Søren pulled back from the kiss. “I shouldn't have said, ‘Don’t do this to me again.’ What I should have said was—”
He gripped Kingsley by the back of the neck, hard enough to leave bruises and bring tears to Kingsley’s eyes. He tilted Kingsley’s head back, forcing his chin up.
“What I should have said,” Søren repeated, “was ‘You will not leave me again.’ Will you?”
“No,” Kingsley breathed, growing hard.
Søren smiled. “Good.”
Then Kingsley was free. He caught his breath, met Søren’s eyes, gave a small laugh. “That’s all you had to say.”
Søren returned to the piano bench and sat, long legs out and crossed at the ankle. Kingsley lightly kicked the bottom of his bare foot.
“You know, Nora will kill you when she finds out you’re keeping this a secret from her,” Kingsley said.
“Turnabout is fair play. She’s keeping something from us, too, if you hadn’t noticed.”
Yes, he’d noticed.
“So you aren't trying to protect her?” Kingsley said. “You’re just getting your revenge?”
Søren furrowed his brow. “You seem surprised by this.”
“I love you.”
“That,” Søren said, “is also not a secret.”
With a last smile, he turned back to his piano.
Kingsley asked, “Just out of curiosity, what other secrets are you keeping from me?”
Søren said nothing, only began to play the piano again.
Kingsley rolled his eyes and walked out into the winter night. Eventually he might learn a few more of Søren’s secrets, but not all of them. A little mystery was always good for a romance.
On the way to his car, Kingsley caught himself smiling.
He was happy.
Very, very happy.
Fifth Movement
March Coda
Coda:
The concluding section of a dance.
Chapter Seventeen
“What’s this?” Nora asked as she was putting away their toys after a long, delicious session of pain play and sex. “Who gave you a Carnival mask?”
Søren had just come back into the bedroom after taking a shower. He was naked but for a white towel wrapped around his trim waist. No man lost in the Sahara had ever longed to lap up water as much as she wanted to lick the water droplets off Søren’s strong, flat stomach.
“Souvenir from New Orleans. Kingsley bought it for me but decided it was too bizarre, even for him.”
She looked at the mask a long time, then held it out to him. “Try it on.”
He raised his eyebrow, but took the mask from her and put it on, tying it with black ribbons around the back of his head. “What do you think?”
Nora stared at the eerily faceless man standing before her and was suddenly very cognizant that she was on her knees.
“I’ve had dreams like this.”
Later that night, Kingsley’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and saw he had a message from Søren.
Two words.
Thank you.
He replied, For what?
He wasn’t surprised by Søren’s response.
It’s a secret.
Fin.
Bonus Short Story
A Beautiful Thing
While he was in Bethany, reclining at the table in the home of Simon the Leper, a woman came with an alabaster jar of very expensive perfume, made of pure nard. She broke the jar and poured the perfume on his head. Some of those present were saying indignantly to one another, “Why this waste of perfume? It could have been sold for more than a year’s wages and the money given to the poor.” And they rebuked her harshly.
“Leave her alone,” said Jesus. “Why are you bothering her? She has done a beautiful thing to me.”
Mark 14:3-6
Three months before The Siren…
Nora drove to the music store at the other end of town and ignored her ringing phone the entire way. Maybe if she didn’t answer it, Kingsley would forget about why he was calling her. December 12th meant Christmas was all of thirteen days away. She had shit to do that didn’t involve beating up the mayor’s younger brother.
She pulled into Theremin’s as her phone bleated at her once more. With a growl, she pulled it out of her coat pocket.
“King, new rule. No kink at Christmas.” She got out of her car and slammed the door behind her.
“Forty thousand dollars,” was his answer.
Nora paused a moment to pick her jaw up off the sidewalk. “Okay, maybe kink at Christmas. What’s the job?”
“One week in Las Vegas. All expenses paid.”
Nora leaned back against her car hood and crossed her booted legs at the ankle. She held her coat tight around her neck. The temperature had dropped ten degrees since morning. By nightfall, it would snow. She could smell it on the air.
“Couple?” she asked.
“Only him.”
“Fetishes?”
“Feet. Pain. Blood.”
Nora sighed. She’d have to have her entire collection of needles professionally sterilized. Again. “Sounds pretty basic. What’s the catch?”
For forty thousand dollars, there had to be a catch.
“No catch,” he said. “Not really.”
“King, don’t bullshit a bullshitter. What’s the catch?”
“His name is Victor Moretti.”
“Motherfucker.”
“Is that oui or non?” Kingsley asked, his throaty laugh sending the temperature back up ten degrees.
“It’s hell no. Moretti? He’s mob. You know I don’t play with the mob.”
“Victor is only one of the Moretti sons,” Kingsley said. “He’s never been convicted of any crime.”
“You’ve never been convicted of any crime either. That’s not saying much.”
“He’s not in the family business. If he was, he wouldn’t have moved across the country to get away from it.”
“To Vegas, where mobsters go to retire. King, he’s the son of a fucking crime boss. Those people are the reason my dad was buried closed-casket, remember? You know my number one rule,” Nora said as she headed toward the entrance of the Theremin’s. “‘Any job except the mob.’ Tell him no, but be nice about it.”
Nora hung up on Kingsley as she entered the store. She’d ordered a new guitar case for Wesley, and it had come in finally. She wanted to get it early since he’d be leaving her right after finals on the fifteenth to spend Christmas in Kentucky with his parents. So far, she didn’t really have any plans for Christmas. Maybe she’d fly off to Jamaica for a week and spend it on the beach. Maybe she’d go to Paris and find a handsome stranger to seduce. She used to spend her Christmases at Kingsley’s. After saying Christmas Morning Mass, Søren would have lunch with his sister Claire in Manhattan and then spend the rest of the day hiding out with her and Kingsley at the townhouse. They’d exchange presents and eat and drink too much. But then she’d left Søren, and Christmas hadn’t been the same since then. She’d almost asked Wesley to stay with her, but knew that sweet boy would do it just so she wouldn’t be alone. She couldn’t ask him to miss Christmas with his parents. The crazy kid actually liked his family. What a concept.