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while the twins talked to my boss about what she knew about and what I'd never told them.
    I used to paint.
    There, that was the truth, even though I'd lied about it to the Delaneys once before. I'd admitted it, if only in my own head and nowhere else. I used to paint. Not like my father did and not for long. His pictures were large and sweeping dramas of the outdoors and, no matter how much I'd tried--and believe me I did try--I was nowhere near as good as he was and never would be. Which was why I'd stopped, and I was much happier once I'd made the decision. Much happier.
    God alone knew why the twins had decided to resurrect the whole business, and God alone knew why Melissa was playing along with it. She'd seen my stuff so she knew.
    When I tuned back in to what they were saying, Mark was gazing expectantly at my boss, whose lips were pursed. Never a good sign. Johnny was merely looking thoughtful.
    "Before I answer," Melissa said, presumably replying to a question I hadn't heard, "before I say anything, may I ask one important question?"
    "Go ahead."
    "Thank you. Now, I know I'm not a connoisseur of the scene, but I'm very much one for protecting my staff and I wanted to make sure there's a safe word involved in all this, isn't there? And I don't mean for me because I'm planning on leaving a long time before it gets any meatier and any 'punishment' takes place. But I do want to be certain, for Liam's sake."
    Johnny snorted with laughter, and Mark knit his brows together for a moment.
    "Yes," he said, leaning back on the chair and glancing slowly 'round, taking us all in. "I've read about safe words. Johnny's not the only Delaney who does his research. But what's the point? What my brother, Liam and I do in our relationship is our own affair, not anyone else's. I'm not planning to involve anyone else, not any more. If anybody wants to stop, then either they stop or they just say something. I've built a business on keeping things simple, so if it ain't broke, why fix it?"
    Fair enough. I'd been wondering about this myself, and it was good to have the issue answered, once and for all. I couldn't help smiling, so when Melissa looked at me for confirmation of Mark's statement of sexual freedom, I was grinning from ear to ear like a chocoholic at Easter.
    She smirked. "Point taken. He certainly doesn't look like a man who wants to say no. Thank you, Mark."
    Before carrying on, Melissa paused and took another sip of her brandy. It struck me how we three men were now hanging on her every word, while she was milking every glorious second of it. I couldn't blame her. I tended to do the same myself.
    "Yes," she finally said. "Liam used to paint, and I've had one or two of his pictures in the gallery in the past, but they weren't easy to sell."
    "Why not?" This from Johnny.
    Melissa hesitated and, from under my fringe, I saw her glance at me.
    "Tell us," Mark said. "We're all adult enough to hear whatever you've got to say."
    "Alright. Liam's pictures didn't sell as, although he has a lot of talent, they weren't as good as his father's."
    Ouch indeed. I was all for honesty, and my boss had never been known to pull her punches, but I had to admit I drew in a breath. Loud enough for Mark to give me a stern look, but, hey, it wasn't words, and I'd kept his command.
    "So he decided to give it up," Melissa continued, "and work with art, rather that at it. And that's what he's been doing ever since."
    "But what about the row with his father?"
    Despite all the threat of Mark's fury, I opened my mouth to deny the existence of any such row--which had, in effect, been nothing more than a disagreement about my decision, and both my father and I were over it-- when Johnny no doubt took pity on how much punishment I might actually be in line for and got in first.
    "I don't think it was a full-scale row," he said. "Not like the ones you and I have with folks. Nobody died anyway."
    Mark shrugged. "A row is a row. It's not my fault other people