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Songs of Dominance
    (Rachel)
    by
    CD Reiss
    Copyright © 2013
     
    This book is protected under the copyright laws of the
United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the
material or artwork herein is prohibited.
    This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons
living or dead is purely coincidental
    .
    Cover art designed by the
author
    ***

     

    Terms and Conditions
     
    By
accepting this document you agree to the following:
    1)     Though this document was given by the author
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what. Unless she assigns them elsewhere, but that’s a different thing entirely
and totally up to her.
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    ---This
story will be available on Amazon soon after the mailing list receives it---
    ---There
is no need to pass it around if you don’t want to---
    ***
    Caveat
    It is not necessary to read this story to understand the
rest of the series.
    It is strictly supplemental.
    This should be read after Burn, and before Resist.
    ***

    Rachel.
     
    Do
people like you ever have wishes, Jonathan?
    What
does that mean? People like me?
    People
who have everything. Was there ever something you wanted, but could only wish
for?
    ***
    I hated the word festooned .
    Festooned implied some kind of old-world
family dancing around with ribbons, draping them over lamps and doorways,
catching the flowers as they fell out of their hair. It brought to mind musical
theater and swaying skirts. It felt Swiss Family Robinson. Mary Poppins. The Waltons . Good night, Jon-boy.
    Despite the sour taste in the front of
my tongue and the bitter one in back, festooned was the only word that suited the house on this, the day of my engagement
party. I wanted to drink far more than I had. I wanted to take that bottle of
Jameson’s I knew my mother hid under her bathroom vanity and sit in a corner to
finish it. I wanted to suck it dry. But I didn’t do that anymore. When I drank,
I held a glass and sipped until the ice melted, never finishing before. Then I
waited and eventually got another. I hadn’t been drunk since I was sixteen.
    And if I did drink that bottle? Who
would care but my fiancé, Jessica? Or more to the point, whose opinion did I
value besides hers? Who else did I serve?
    She wanted this event, and she got it. I
couldn’t deny her anything, and really, it wasn’t such a big deal to throw a
party. It was nothing to gather a team of people from Hotel A to festoon my parent’s Palisades house,
send invitations to the right people, and make sure there was food. My staff
were experts at managing women with exquisite taste, such as my bride-to-be. It
was no burden to me whatsoever.
    The burden was having the engagement at
my father’s house. The burden was explaining to him that the wedding would be
at the my future in-law’s residence in Venice, and his presence was not
requested.
    There were reasons for all of it, of
course, spite not being the least of them. I understood spite, even enjoyed it
on occasion, poured over cold cubes of guilt with a chaser of regret. But this
spite was too old and too ugly to enjoy.
    “There you are,” my mother’s voice came
from behind me.