We’re plunging ahead here at the House of Vitsky, going through editing and all the other behind-the-scenes tasks for Mistress’s Release’s publication in two weeks. It’s been a tight schedule, but it feels right.
In order to honor my father, I’m going to…publish a book about a horrible father?
And dedicate it to mine?
Poor man, he would be so horrified. He didn’t know I wrote kink (thankfully went to his grave still not knowing), and he thought I wrote dry, academic prose.
Here’s a quick peek at Mistress’s Release. Hope you enjoy it. 🙂
I check my email. There, at the top of the inbox, sits the same message I’ve pretended to ignore for a week. The subject line is simple, short, and innocuous.
At last, I click to open the email. Will it tell me to get lost, drop dead, or repent? No, none of the above.
We have been praying for you all these years. Praise to God you are safe. Mama cried when I told her about your email. We will have a dinner for you when you return.
May God bless you and keep you safe, dear sister.
I blink, and I blink again. Still, I stare at this incomprehensible message. Has my family forgotten I refused to marry a man? Have they prayed all these years for anything besides the saving of my soul? No talk about sin, repentance, or running away? They’ve gone insane.
Gracie pads into the hallway, worry lines creasing her forehead. “It’s late,” she says, even though she can’t know the truth of her words.
It is, indeed, late. Over a decade late, but it’s not never. “Just checking email,” I say, keeping my tone light. I dispense with the pretense of homework. No one could listen to childish jingles set to the ABC song.
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
It probably should, but that’s not happening. I promised Gracie no secrets. If we’re going to make this relationship work, we have to be on the same page even when I don’t like it.
“I’m going to see my family when we go back.” I try to make my voice clear, loud and certain. Or at least I hope it comes across that way because my chest pounds. It’s my family, right? My decision.
(c) Anastasia Vitsky, 2016. All rights reserved.