Free Secret Shared: A S.E.C.R.E.T. Novel by L. Marie Adeline Page A

I didn’t trust anyone else to do it. I’d sweep it to the front of my face andtrim the ends in the mirror. Luke used to say it wasn’t Charlotte that broke us up, it was the fact that I stood frozen in the tracks of my life.
    When I saw Cassie coming out of the Coach House, she didn’t recognize me at first. My hair was down and I wasn’t wearing a dress. Instead I had picked out ’60s-style side-zipper clam-diggers, a sleeveless floral blouse and espadrilles. I wanted to seem casual but not too casual; pulled together, but not completely buttoned-down. Cassie didn’t look nearly as neurotic in her jeans and white T-shirt.
    Okay, stop thinking, Dauphine!
    “Am I late?”
    “You’re right on time. Ready?”
    “Ready as the Arizona rain.”
    I followed her through the ivy-covered gate. The grounds behind the high fence were as I had imagined—impeccable, crew-cut green grass, vivid pink hydrangea bushes, white roses the size of a toddler’s tutu dancing up the curved portico. Up close, the Mansion put a spell on you; you simply wanted to be inside of it. Cassie kept her hand wrapped around my upper arm, gently guiding me towards the red door of a square building to our left.
    Matilda opened the door before we knocked.
    “Dauphine, the woman with the beautiful name. Welcome to the Coach House. The Committee is very excited to meet you.”
    It all happened so fast that I didn’t get a chance to take in the decor, though I thought I recognized twolarge abstracts lining the walls, the colors and brush technique distinct.
    “Oh my goodness! Are those … Mendoza abstracts?” I asked, much to Matilda’s delight.
    “Why yes! They’re the last two from our collection. We’re the executors of Carolina Mendoza’s estate. You know her work?”
    “Design major. Modern Louisiana Art was one of my courses,” I said, gazing up at the largest of the two paintings, which featured two fiery red squares that faded into yellow and orange at the edges. I quickly retrieved some facts about her from my filing cabinet brain: a young revolutionary from South America, a passionate feminist …
    “She was a dear friend and one of S.E.C.R.E.T.’s founders,” Matilda added. “The sale of her paintings every few years funds our endeavors. In fact, this year we’re selling this one, Red Rage . We’ll be sad to part with it.”
    “I bet. It’s beautiful.”
    We passed a punky-looking young woman at reception with black hair and vivid red lips.
    “Danica, this is Dauphine.”
    “Hi!” she said. “I’m a big fan of your store.”
    “Oh, yes. Thanks.”
    I vaguely recognized her, though members of the young hipster set sometimes blend into to one another. And those types rarely bought intact vintage, always tweaking and altering expert tailoring to make it their own.
    “Don’t worry, your secrets are safe with S.E.C.R.E.T.,” Danica said.
    Matilda cleared her throat. “Danica, please set Dauphine up in my office to fill out the questionnaire.” She looked at her watch.
    “There’s a test?” I asked, my heart pounding.
    “No, no,” Cassie said. “It’s just a list of things you’ve done or would like to do. Sexually. It helps the Committee plan the fantasies. Takes about half an hour.”
    Danica reached beneath the desk, pulling from a small drawer a soft burgundy booklet about the size of a passport. She handed it to me. It felt like one of my sketching Moleskines from art class. The cover was embossed with an etching of three women, naked except for their long wavy hair. Beneath them was a Latin inscription: Nihil judicii. Nihil limitis. Nihil verecundiae .
    “It means ‘No Judgment. No Limits. No Shame,’” Cassie said.
    I opened up the booklet. Inside was a preamble:
    What you have in your hands is completely confidential. Your answers are for you and for the Committee only. No one else will see your responses. For S.E.C.R.E.T. to help you, we must know more about you. Be thorough, be honest, be fearless.