“Lemaitre asked me not to tell you. He threatened me,” he said, pleading his useless case. “He’s my boss, Sara.”
“But I’m your lover. Your slave. You gave me a ring, you bound us together.”
“Sara.”
“I trusted you.”
“I promised to keep it a secret,” he said. “He thought it would be better if you didn’t know and I agreed with him. He won’t be a good father to you.”
“I guess that means it was okay for you to hide this from me. See, I never realized this before. It doesn’t matter. Being truthful and honest, and trusting people. It doesn’t matter. Nobody is who they say they are. Everybody’s just...” She gave a wild wave. “It’s all an act, right? Circus!”
“Please, baby, take some deep breaths. It’s been a crazy couple of days. We’re all exactly who we are, and I love you, and everything’s going to be okay.”
“No. We’re not all exactly who we are,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion. “Because Baat isn’t who I thought he was, and my father isn’t who I thought he was, and Lemaitre isn’t who I thought he was, and my Master...he isn’t who I thought he was either.”
He wanted to take her in his arms, make her believe he’d never meant to hurt her, but some wall had appeared between them, too jagged and high to climb. “I’m not perfect, okay? I’m human. I was trying to protect you. I didn’t think Lemaitre...” This was the worst thing. “I don’t think Lemaitre intends to be your father. I didn’t want you to be hurt.”
But it was too late for that. She was hurt, hurt so badly she couldn’t look at him.
“What did he say to you?” he asked. “That fucking asshole. I didn’t want him to hurt you.”
“He didn’t, not intentionally. But I think you’re right. He doesn’t want to be my father.” Her delicate throat worked with emotion. “He was more interested in...how did he put it? ‘Nurturing my gift.’”
“Can I hold you?” he asked. It sounded like begging. “Can I try to help you feel better? I love you, Sara. I want you to be happy.”
“The thing is...” She brought her hands to her drawn cheeks. “The thing is, I don’t know if I’ll be happy for a while. I think I need some time. I’m going to go home and be alone for a few days, because right now, I don’t know what’s going on with my life. I don’t know how I feel.” She slid a sideways look at him. “And I don’t want you telling me how to feel.”
Because I don’t trust you anymore. She didn’t say the last words, but Jason heard them clear as a blue Mongolian sky. “If you need time, take time,” he told her, but she was already walking away from him.
She didn’t need his permission anymore.
* * * * *
Jason tried to give her time. He lasted forty-eight hours without calling or texting her, without trying to find her at the practice facility. He had plenty of work to do, plenty to keep him busy, but her words haunted him. I trusted you. Trusted. Past tense.
In the end he had to seek her out. Theo and Kelsey were gone to Marseille, Lemaitre wasn’t answering calls. There wasn’t anyone else to look after her, and looking after her was his job. In his heart he was still her Master, with all the duty and caring that entailed. They belonged together. They’d both agreed to that from the beginning. He’d just explain again that he never meant to hurt her. Maybe she’d listen now that she’d had some time to calm down.
With that in mind, he headed to her dorm, feeling chilled even though it was a warm night. As he walked, he made plans in his head: what he’d do if she didn’t let him in, what he’d do if she did let him in. What he’d do if she pushed him away and slammed the door in his face. But when he knocked, it wasn’t Sara who swung the door wide.
Jason stared at Michel Lemaitre. His tie was askew, his shirt collar crooked. He didn’t look like himself.
“Where’s Sara?” Jason asked, pushing past him. “I need to see her.”
“Sara isn’t here.”
Jason stalked around, checking the bedroom, the bathroom, the closets. “If she’s not here, what are you doing here?”
The older man sat back down on her couch. “They are my dormitories, and she was my daughter. I suppose I can brood here if I like.”
Was his daughter? Panic exploded in his brain. “Where is she? What happened?”
Lemaitre held up a hand. “Nothing’s happened. She asked to go with Kelsey and Theo to Marseille, and I said yes.”
“She went to Marseille? She left? Already?”
“Very much the same way she left Mongolia. Once she makes up her mind, she doesn’t stick around.”
Jason paced to the kitchen and back, reeling with disbelief. She hadn’t consulted him, hadn’t told him anything. She’d taken off without so much as a goodbye.
“You sent her away.” He advanced on Lemaitre again. “You did this. You sent her to Marseille.”
“No. I wanted her to stay here. I wanted us to have some time to...” His voice trailed off. “But it’s good. This is what she needs at the moment. Theo will continue to work with her there until her solo act’s ready.”
“What solo act?”
“You haven’t been paying attention, have you? Perhaps that’s why she left without this.” He stood and walked to her desk, and picked up a narrow blue ribbon. When Jason walked closer, he realized it was tied around her ring, the promise ring he’d given her.
She’d left him. They’d come unbound.
Jason took the ring and turned it over in his palm. He didn’t want to believe she’d left him, but there it was. “There wasn’t anything else?” he asked, looking up at Lemaitre. “A message? A note?”
“Just the ring.” He clapped Jason on the shoulder. “Don’t take it too hard. I don’t think she would be so upset with you if she didn’t love you so much.”
Jason stared at the delicate circle with its pale blue stone. He couldn’t even fit it on his pinky. “Leave it here for her,” said Lemaitre. “She’ll want it back.”
“No, I’m taking it.” His voice sounded petty, like a child’s, but he wasn’t giving up the ring. Right now, it was all he had of her. “I can’t believe she just...just left.”
“I believe it, because I was here. She was confused, and very angry. Wouldn’t you be?” Lemaitre drifted around her living room, looking at her bookshelves, at the few things she’d accumulated since she arrived. “This is a necessary break for her, a time to fly solo for a while. It’s good. She’s growing.” He turned to look down his nose at Jason. “You told her, didn’t you, that she was too young?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t mean it! I didn’t want her to actually outgrow me.”
Lemaitre shook his head, tracing a felt flower on her bulletin board. “Then why did you wait? I don’t understand you, Jason. You had her. You had her right here, and you didn’t claim her.”
“Pot, kettle. Kettle, pot. You did the same thing.”
Lemaitre made a peeved sound and leaned against the wall. “We’re a miserable couple of idiots, aren’t we?”
“You never told me about her act.”
“From what I understand, it
’s about a girl stuck between two worlds, with fears and anxieties, and loneliness. Lots of anguish.” He gave a rueful chuckle. “She’s my daughter. I’d believe it even without the blue eyes.”
You don’t deserve her for a daughter. He bit his tongue against the words. Perhaps he didn’t deserve her as a slave either. “Do you think...” He took a sharp, pained breath. “Fears and anxieties, and loneliness. Is this act about her?”
“Of course it is,” he said. “Because there’s love in it also. Not that I’d know anything about that.”
Jason leaned on the wall opposite him and pinned the great Le Maître with his gaze. “You love her, Michel. Deep down, you want to be her father. You’re dying to be her father.”
“I can’t do it, so it doesn’t matter. I don’t do love the ‘right’ way. I don’t love like other people.”
“Bullshit.” Jason laughed and turned away from him. “We all get so caught up in your bullshit. Your drama. You get caught up worse than anyone. The truth is, you loved her the first day, just like I did. Now both of us are sitting here, dumped, like a couple of jackasses.” He walked across her dorm room toward the door. “I’m going to Marseille.”
Lemaitre sprang away from the wall and grabbed his arm. “You’re not. I forbid it.”
“You can forbid my left nut, Michel,” he said, shaking him off. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going.”
“I’m telling you as your boss, you’re not to interfere in her business. She wants to develop her own act, find her way through this without depending on anyone else. I promised she could.”
“And what happens then?”
He shrugged. “It’s up to her. Cirque du Monde runs sixteen shows, fifteen of which she’s eligible for.”
“Not Tsilaosa?”
Lemaitre sighed and shook his head. “The trapeze. It’s cursed.”
“It’s not cursed. You don’t want her here because you don’t want to deal with her. You don’t want her in your face.”
“No.”
“You don’t want to fight your feelings. You don’t want to have to change from Le Maître, all powerful God and pervert, to Lemaitre, middle-aged father. I know it’s scary, Michel—”