Page 4 of Gardening and Gargoyles

Kitten’s Lounge is a strip club.

Barely There Apparel? I don’t even have to look for it. It has its own menu on Aphrodite’s Dungeon website, an in-house boutique where you can buy “playtime accessories and lingerie.”

For a minute, I just stare.

Like... I’mveryinto Daniel, and he’s always made it clear that he’s very into me, especially physically. Sometimes I think his interest is mainly physical, and also, maybe someone like me is a little bit of a novelty. In the rom-coms, that’s the big line. The whole “I’ve never met anyone like you before” shtick.

He could have told me if he wanted something spicier in our sex life. I’m so down for experimentation—as long as it’s just him and me, that is. If he wanted to go to some naughty club or buy me a leather bunny suit, I would be right next to him with red stilettos, a riding crop, and fishnets.

This doesn’t make any sense.

Don’t jump to conclusions. His card probably got stolen.

Where was he staying? Mackintosh Castle in Gilcreedy. I look up that number, too, and of course, it’s not open yet. It’s still a pile of recently acquired antiquities and rubble, so there is no number, just pictures of it throughout history, a big, lurching stone castle that had rings of giant gargoyle statues on the twin turrets.

I’m about to look up his nan’s number when Daniel texts me back.

Daniel: In a meeting. Call in the morning. Love you.

I hesitate. It’s tempting to believe that. I look at when the charges were made and realize it had to be within the last hour or so, which is why I got the call that started this all.

June: Your card got locked. What’s Aphrodite’s Dungeon, and are you there right now?

It occurs to me, after I hit send, of course, that I have Daniel’s whole account at my fingertips. I scroll back up through both accounts, including the one that hasn’t been used in six months.

The one I have a duplicate card for looks like Daniel’s main checking account. Aside from a staggering amount of money that he has access to on a day-to-day basis, it has lots of charges I recognize, tons of them local to Philly, ones that go out on the first of the month for his apartment. The charge for this lodge. A few are from his quick little jaunts to the Midwest and England. Nothing out of place.

The other one, the one that hasn’t been used in six months?

My chest is tight. My sneezes are coming so fast now that tears sting my eyes, and I can’t see the screen properly.

Seven months ago—right before he met me in December.

November: The Party Pony in Cleveland.

September: Rose’s Secrets in Atlanta.

And every time he’s in the UK? Aphrodite’s Dungeon and Barely There Boutique. When he lived there two years ago, it was an almost-weekly charge, usually a few hundred bucks—okay, pounds, each time.

I scroll back to the most recent charges and realize Daniel just dropped several thousand dollars—or pounds—there in the space of an hour.

What the hell could he be buying?

Like I don’t know...

The phone rings while it’s still in my hand.

“Hello?” I whisper, my soul hollowed out.

“Hi, babe. I’m so sorry, I should have called earlier. Lost my card in a taxi the other day. Don’t worry, the bank has a branch in Inverness, so I’ll—”

“Did you lose it every time you went to London? Soho, specifically? Oh, or when you were in Belfast nine months ago, did you lose it at the Kama Sutra Experience? Or The Pony Party in Cleveland?”

There’s a long pause. A horrified pause. “What?”

He sounds so shocked that I’m filled with hope. Maybe someone else has his card! I bet that’s it. Someone else has his account numbers, and Danny’s got so much money, and he rarely checks the other account, so he probably didn’t even notice!

“Your account got locked. I didn’t want you to be stranded in Scotland without access to your accounts, and so I used the login info you gave me—”