“Wasn’t meant to be. Met my Cara a few years later. Real true love. Married. One little one. Not so little really. He’s nine now.”

“Hope he’s not home. I tend to scare children. On purpose.”

“No, he’s not home. At his grandmother’s. Thursday night is our night. Cara and I always make sure we have our private time.”

“You two are so damn cute. I can’t even guess what the problem is here. Is there really a problem or are you just trying to trick me into participating in some sort of unholy threesome with whips and chains and butt plugs as big as bugles? I’m fine with either, really.”

Robert chuckled again, nervously this time, and The Mistress heard a note of real distress in that too-casual laugh.

“There’s a problem, I promise.”

They arrived at Robert’s building and took the elevator up to a pleasantly understated penthouse apartment...or as understated as a two-million-dollar penthouse apartment could be.) The Mistress watched as Robert took off his shoes and sat them on a bench by the door. The furniture, plush and monochromatic, sat arrayed in symmetrical lines. Nothing seemed out of place. She’d never seen a home more scrupulously tidy before. Not even a stray shoe littered the floor.

“Your wife is either OCD or some sort of serial killer. I can’t wait to meet her.” The Mistress hoisted her toy bag high on her shoulder.

“The wife can’t wait to meet you, either” came a voice from the kitchen. A lovely woman of about thirty-five emerged from an open doorway and smiled blankly toward Nora’s voice. She had sleek red hair cut into a simple bob and wore no makeup other than a splash of pale pink lip gloss. “And I promise the wife is neither OCD nor a serial killer.” Cara, the wife, held out her hand in The Mistress’s general direction as her eyes looked past, not at, The Mistress’s face. “The wife, is, in fact...”

“The wife is blind,” The Mistress said.

“That she is,” Cara, the wife, said with a wide grin.

Robert put his arm around Cara’s shoulder as The Mistress released her hand.

“Now do you see the problem?” Robert asked.

The Mistress looked Cara up and down. Beautiful woman—pale skin, ample curves, a beauty mark at the corner of her mouth...and pale hazel eyes that stared unseeing at nothing and no one.

“Nope. I don’t see a problem at all,” said The Mistress.

“I definitely don’t see a problem,” Cara added.

“Funny and blind. I like this wife of yours. Now...is there any booze in this house?”

Ten minutes later the three of them sat around the kitchen table with glasses of white wine before them and awkward silence between them. The Mistress loved awkward silences. She’d create them on purpose sometimes just to see who would break the silence first. Tonight she put her mental money on Cara.

Cara was smart money.

“He worries too much about me is the real problem.” Cara took a sip of her wine only after speaking, as if to prove she didn’t need the liquid courage.