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“I’ll tell you how I got it,” she said, noticing my hesitation. “In fact, to be honest … that’s why I’m
here. Can I sit for a second?”
She took a deep breath, looking about as nervous as I was alarmed. What was going on?
“What I’m about to talk about is pretty strange, so bear with me. It involves an adventure of sorts.”
I felt a surge go through me.
“I’d love to do more traveling, but I don’t fly,” I said preemptively. “Plus, I’m the sole proprietor,
and that makes it hard for me to leave—”
“I’m not talking about a trip, though some travel might be involved.”
Her voice and demeanor became steadier and steadier.
“Maybe it would help,” she added, “if I tell you about my own adventures.”
And that’s when she began to recount her life, how the death of her husband almost seven years
earlier had upended her life completely. Not because she loved her husband, but because she realized
she hadn’t for a long time, which made her even sadder. For years she’d been numb from head to toe.
I knew about that feeling and told her so.
“Yes. Matilda talks about a sort of ‘aura of sadness,’ that settles around people. She says she can
see it. She saw a bit of it on you. I don’t have that ability, but I do believe you might know something
about feeling stuck.”
I don’t know how to explain why it suddenly felt so easy to pour out my heart to Cassie. Maybe it
was her stillness, her compassionate eyes. But I found myself telling her about Luke’s betrayal, his
book, and how he and Charlotte broke my heart, making it difficult for me to trust not only men but
women too. She listened patiently, and I knew without her even saying so that she understood.
“So, tell me what you’re really here for,” I said.
“I’m here to make you an offer. But to accept it, you’re going to have to place your trust not just in
men but in a whole bunch of women.”
And that’s when she said the name—S.E.C.R.E.T.—and described its incredible mandate: to
orchestrate sexual fantasies that make women feel great about themselves again, or in some cases, for
the first time ever.
“S.E.C.R.E.T.,” she said, “introduced me to part of myself I had never known before. In your case,
I think it’s more about reigniting a part of you that’s just been dormant—am I right?”
“Yeah, for about eight years,” I said.
“Oh. That’s a long time. I didn’t have sex for five years and I thought that was bad!”
“What? No! No no no no. I’ve had sex since then, just not very good sex, and not with very good
men. I meant that it’s been about eight years since I felt any real passion, any connection with a man.”
Cassie winced and nodded. Then she described exactly how this group of women went about
reigniting passion.
“We orchestrate sex fantasies. Yours. Nine of them, which take place over the course of a year, a
charm for every step,” she said, holding up her bracelet. “The tenth is also a decision—to remain in
S.E.C.R.E.T., as I did, or to go out on your own, maybe try a real relationship if you’re ready. See
this?”
She flipped through her charms until she came to one that said Step Ten on one side Liberation on
the other.
“I completed my steps, which liberated me from so many things, mainly fear and self-doubt. And
staying in S.E.C.R.E.T. was a free choice, and it remains so.”
“Secret sex fantasies? In New Orleans?” I asked, barely stifling a giggle. “Forgive me, Cassie, but
it’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”