needed to talk, I realized that my decision to let the world see who I was wasn't just about me.

It had helped someone else.

It was a massive, beautiful feeling.

---

In the last two weeks of August, we had handed control off to Ilaria and the exec team. It felt like an anti-climax of sorts, our professional lives had more or less revolved around that project for the last 8 months, and now the launch was approaching fast. We were still doing a lot of follow up work now, making sure everything was on time, adjusting designs and making sure they were ready for publication, setting up material for different mediums, but the day-to-day meetings with the Valencienne team were done and we now took a support role to the exec and PR teams.

The big change for me was that Ilaria was out of the office more and more, working with her exec team. As August went by and London Fashion Week approached, she was out in the field more and more, making sure the reveal was brought to life in line with our concept and her artistic vision.

I saw her less and less, and it was strange not having her in my field of vision on the other side of my desk at work. Not having her close to me most of the day.

I missed her.

As we moved into September and the big Valencienne Élan reveal at the Turbine Hall came closer, she was drawn further and further into the work, personally supervising everything about the show, from the setup of the runway in the hall to the minor details of the imagery that would flow on the walls, coordinating with the Paris based design offices responsible for the new Élan line.

The pressure was piling up on her shoulders. She left early and she came home late, often drained of energy.

But she never left without our morning ritual.

No matter how late she'd stayed up planning staging at the Tate or reworking timelines with Luz, no matter how early her call time was or how many unanswered emails waited on her phone, she always made sure we had that moment together.

No distractions. Just us.

Then she'd kiss my forehead to release me and kiss me goodbye, and only then would she put on her serious work face and go.

It was our tether. A quiet, deliberate act that anchored me and kept us connected. And she never broke it, not even now, with the big launch looming like a storm on the horizon.

But I could feel her slipping.

Not from me, not emotionally. Just... deeper into the work. Into the singular, exacting focus that made her Ilaria in the first place. That single minded creative storm that had swept me off my feet to begin with was now intensely concentrated on making everything about the launch perfect. The 'most resounding rebranding success of the decade'. She meant it when she said it and she was now relentlessly pushing herself to make it true. In a way, I absolutely loved seeing her so passionately engaged in bringing her vision to life, but it also meant that she was away from me more and more.

She always messaged me or called when she was working late, telling me to eat something, not to worry about her. Telling me she loved me. Missed me.

But two weeks before the launch, she barely made it through the door at night, sapped of energy. She was all sharp edges and clipped words, eyes tracking a thousand thoughts I couldn't see. She'd collapse into bed next to me, reaching for me, holding me tight as she fell away into a heavy sleep. I could feel that she found energy with me, even just in those nights and our moments in the morning. I was glad I could give her that. And still I'd lie awake sometimes, wondering if she noticed how far she had slipped.

I missed her terribly. Missed her presence, her voice, her calm dark eyes. Her fingers in my hair. Feeling her heartbeat as I lay against her on the sofa.

I missed her hands on me, her fingers in me, her willpower directing my actions and calming my thoughts.

I missed the sex. She wasn't at home to allow me orgasms, but she always said yes when I asked for them in a message, playing alone, thinking of her. It wasn't the same though. I craved her voice, denying me the release as I writhed under her touch.

But I didn't blame her.

This launch mattered to both of us. It wasn't just her project, it was the career changing moment I had seen that first day when she walked into my life, all mysterious and hot. It was the climax of all our hard work, and I wanted it to succeed just as much as she did.

She was transforming the Turbine Hall into something no one had seen before, the culmination of months of risk and vision and pressure. I'd seen the mock ups, and they looked amazing. And I was proud of her, so deeply proud. But that didn't stop the ache.

For her.

Her attention. Her presence. Her will.

Our morning ritual fed the deepest hunger for her but left me needing more.

I missed the way she grounded me. Missed how her hand at the base of my neck as I knelt at her feet could silence the noise in my mind. How she always seemed to know what I needed before I did... until now.

Now, it was like she was trying to protect me from the weight she was carrying. Like stepping fully into her Domme self while the rest of the world was pulling at her from all sides would be too much, or that she couldn't allow herself to do it for fear of it not being what I needed or dragging me into her pressures somehow.

But I didn't want her protection. I wanted her presence. Her trust. And I wanted to help her relieve the pressures that I could see were crushing her. Help her carry that weight.

And maybe I should have said something. Should have asked for what I needed more clearly. But part of me was afraid that she'd just hear it as more pressure. As one more demand when she was already stretched thin. And I didn't want that.

So instead, I tried to be good.

Tried to be calm and steady and patient. Focus on that brief morning connection. Willing it to be enough.

Until I couldn't anymore.

It wasn't one thing that broke me. Just the steady build-up. The long days and weekends alone. The silence where her voice used to be. The empty space at my side where she used to be. The feeling of drifting.

I wasn't in freefall.

But I missed gravity.

Ten days before the launch, when she came home after midnight, coat damp from the September rain, exhaustion carved into the lines of her face, I didn't wait for her to speak.

I walked to meet her in the hallway and knelt on the floor in silence.

No ceremony. No collar. Just offering my need. My body and soul.

The click of her boots stopped.

She exhaled, and the sound broke something open in me.

"Cara..." Her voice was wrecked. She dropped her bag, stepped closer, and crouched down in front of me. Her hands cupped my face like she was afraid I might break. "Why didn't you say something?"

I shook my head, eyes stinging. "It's okay, I didn't want to pressure you... you've been so busy..."

"Oh cara, I should have seen it... I thought I was shielding you... but all I did was shut you out. I'm so sorry."

My throat tightened. "It's okay... I didn't want to make it harder."

She kissed me softly. "You never make anything harder. You make everything better."

She stood and took off her coat.

"Now stand up and take off your clothes."

My breath quickened as I stood and undressed while she watched, relishing how her eyes roamed my body hungrily as it appeared naked from under my clothes.

"Get your collar and the blindfold and cuffs from the bedroom and come find me on the sofa."

I did as she told me, heart pounding. She sat on the sofa, still dressed.

"Bring them here and get on your knees."

Oh how I'd missed that velvety steel in her voice. It went straight to my core, feeding my hunger. I sank to my knees between hers and sat back on my heels presenting the collar, blindfold and the leather cuffs, nearly panting with anticipation.

She took the collar and buckled it at the back. I felt the calm settle over me at the familiar feel of the soft leather around my neck, allowing me to sink into that space between our souls, the hush between our heartbeats. Where nothing mattered but my love and trust for her.

Her hand went to my chin and raised it to meet her gaze.

"Mine."

My breath hitched and that shivering feeling flooded over me, the one that I couldn't explain, couldn't describe, but never failed to make my heart pound and my skin goosebump.

"Yours."

Then she kissed me and slipped the blindfold over my eyes.

"Hands front cara."

The cuffs closed around my wrists, another delicious reminder of who was really in control. The excitement flared up in me as she locked them together behind my back, making my nipples scrunch up and my clit twitch.

But she wasn't in a hurry. Her hand came to my head and pushed it gently to her thigh, recognizing that I needed to feel her, to align my heartbeat to hers. I leaned into her, letting my thoughts slip away, my mind finding that calm silence that only she could give me.

She stroked my hair slowly and whispered.

"Just breathe cara, just feel."

I found gravity and fell against her, letting her catch me. The world faded away and all that remained was her voice, calmly soothing me, telling me what a good girl I was, how important I was to her, how proud she was of me.

I sank into that sound, the rhythm guiding me as I let go and soared free, safe in her hands.

"Tell me about it cara. Tell me your worries."

I told her all of it, whispering how I missed her, how proud I was of her but also worried that she was pushing herself too hard. How I needed her. How I thought she needed me and how I was here for her.

She let me get it all out, just listening to my whispered confession, taking it all in. Then her hands were on my cheeks lifting my lips to meet hers in a deep kiss.

"I missed you too cara. You are my world."

My breath hitched. "Let me help you Maestra... use me... take what you need... please."

I felt her shiver, that hissing exhale of breath on my face, and I knew I was right. She needed this as much as I did. My heart soared with happiness and pride that I could give her what she needed.

She pushed me back on my heels and stood up, and I could feel and hear her pushing down her pants, taking off her shirt, tossing her clothes away. My excitement flared hot again. I could smell her intoxicating scent, a heady mix of sweat and arousal, her mound only inches away from my face tempting me to lick it. I sat still, waiting for her command, her permission.

She took a tiny step forward in the small space between me and the sofa. Her naked hip touched my face. I nearly jumped.

"I'm going to use you cara. I need you so bad." Her quiet voice was trembling.

Fuck yes. Oh, fuuuck yessss.

Her hand grabbed my hair and pushed my face into her body, dragging it over her mound. I physically trembled at the touch of her trimmed bush on my nose and lips.

"I'm going to make you eat me, make me cum. I'm going to fuck you until I cum again. And then you're going to sleep like this, in your collar and cuffs..." She bent down to whisper in my ear, her breath hot and teasing. "No orgasm for you. Tonight, you only serve."

I sucked in a breath as my pussy ached just at her words, twitching and clenching at that promise, her voice dripping with quiet power. The lust raged inside me. Fuck, she knew how to push all my buttons.

"Yes, Maestra."

"Yes what, cara?"

"Yes, I will only serve you."

"Are you mine?"

"Yesssss! I'm yours! Only yours!"

"And I am yours. Now eat me Cadence. You've earned it."

She pushed my face into her mound and my tongue found her clit, hungrily lapping at my prize.

'You've earned it'. That little sentence still touched something primal in me, making my lust rage for her.

Her moans were music to my ears, her firm grip in my hair just right.

"Oh, fuck yes cara, that's just what I need... that's it, right there... yeeeessss right there..."

I licked and I sucked, pushed my tongue into her, ran circles around her clit, sucked her beautiful lips into my mouth. Oh god, she tasted heavenly. She fell back onto the sofa and pulled me with her. Both her hands held my head and her legs hugged my back as she mashed her pussy on my mouth.

"Fuuuuckk you're so good at this... I love your tongue so much."

I was in heaven. Nothing mattered except her pleasure. When her body shook in a hard orgasm, her thighs clenching around my head, I moaned into her pussy sharing her ecstasy, the endorphin rush of being able to give her that making me shudder with her.

She slumped back and her grip on my head loosened. I caught my breath and slowly sucked her lips, licking her, careful not to touch her sensitive clit.

My pussy ached for her touch, wet and burning with lust. I needed to cum so bad, but I knew I wouldn't. If she wanted me to, I would stay there on my knees between her legs all night, content to make her cum again and again without any release of my own. I would be a wet, shivering mess after, but I would love giving her that.

She had other ideas.

"Good girl..." she pushed me away and suddenly her lips were on mine in a deep kiss, her tongue exploring my mouth, sharing the taste of her own juices, licking my cheeks, nibbling my ear.

"Come cara... stand up."

She hooked a finger under my collar and held my arm as I stood up, a little wobbly on my feet from kneeling.

Suddenly her warm lips were around my nipple, sucking hard, her fingers rolling the other.

"Ooohhh yeeesssss..."

The electric pleasure shot straight down to my clit. I felt myself leaking down my thigh as she led me slowly towards the bedroom, making sure I didn't bump my feet on the furniture with my blindfold on.

She locked my hands again in front of me and pushed me so I fell back on the bed. Her tongue traced up my body from my mound to my breasts as she climbed on top of me. Then a stiff nipple brushed my mouth.

I locked my lips around it and sucked until she popped it out of my mouth, hovering it over my lips just out of reach. I strained, reaching for it with my tongue, giving a little whimper when she wouldn't let me. And then she gave me the other one, whispering sweet love in my ear as she made me suck it until she took it away again, making me beg for it. Then she lay on top of me and held me close.

"I love you. I love you so much cara."

"I love you too! I love you Ilaria, oh god I love you so much! Am I good for you? Am I your good girl?"

"Yes, cara mia, you are so good to me, so good... my good girl... all mine..."

I shuddered with a physical response to those words. I felt like she could make me cum just by whispering that in my ear.

She slid down my body and then her tongue was on my clit. I screamed. I literally lost control when she sucked my clit between her lips. The buildup was too much, and I thought I would disobey her and cum right then.

I didn't, but only because she stopped and left my clit twitching, wet and throbbing, aching for more.

"Oh fuck you're so wet for me cara, you're close, aren't you?"

"Yes!"

"You want to cum? Want me to suck your clit, the way you like, put my lips around you and just... suck you off...?"

"Yesss...! Oh, goood yessss!" My fingers and toes were tingling numb just from that small touch to my clit. I needed to cum so bad. I needed her lips on me, her tongue in me, her fingers fucking me...

"Please...!"

"Please... what?" Her whisper was devilish now.

"Please lick me... suck my clit... please make me cum..." I whimpered, begging for release.

"Please... what?"

"Please Maestra... please let me cum!"

Her lips came right up to my ear, and as I gasped and shivered with a brush of her finger over my wet hard clit, her hot breath whispered:

"No."

The combined tickle of my clit and that beautiful denial almost pushed me over the edge. I moaned long and loud.

"Oh cara, watch it. No cumming without permission."

"Yes Maestra," I managed, voice trembling as her finger circled my throbbing clit, lightly flicking over it every few circles, pushing me dangerously close to the edge. It was agonizing, wonderful, intense... I was so close... so close... I could feel it coming...

"Good... because this is for me cara, not for you. My pleasure, not yours. Because I love keeping you on the edge like this. I love watching your beautiful face when you're trying so hard not to cum, doing your best to obey, even though you're nearly there... yes... like this... you just need a little more... like this... just one more touch..."

"Oh, ooohhh no, no! please Maestra, I can't stop it if you... please, PLEASE NO!"

Her finger disappeared and she raised herself on her hands and knees, hovering over me, like she knew that a touch of her skin, a brush of her lips, a breath on my nipples, her word in my ear would push me off that ledge she'd just walked me out on. My breath huffed deep as I fought to regain control over my body, focusing on relaxing my body, not clenching my muscles, not moving, not thinking about the orgasm that now hovered, tingling in every cell, threatening to explode through my whole body.

"You are so beautiful cara, so gorgeous my love." Her lips caught mine in a slow kiss. "I love you."

My clit twitched at the touch of her lips. Oh, fuuuckkk don't cum, don't cum...

She released me from her kiss and moved off the bed. I breathed hard, regaining control. Then her hands were on me, directing me to lift my ass, sliding something under it.

Fuuuck yes.

She buckled the harness around my hips. I wished the blindfold was off so I could watch her as she straddled me and slid down on the dildo now jutting from my hips, moaning as it filled her. It was amazingly hot to see her ride me like this, I absolutely loved it. This time I would have to settle for the feeling of her using my body to fuck herself. Well, not settle exactly, that felt insanely hot as well.

She moaned as she started sliding up and down on the strap on, falling against my body, grinding the base of the dildo into my clit with every move of her hips. My locked hands were between us, letting me rub her clit as she fucked me.

I knew how quickly she could cum on that strap on, and I hoped she would because I would not be able to hold off my own orgasm for long if she kept fucking me like this.

Her moans turned to quick, shallow huffs as she got closer and I whispered in her ear.

"Cum for me Maestra, cum on me. Do it. Just use me to cum. Yesss. Just like that... cum for me my love, please give that to me, cum for me... all over me... use me..."

I kept whispering to her as she grabbed my shoulders tight and shook on top of me, her magnificent body spasming up in a pulsating orgasm.

Her body slumped on top of mine and she nuzzled her face in my neck. I barely heard her whisper as she regained control of her breath.

"I love you cara... you're so good to me... god how I needed that..."

I beamed with pride and happiness, whispering my love in her ear.

After a while she kissed me deeply and unbuckled the harness. I thought she was spent, but then she straddled my face, offering me her pussy wet and slick with her juices. I threw myself into eating her out again, burying my tongue inside her, giving my throbbing clit a chance to settle down from the grinding that had taken it close to explosive again. She groaned, a low purring groan from deep in her throat that drove me mad with lust.

I held her hot arse cheeks with my cuffed hands, wishing I could see her, look up at her chiselled abs, her hot tits, into her beautiful dark eyes as I worshipped her body.

Like she read my thoughts the blindfold was pulled off and my hot naked girlfriend came into full view, her sweaty body writhing on my mouth. My gorgeous Maestra, pleasuring herself on my mouth. She looked magnificent. I moaned into her pussy, holding her eyes.

Her hungry eyes devoured mine, her loose hair falling around her beautiful face.

"Make me cum again cara... make me cum. oh... oh... yes... make me cum again..."

I touched my finger to her arse, rubbing, slowly pushing inside, knowing she loved that. It took her to the next level, made her moans go into overdrive. I pushed deeper and fingered her ass as I licked her clit, trying to push her over that edge again.

"Yes, yes... do it... do it for me cara... make me cum again... yesss right there... oh... o..."

She grabbed my hair and held her breath, and then doubled over onto the bed as another orgasm ripped through her, shaking hard and grinding her clit on my face. I loved the sounds she made. No little whimpers, full loud moans. Her juices ran down my cheeks as she fell off me, still moaning.

When she kissed me, it was tender, soft, thankful.

I fell asleep in her embrace. Collar still on like she promised, my head resting on her breast, the sweet taste of her pussy still lingering on my tongue. She held me close to her warm body, caressing my brow, whispering her love in my ear, quietly thanking me for my gift.

Her loving words and the calming rhythm of her heartbeat rocking me to sleep.

My thoughts quiet, my heart full.

My clit still aching for that denied release.

I had everything I needed. Everything I wanted.

Love. Trust.

And as my eyes closed, and the world fell away, the silence whispered:

I am yours, and you are mine, and we are one.

--

It was the day before the launch. Ilaria had been practically living at the Tate for the last five days, with the last-minute stress of ticking all the boxes and finishing up the preparations eating up all her time.

It was okay. We had talked and built our rhythm around it. We still made sure to never miss our morning ritual, but she added a nightly ritual where I undressed her for bed. It was a wonderful addition, a slow sensual moment where I got to caress her, kiss her, give her all my attention and try to pass some of my energy on to her.

I was at home on a Wednesday night; tomorrow was the big day. My work was done. The last of my slides was updated, the demography analysis already being used in the ads and media releases of all kinds that were now appearing everywhere, and the metrics were coming back positive.

I couldn't help remembering Vinet's sceptical face.

It lives, you bitch. I was right.

When the doorbell rang, I wasn't expecting anyone.

Surprise rooted me to the floor when I opened the door.

On the landing stood Luz Valencienne.

She was dressed down by her standards, no statement sunglasses, no blinding designer jewellery, no signature red coat. Just a fitted black blazer over a soft grey blouse, her golden blonde hair tied back in a simple ponytail.

"Hello Cadence."

"Hi... uh... Ilaria isn't here."

Even though I had gotten over my jealousy and knew that they were seeing each other daily to prepare for the launch, I wasn't ready to face her up close like this. Even toned down to nearly no make up she was intimidatingly beautiful. A too- beautiful reminder that my girlfriend had once enjoyed this amazing body, kissed those perfect cheekbones... and all her other bloody perfect parts.

That this truly gorgeous woman still loved Ilaria enough to call her queen.

"I know. She's at the Tate; I just came from there. Can I come in?"

I stepped back, confused. What the hell was this about?

Her black heels clicked on the floor as she walked around me towards the living room, looking around, turning to me as I closed the door and followed her.

"Nice place. Very you."

I didn't know what she meant by that. But she wasn't being haughty, the usual overbearing charm was gone from her voice. If she was anyone else I would have thought she sounded sincere.

But this was Luz. I didn't say anything. My arms were crossed, and I was watching her carefully, trying not to fidget, trying not to betray how fast my heart was pounding.

I only noticed the black garment bag in her hand as she held it up.

"A peace offering. It's from the Élan line. One of a kind."

When I didn't move, she draped it over the back of the sofa, the corners of her mouth pulled up in a small rueful smile.

"I thought... hoped... that you might wear it. For the launch."

"Why are you here?" My voice was steadier that I expected, a little harsher as well.

She didn't answer at first. Instead, she walked around the sofa and sat on a chair by the table, like she was deliberately making herself smaller. Less dazzling. Less Luz.

"I came to apologize," she said finally, her tone stripped of artifice.

I blinked.

There was that unassuming tone again. Sincere.

I just looked at her, not believing this.

"I can see that you're not thrilled to have me here... I don't blame you. But I need to tell you this in person." She drew herself up a bit, straightened her back.

"I'm sorry for what Vinet did to you. For... what I... did to you. I was hurting and I was... petty. And I told her. You didn't deserve that. I apologize, sincerely."

I was dumbstruck. I didn't know what to say to that.

She folded her hands in her lap, looking at Franck's golden lady on the wall, probably recognizing it. Probably trying to avoid my eyes.

"Ilaria always wanted depth. That... connection of hers... But I..." She gave a soft, self-deprecating laugh. "To be honest my submission is a surface kink. I get off on the attention. I wanted the room to look at us and be stunned. And we did stun people. We did. But that wasn't real to her... it wasn't what she really needed."

Now her eyes found mine.

"I didn't understand that until she was gone. That I... couldn't give her that. Not like what you two have."

Something tightened in my chest. I could feel the sincerity in her voice now, raw and still hurting.

"When I saw you together, how she looked at you... I knew. That I'd finally lost her. That she'd found the kind of love that she'd been asking me for. And it hurt. It was hard... seeing you giving her what I couldn't."

She looked at the floor, taking a breath.

"So... I thought maybe if I rattled the cage, it would fall apart. That she'd... remember. That you'd be shaken. But I... was wrong. I heard her... shouting at me. And these past weeks I've seen how she lights up just from reading your texts, or when she talks about you. You aren't just another fling to her. You're the real thing. I was wrong to hurt you like that, and I regret it... very much. I'm sorry Cadence."

I looked at the bag with the dress. At her. That apology wasn't just words; it was real humility. And coming from her, that meant something.

"I accept your apology," I said finally.

She nodded slowly.

"Thank you. For what it's worth... I've seen how your love has changed her. You make her somehow... more her. It's like you have freed a part of her that she kept hidden before."

It sounded like she meant that as a compliment.

She stood, brushing her hands over her jacket. "I'll let you get back to your night. Thank you for hearing me out."

As she reached the door, she paused. "Cadence?"

"Yeah?"

"She isn't easy, you know that already. She'll never be a gentle sea. But you... you're her anchor. I can see it. I've seen it these past weeks. You allow her to soar free, navigate her storms knowing you'll hold her steady. That's rare. Hold on to it. I'll see you tomorrow."

She closed the door behind her, leaving me standing there, eyes wide.

Her anchor.

All the time that we had been together, I'd always thought of Ilaria as my anchor, my unflinching ground, tethering me, letting me soar free. "Your strength carries us both" she had said to me, and I hadn't understood. Now suddenly I did.

A covenant of equals.

I walked back and picked up the garment bag.

A peace offering.

Well, I might as well have a look.

It was all black velvet and silk, impossibly delicate, the silk bits shimmering in the light. Sleek and beautiful, mostly backless with a plunging neckline. Made to hug a body and leave everything and nothing to the imagination at the same time. I ran my fingers over it, hanging on my closet door. It was impossibly elegant and beautiful. It was probably worth thousands of pounds. Tens of thousands even.

I texted Ilaria.

- Luz was here. She apologized. I think she meant it. She brought a dress.

The reply came back quickly.

- Are you okay??

- Yes I'm fine, don't worry.

- I love you cara❤️ I'll be extra late tonight. Last day.

- I love you too❤️ See you when you get home.

I put down the phone and stripped down to my panties. The dress felt even lighter than it looked when I slipped it on. It hugged my curves perfectly, shimmering even in the low bedroom light. It fit like it was made for me.

It probably was.

A peace offering indeed. She had put some thought into this.

I looked at myself in the full-length mirror, taking in my curvy form on display in this sleek haute couture dress. I looked elegant.

I slipped off my everyday cotton panties, the seams were showing through on my ass. This was a dress that called for something a bit smaller.

Then I had a thought and went to my night table and got my silver necklace. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, the delicate silver day collar complementing the dress perfectly,.

I straightened my back and pushed my tits forward and the lingering nervousness about tomorrow's red carpet walk to the back of my mind.

I didn't look just elegant... I looked sexy. This dress made my unsupported girls look good. They jiggled suggestively as I turned checking out my full bum in the mirror.

Oh wow.

I put the dress back in the bag and hung it in my closet.

When Ilaria finally came home just after three in the morning I pulled off her clothes and kissed her goodnight, falling asleep in her arms.

In the morning, we kissed goodbye, lingering a little longer than usual. It was a big day. I could feel how nervous she was and sent her on her way with all my love and her garment bag on her shoulder.

We were meeting the Bellwether team for drinks at the Coral Room in Bloomsbury at five, before heading to the Tate. Luz had insisted on providing cars for all of us so we would arrive in style at the red carpet. It was fun, but I thought that she was probably just making sure that her rebranding team wouldn't show up in a battered old Ford Fiesta.

I spent the late morning shopping for a few things. Black lace string panties that wouldn't show through the dress, a pair of shiny black open slingback stilettos that strapped around my ankle. Getting my mani pedi, nails painted deep wine red. It was out of my usual comfort zone, I was more used to clean neutral shades, but this occasion, this dress, called for something bolder.

As I sat down for my hairstyle appointment just after lunch, I was ready for the evening.

When I slipped the dress on over my new sexy panties and put on the necklace and the shoes, I felt nervous but still sure that I would be okay with Ilaria at my side.

I looked myself over in the mirror. My hair was parted to the side, swept back in loose brushed out waves pinned behind one ear with a small silver barrette. The rest fell over my shoulder. The styling was a bit old Hollywood and worked perfectly with the dress, complemented by the necklace and my simple silver and diamond earrings.

I looked nice.

No, fuck nice, I looked hot. I blushed, thinking about all the people that were going to be watching, the paparazzi, the camera flashes. It was a daunting thought, terrifying really, but I would be by her side. I would be seen... as her partner. I would be alright.

--

The Coral Room shimmered in soft coral-pink and gold, the art deco chandeliers catching the early evening light like champagne bubbles held in time. It was buzzing with the quiet glamour of pre-event nerves, clinking glasses, half-laughed jokes, the occasional pop of a champagne bottle from behind the bar.

Rowan was at a table in the corner with his wife and Marla, Chelsea and Jules were already two cocktails in, snacking on olives. The rest of the team was smiling, chatting, toasting, making small talk and introducing plus ones. Amir's wife looked amazing in her flowing golden dress but Tessa's boyfriend looked like he was more comfortable in a t-shirt and jeans than the cool dark blue tux he was sporting to match her hot dress. I noticed the cool leather band that doubled around her wrist, clashing with her elegant outfit. I wasn't sure anyone but me recognized it for what it probably was. I smiled and raised my glass to them from the bar. Good for her.

I was standing there trying to calm my nerves without downing too much alcohol. Ilaria was late. It was only 15 minutes until we had to leave.

Everyone had complimented me on the dress and my look, impressed that I was wearing the Élan line. Now that I wasn't alone in my bedroom, I was a little self-conscious of the deep cleavage it showed off and the architectural slit that opened up high, at the top of my thigh.

As I turned away from toasting Tessa, Ilaria walked in. I gawked.

She looked absolutely stunning in her black tux. Her jacket was cropped just above the hip with a sculpted waist and subtle satin piping tracing the lapels, the sleeves artfully and unevenly cuffed to reveal the same satin lining and her tattooed wrists. Her black silk blouse was unbuttoned enough to tease her modest cleavage and the cigarette cut trousers were high-waisted, falling clean to polished Cuban heel boots.

She wore no tie, no bow, just a thin ribbon loosely knotted at her throat, matte black with a thin silver thread weaving through it to make it stand out. Her hair was pinned back on one side and flowed over the other, perfectly tousled and styled in her usual way of looking absolutely unbothered. Her watch sat in its usual place on one wrist and a silver bracelet gleamed on the other. Her nose ring finished up the silver complementing the hot black design of her outfit.

I melted just looking at her stride in, all sexy confidence and unapologetic presence. I was going to be walking the red carpet with the hottest woman at the show. I tingled thinking about undressing her slowly later.

When she saw me, she stopped, actually stopped mid-step, blinking like the world had gone momentarily sideways. Her gaze moved over me once, then again, slower the second time, like she was etching me in her memory.

I blushed, feeling the flush warm my ears and cheeks. Seeing her look at me like that was making me feel wildly sexy.

The tension in her shoulders dropped. A smile lit up her face. My smile.

"Cadence," she breathed, crossing the floor to me. I was sure the colour of my face matched the deep coral pink of the walls. Everyone and everything faded as she stood in front of me. There was just me and her and the electric buzz between our hearts.

"You look..." Her voice dropped. "You're exquisite. Oh my god, you're gorgeous cara."

"You look hot," I whispered, because I needed to say something and in my fluster that's all that slipped out.

She just smiled at me and reached for my hand, lifting it to her lips. Her eyes never left mine. The silver bracelet on her wrist matched the woven Celtic ropes of my silver collar. I went a little mushy inside.

"Remind me to personally thank Luz for this dress," she said softly, a hint of mischief curling her mouth. "And then remind me to make you take it off, slowly, when this night is over. You can pick the music."

I swallowed. "You're being naughty."

"You make me feel naughty." She stepped closer. "You've stolen every coherent thought I had. I'm walking the red carpet with the most beautiful woman in the world."

"No," I said, blushing furiously and looking into her shining dark eyes. "I am."

Rowan broke our moment by ushering everyone out, it was time to leave.

We sat in the limo together with Rowan and his wife, Carla. They both looked gorgeous, dressed to the nines for the occasion. As we drew up to the entrance to the Tate, Rowan winked at me.

"Showtime Cady. Enjoy it."

I'd seen this in movies, on the news, on glossy magazine covers. Never from the inside. It was awe inspiring. And I was still in the safety of a closed car.

The Tate loomed ahead like a sleeping brick giant. The old power station's massive facade was lit up with a flickering crimson and soft gold, 'Valencienne' projected in huge letters across the stone above the entry arch in crisp white and spotlights swept over the scene.

The red carpet stretched long from the car door, disappearing down into the entrance to the Turbine Hall, lined with press barricades and velvet ropes.

Then our door opened, and the sound hit me like a wave, flashes, shouts, all the noise of a worked-up crowd.

Rowan stepped out first, taking his wife's hand as she followed. The cameras flashed and the noise level went up even more. Then it was our turn.

"I love you cara. You look beautiful." She kissed me and then stepped out of the car. The camera flashes instantly went into overdrive as the paparazzi realized there was an actual celebrity there. She turned and offered me her hand, palm up, smiling. Offering me the support of protocol, with the whole world watching.

I smiled back and took her hand, giving myself over to her to hold as I stepped out on the red carpet and faced the crowd and the cameras.

Ilaria looked like she'd been born into this world of velvet ropes and awe. Her tux caught the light in sculpted shadows, the ribbon at her throat and her silver jewellery breaking up her otherwise deadly hot silhouette. She looked absolutely riveting, calm, sexy, confident. Completely at home in this strange world.

The air was cold against my bare shoulders, my thigh exposed by the slit opening as I moved. Just cold enough to remind me I wasn't dreaming. Every flash felt like a blink of judgment, but her warm hand in mine was steady. I followed her lead as she stopped sometimes, posing for the cameras. I tried my best to keep my back straight and look good, but I didn't look at the cameras. I looked at her.

I saw it later, in all the pictures, in all the papers and online articles. I was looking at her in every single one, my eyes shining with admiration.

"Bellwether brand strategist Cadence Harper (30) only had eyes for her partner, art director Ilaria West (31) as the couple arrived at the launch of Valencienne Élan at the Tate Modern's majestically transformed Turbine Hall yesterday. Valencienne's resurrection is another feather in West's cap, as last night's show is being widely described as the single most stunning event London Fashion Week has seen in the last decade."

They weren't wrong.

I loved seeing her in this setting, where she belonged after all her hard work, and I found the strength to navigate this nerve-wracking experience in her calm hold of my hand and her effortless confidence.

We moved together along the carpet, and I could almost physically feel the eyes on us. Not just the paparazzi lenses but all the people who knew exactly who she was, industry insiders, fashion writers, designers, influencers, all dressed like minor royalty. A dozen gazes flicked over me and back to her, and I knew what they saw. The girlfriend. The new girl. The not-Luz.

But I didn't flinch.

Not because I wasn't terrified, I absolutely was, but because I had decided, looking myself over in my bedroom mirror yesterday, that I wasn't going to look like I didn't belong. Not going to feel like it either.

I was here, with the love of my life. I was wearing my dedication to her around my neck, openly in front of the whole world, and it felt like everyone could see how much I loved her, how immensely proud of her I was. That powerful feeling of pride overrode all the others.

Her thumb brushed over mine, slow and deliberate and her smile opened up for me in a silent question, making sure I was okay. I squeezed her hand back and smiled, letting her know I was.

And then, at the top of the slope leading to the entrance, she pulled me close and silenced all doubts the world might have about our relationship. I melted into her hot, loving kiss, not caring who was watching. This gorgeous, confident, amazing woman was mine, all mine.

"I love you Cadence. I'm so lucky to have met you."

"I love you too, Ilaria. And I'm the lucky one." I winked at her. Her smile beamed.

We turned and descended towards the entrance, toward the glowing archway, where towering panes of fragmented black glass reflected back our shapes like an echo.

Beyond the doors, the turbine hall had been transformed into a living sculpture of light and steel and mirrored fragments. The show hadn't started yet but the air already shimmered with it.

The first thing that hit me was the sound, the low thrumming music subtly echoing in this vast church of steel and concrete, subtly layering itself over my heartbeat. It was low enough so I could hear my heels click on the black lacquered floor, the mirrored shimmer beneath our feet catching slivers of light from installations around the walkway, warping our reflections like shadows beneath water.

Ilaria's hand rested at the small of my back as we moved past the final barrier, her light but constant touch a gentle reminder that she was here for me. The crowd gathering inside murmured in hush tones, absorbed already in the transformation, the low thrum of the music somehow creating a hushed, reverent atmosphere, like in a place of worship.

She leaned in close and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "Stay close," she whispered. I nodded. My hand lingered at her side as we walked toward the runway, our fingers brushing. We found our seats with the rest of the Bellwether team in the front row, positioned at the runway's most fractured bend, where the mirror-like path split and shifted like a fault line through the hall. Chelsea, Jules and Tessa were taking selfies, catching the magnificent setting in the background. Marla and Vicki were staring at the ceiling open mouthed.

There, great planes of shattered glass and voile hung in silent angles, catching the ambient glow like pieces of a frozen explosion. Reflections shifted as people moved. Images flickered, intermittently projected on the walls and the shards in the ceiling. I recognized some of our earliest ideas there, Valencienne early sketches, flashes of old Valencienne Atelier show footage, Luz's mother's hands guiding fabric through a machine. A history broken apart and reassembled in light.

We sat, watching the transformed hall and the people slowly filling the audience area that curved in arcs around the runway like petals. I crossed my legs, smoothing the sleek black fabric of my dress, admiring how the silk caught the flicker of the images like I was part of the installation. Ilaria's hand found mine beneath the edge of her tailored jacket and squeezed it. I could see that she was nervous under her calm exterior. This was it. The culmination of all her hard work these past months.

In 20 minutes or so, the lights dimmed, the crowd hushed and the show began.

A cello broke the reverent silence, raw and unaccompanied, just a single dark note drawn out like a breath too long, it held and then built into a slow haunting melody. The models emerged one by one from between two jagged slabs of angled mirrored glass. They didn't stride, but emerged as if pulled from the fractures themselves by flashes of light.

The runway twisted asymmetrically through the hall, bordered by still pools of water that caught the shimmer of the overhead projections. As each model walked the runway the heels of their shoes sent ripples that refracted the light. The visuals shifted constantly, lines flaring, images and forms fragmenting across the walls like the silent echo of something shattering.

The first collection was pieces in pale ivory, layered textures, raw edges, like the ghosts of fashion past. Deconstructed brilliance, hair wet-slicked, makeup minimal but luminous. I recognized some of them, prototypes we'd seen mocked up in the studio. But here, now, in this space? The designs looked amazing, the silhouettes breathed, coming alive in the flashing refracted light.

I felt it in my chest. This wasn't just a spectacle. It was resurrection. Revelation. It was working. Our work was coming alive, right here, right now. I sat riveted, just taking it all in, heart pounding at the excitement.

The lighting dropped to a sharper contrast on the mirror runway and the second act began, Elán proper. The colour scheme shifted to deep dark tones, ink, plum black, obsidian. Harsher shadows and sharper edges. Models stepped through in precise, structured looks, every silhouette speaking of power contained beneath the fractured designs. They walked in pairs, then trios, like reflections overlapping, one figure becoming three and then one again.

There were column dresses and sharply tailored separates, but they all carried the signature elements of the line. Asymmetrical, fluid beauty meeting sharp tension. Dresses in marvellous dark tones with silver accents like brushed steel, and structures that mirrored the same sleek velvet and silk minimalism as the one I wore.

I recognized the neckline of one gown, it echoed mine almost exactly, though rendered in a dusky plum shade, with sheer cut-outs that ghosted across the impossibly thin model's ribs. There was a variation in ivory, pared back, the shape flowing like ink down the form, and another in midnight blue with an off-centre slit slicing all the way to the waist.

It was mesmerizing. Captivating.

"They want to feel something," I had said once, at our concept presentation, "not just own something." It felt like a lifetime ago.

But I felt it now. I was wearing one of those gorgeous dresses. I had felt it speak to me as soon as I put it on. And this wasn't just a runway show of garments. It was an emotion evoking experience for all the senses that looked you in the eye and dared you to be a part of its magical world. This was what I had meant. I nearly choked up with the realization that this incredible show was delivering my strategy to perfection.

The music evolved. Cello folding into synth. A throb of electronica pumped into the hall, mixing Andalusian folk rhythms and chanson française, Luz's mother's Spanish family heritage and her father's romantic French background, woven together like the very fabric that was Maison Valencienne. Heartbeat and heritage entwined. Every beat landed right behind my sternum, threatening to rearrange my heartbeat.

Then suddenly the lights dropped completely and for three full seconds, there was nothing.

Then the sudden sound of shattering glass washed the audience, so precisely rendered that we flinched.

And in the silence that followed, a single model, a gorgeous, tall and graceful black woman in one of the sleek dusky plum gowns, was lit up in a spotlight.

She stood alone at the far end of the runway, her face and a single hand raised in offering. Behind her, the word ÉLAN unfurled in the pure white serif font. The crowd gasped. It wasn't just a revelation. It felt like a benediction.

She didn't speak. She didn't move. The light faded slowly from her figure and then the next wave of models emerged, flowing around her, this time in pieces that glittered subtly under the growing warmth of the lights, metallic threads, reflective surfaces, structured bodices shaped like folded light.

The music surged. The cello and synths replaced by a swelling tide of orchestral strings layered over the deep pulse of electronic bass. Above us the mirrored panels shifted, rotating slowly like the facets of a turning kaleidoscope. From the rafters descended massive translucent curtains threaded with fiber optic lights, pulsing in rhythm with the music.

I looked at Ilaria's face, her initial tension at the start of the show was gone and she looked serene, happy, just quietly watching her vision come to life. I wanted to kiss her and tell her how proud I was of her, how amazing this all was, but I didn't want to break her moment.

The models came faster now, each look more daring than the last. Bodices shaped like fractured armor, iridescent textiles that changed colour in motion, wings of fabric suspended from structured shoulders. Capes that shimmered like oil on water. A rain of glittering silk threads descended from the ceiling like a storm of starlight. I could hear gasps, whispers. A woman behind me muttered "genius" under her breath. Phones and cameras were aloft everywhere, recording.

It was over the top and absolutely gorgeous at the same time, a fever dream of light and sound and movement. A climax of transformation.

And just when it felt like it couldn't rise any higher...

Luz.

The seating area had faded to shadow at the edges. Only the centre glowed now. I could see the press row scribbling, murmuring to each other. Phones raised, mouths parted.

She stepped onto the runway, alone, poised, glowing in the spotlight. She wore a shimmering black suit, designed in the Élan line's fractured patterns. The music shifted back to the same thrumming cello melody that had started the show.

In her hands she carried a large Valencienne Atelier sketchbook. Her image and the old Atelier logo on the book were projected onto every screen in the hall.

She closed the book without ceremony, a chapter finished. The Atelier images on the walls washed into the Élan logo and the mirrored panels surrounding the runway tilted upward, slowly, as if waking. We, the audience, were revealed to ourselves. A sea of fractured reflections, watching reflections, the Élan serif playing over our own faces, projected in white light.

Luz stood still.

The cello found the final note and held for a few seconds.

She bowed her head.

The lights fell.

There was a second of silence and then the applause rose, deep, rolling, thunderous. People were on their feet, clapping, stomping. Our team, on both sides of us in the front row, were hugging, shouting. Marla was screaming and jumping. Rowan glowed with pride.

I looked at Ilaria, and for once she looked unguarded. There were tears in her eyes, months of pressure and tons of weight suddenly off her shoulders, the vision she mercilessly drilled into us in those first weeks finally translated to the real world, perfectly, beautifully.

I gathered her up in my arms, kissing her and hugging her tight.

"You did this, you did it. I'm so proud of you!" I said, my words nearly drowning in the noise.

I felt her head shaking against mine in the hug and she whispered close to my ear, her voice emotional, shaking.

"We did it. Together. You and me."

And as the lights and the camera flashes washed over us and my beautiful talented girlfriend kissed me like we were the only two people in the world, I thought back to that first day I met her, standing quietly a little off to the side, a stranger in winged eyeliner, looking like a calm storm in a Massive Attack t-shirt and a pinstripe blazer.

And it struck me how I had been so very excited about the completely wrong thing, about how this project might change my career, when in reality, it had been a truly life changing moment for me.

Transformative.

I had found someone who saw me, truly saw me. She saw everything I was, and everything I could be. She trusted me. Believed in me. Loved me with all her being.

And I had trusted her enough to fall to my knees and let her become my ground, my gravity, my anchor. Not out of fear or obedience. Not out of duty. But because I loved her, and because I knew, as certain as breath, that she would hold what I entrusted her with in reverence. That she would hold my vulnerable soul in her heart and never falter.

She had called it a covenant of equals.

And she was right.

Because I was proud to be hers, in every way. And I knew she was just as proud to be mine.

We stood at the edge of the light as the crowd began to trickle toward the exits on their way to the after party, her hand warm around mine, her beautiful unrestrained smile lighting up my heart.

The show was over, but our life lay ahead.

I had walked in here nervous that the world would see too much of me. But now, walking out with her at my side, I wanted them to see me. See us. See everything we were together.

And as we stepped out into the flurry of camera flashes and reporters gagging for interviews, I held her hand tightly and let my heart soar free, unafraid of letting go.

Perfectly anchored to her unfaltering rhythm, knowing it would always guide me.

In a melody of surrender, held sacred between our two souls, in the hush between our heartbeats.

--

Thank you for reading. If you liked the story, please consider giving it a star rating and please post a comment with your thoughts. I do love your feedback, and your comments inspire me to try to write more and better stories.