Guilt

Lucien

The phone rang.

Blearily he stared at the screen and felt a wave of guilt wash over him.

His daughter’s smiling face appeared on the screen.

He felt sick; Proserpina had been explicit. If she knew he had been unfaithful, she would take the kids and leave him; that had been her ultimatum.

Knowing her, he knew she would not hesitate to do so, she was strong. He admired that unflinching courage she had developed, a fearlessness that made him respect her even as he ruthlessly dominated her in bed.

The phone rang repeatedly.

Moving to the bar shakily, he gulped down a tequila and stood, swaying on his feet.

In a fit of guilt and agony, he sank to the bed and buried his head in his hands and groaned.

He could not think of existing without them. His Woman was his life. He adored his daughter. He loved Piers and baby Claude, all splitting images of himself.

And Proserpina was expecting their fourth child.

He could not face them; could not think of talking to them.

The very idea of list