Bound & Free Ch. 08

"Should I call them?" she vocalized her thoughts.

"Do you want to? Sure, just go ahead, they're your parents!" he said, flippantly.

Stacy groaned in frustration.

"No, you don't understand. I can't 'just go ahead'. They told me never to call them out of the blue." Stacy explained; it was an impossibility, the very idea terrified her. "They call me."

He gave her that look again. She understood it a little better this time. He looked vaguely horrified, but her parents weren't like that, they were just... particular. She felt the need to defend them, to explain. She tried to build her argument, line up the words that normally served her so well, but they ran in opposite directions when she tried. Why was this so difficult to articulate?

"Look, I'm not going to pretend to understand." Tristan said. "I get it, a bit. You want to be a good girl..."

He continued talking but she didn't hear him as a breath of pleasure lifted her for a moment. The pressure lifted and she could think again. It was just what she'd needed. Why did Tristan saying that affect her so?

"... or a neighbor, even a cleaner." he finished.

"Aha! You're a genius!" Stacy exclaimed.

Without thinking, she lifted her mouth to his, and kissed him. His lips were rough, a man's lips, firm and cracked. She could taste him, a flavor of salt and lemon that embedded itself deep in her memory. His chin was slightly spiky. Her mind spun, and she lost herself in him for a moment. Far too long. This felt good, too good. He smelled clean and masculine. She almost put one hand on his jaw but managed to stop herself just in time. Fuck, this was their first kiss, right? That was a mistake. He'd get the wrong idea. She had to stop. She barely knew him outside of these... diversions. He definitely wasn't on the approved partner list. Quickly, she broke the kiss.

Ignoring his enquiring look, she turned her attention back to her phone. Within seconds she'd found the contact she was looking for and called the number. They picked up before the first ring.

"Stacy here. Carlisle, can you tell me what's going on?" she asked.

Tristan looked at her enquiringly. Rather than scold him for nosiness, for some reason she felt the urge to explain. 'Butler' she mouthed to him. That would have to do, she had to pay attention.

"Ah, the famous young mistress." an airy British accent exclaimed. "It is a distinct pleasure to hear from you. You've been quite the topic of conversation over here tonight."

"Me?!" she exclaimed. "What do you mean?"

Alarm froze all warm feelings from her mind. If her parents were discussing her, they were okay. That was scant relief; the only time they spoke positively of her was to others. In private, any mention of her was uniformly bad - they didn't bother to keep up appearances for the butler. Maybe it would have been better if one of them had been sick. No Stacy, never think that. They're her parents and just wanted her to succeed. They had a lot on their plates what with the woes of the family's hereditary businesses. Of course they loved her.

"I very much regret to inform you that your parents had the foresight to swear me to secrecy." he sighed. "Admittedly a rather poor time for them to remember I exist beyond chores. I am sorry, mistress." he said sadly.

Stacy's mind leapt in terror. Mentally she ran around in circles screaming. They'd asked him to keep it a secret? This was bad, very bad. Stress descended, pressing down on her shoulders. Making it difficult to breathe. What could it be? The sword hanging over her head was worse than the shouting which would surely come next. But there was no way to bring it forward, it would be done on their schedule, or... well, there was never any other alternative.

"Could you... could you advise me Carlisle?" she asked, trying to think of a way around it. "As you did when I was a girl?"

"I'm afraid not, mistress. But now we're speaking, may I tell you a little story?" he asked, oddly.

Carlisle had never shared any stories of his own life with her.

"Of course." she croaked.

"Thank you, mistress. When I was a few years younger than you, my father sat me on his knee and asked me what I wanted to do with my life. I was about to finish my O-levels and he told me it was high time I devoted myself body and soul to a profession, and let no man tear me from it. I realised he was right. I told him I wanted to be just like him, a gentleman's gentleman, if you will. It was my choice. And I have never regretted it. It is my calling. We should all take time in our lives to consider our calling."

"That - what?" Stacy sputtered in confusion. "Couldn't you just..."

"I look forward to your upcoming visit." he said, interrupting her.

"My visit? I wasn't planning..." she said, mystified.

"Very good." Carlisle said, in a very different tone.

Over the line she heard a door crash into a wall.

"Hey butler!" her father's voice shouted in the background. "Who the hell are you talking to? Get back to work! Why must I be surrounded by incompetents?"

"Sadly that particular feeling is familiar to me also, sir." Carlisle said without a trace of sympathy. "Will..."

The line was cut off abruptly. Her father had sounded livid, absolutely raging. It felt like she had a knife on her chest. She wheezed a couple of breaths, her hand over her heart.

Tristan's arms held her tight, held her together. An eternity later he spoke.

"Let me get you back to your dorm." Tristan said, helping her to her feet.