Her World of Submission (House of Submission 3)

That was my answer.

‘I don’t like making decisions,’ I said. ‘They feel so final. I don’t like things to be final. I like things to be open.’

‘So, like I said,’ said Jasper, sitting up, his tone a little hostile, ‘you’re commitment-phobic.’

‘Yes, I am,’ I admitted. ‘When I had to choose my A-Level subjects, it nearly killed me. I wanted to do them all. What if I was cutting off my options for a future I’d really love? What if I decided I wanted to live in Germany, after ditching German? How did I know what was going to work out and what might be a mistake? How do people ever know these things? I was in a panic for months. I’m still in a panic about it now. Am I doing the right thing? I love history, but should I really have gone for English? Have I ruined my chances of pursuing the future I should really have, by taking this particular path? God, Jasper. I know it sounds lame. I do love you and I know you’re the right man for me but …’ I knelt up, sitting not being a

viable option just then, and wrung my hands.

‘But what? You’re wondering, what if you met someone else and wanted them more?’

He sounded desperately hurt. I grabbed his arm and gazed into his eyes, willing him to understand me.

‘I’m wondering if settling down, right now, at my age, is the right thing to do,’ I said.

‘Love, we never know these things,’ he said. ‘The best we can do is try to make the right decision based on everything we know at the time. Sometimes we succeed, sometimes we fail. But times come, and will keep on coming, when decisions have to be made. You have to choose. Yes or no. Is a life with me what you want? Yes or no. Maybe isn’t going to be enough for me any more, Sarah. So I’m asking you straight. Yes or no?’

Tears rushed to my eyes.

‘Yes, of course, it’s yes, but …’

‘But what?’

‘I don’t know.’

Jasper got to his feet and pulled on his pants and trousers. He walked over to the bedroom door and opened it.

‘Where are you going?’ I asked, almost incoherent with fear and self-doubt.

‘To make some more decisions,’ he said. ‘I seem to be in the mood for them. When you finally make yours, let me know.’

He shut the door behind him.

I collapsed to the floor and wept, feeling the close embrace of my collar with every hectic sob.

Chapter Six

I don’t know how long I lay on the floor, but it was dark outside when I got up and slipped an easy jumper dress over my head. I left off any underwear, still feeling too sore, but put on a pair of black hold-up stockings to give the illusion of it.

I was going to have to face the world. We had guests, after all.

I put industrial amounts of concealer cream under my eyes, tied back my hair and painted on a lipstick smile.

In the drawing room, my eye was drawn to Dimitri, who stood by the drinks cabinet making cocktails for everyone. How could he? He must have the constitution of an all-in wrestler, after all that wine he’d drunk earlier.

‘Ah, Sarah,’ he said, rattling some ice. ‘I make for everybody some White Russian cocktails. You like this?’

‘I’m not sure I’ve ever had one.’

‘You will love it,’ he proclaimed. ‘Tell her, Rosie.’

‘You will,’ endorsed Rosie from one of the window seats. ‘It’s gorgeous.’

My eye roved about the corners of the room, seeking Jasper. He was sitting on a chaise he rarely used, talking to Trix. He seemed to pretend he hadn’t noticed me come in and I felt a drop in my stomach.

‘So, we have five glasses,’ said Dimitri, lining them all up like a juggler about to start a cup and dice trick. ‘And first, we need ice.’

He began shaking ice into each glass and he was so fascinating to watch that I forgot about keeping an eye on Jasper. He should have been a cocktail waiter in one of those fancy bars where the performance is half of the drinking experience. He made his concoctions with such a repertoire of flourishes and hair tosses and bows, garnished with a constant patter of droll, sexy-accented anecdotes, that I almost saw him as Rosie must do. An impulse of awful, treacherous desire shocked me into looking away.