Page 28 of Eager Housewife

I glance over my shoulder, but he’s watching with laughter in his eyes, and mouths, “Be good.”

“Now.” My girl-captor pulls me down onto a squishy sofa on the other side of the room. “Not everyone is here for our book club this week. Some bugs are going around the kids.” There are a dozen women lolling on sofas, some who are familiar from the many events with Duncan. They are mainly in formal evening dresses like me, but most have eReaders, and one is absorbed in a paperback with a cartoon of a hockey player on the cover. They look up as I sit.

“Everyone, this is Blythe Blackstone. Blythe, this is—” She rattles off names and London mafia territories that I don’t catch because I’m blown away at being described as BlytheBlackstone. I know I’ve been married for a month. I’m really Duncan’s wife, in the eyes of the world, at least. They all smile as though they’re happy to meet me.

“So, do you read smut, or do we have to persuade you?” Anwyn, the blonde who fetched me, asks.

“I like to read spicy books,” I admit.

“Excellent, so we can go straight to gossip.” Anwyn smiles and takes a sip of her drink and pins me with a look and leaving an inviting silence.

“It’s so sweet to have another age-gap love match,” Felicity, a girl with black hair and soft grey eyes, says, ignoring Anwyn.

“It’s not.” My heart aches to admit it, but they seem nice. “It’s a sham. He wanted a wife…” I can’t bring myself to say “to fuck”, though that’s the truth of it. “And I wanted a husband and family. It’s just a marriage of convenience.”

Wow, I’m pathetic. Better than saying I’m in love with my husband and he was only looking for a woman of my height and colouring to slake his considerable needs on. Multiple times a day. With orgasms for me as well, seemingly as a matter of honour. He’s an excellent husband by every standard—rich and generous, kind and attentive in bed, considerate out of bed. It’s not his fault that I pine for his love.

“Not a love match.” Felicity snorts. “I’ve heard this story before from Lina.”

“Blackstone is looking at you as though he’d devour you whole, but he’s not in love.” Lina, the other black-haired girl, hers in a high ponytail, laughs. “Sure.”

“No, really, it’s just—” I protest.

“Trust me, when a man looks at you like that, what’s going on for him is far fromconvenient,” Anwyn cut me off. “I remember that expression on Benedict’s face when he was still trying to keep to some arbitrary standard of honour and stay away from me because I used to date his son.”

Ohhh… I look at Anwyn anew. “And now you’re married, and it’s for real?”

She smiles happily. “And got babies to prove how real.”

That doesn’t comfort me. Because I’ve got the beginnings of a baby, and that’s the reverse of proving it’s genuine. I wish…

I glance over at where the men are sitting around in various states of tension and ease. I find the tall figure of my husband immediately. His auburn hair makes him stand out, as does the dark-green shirt he’s wearing that makes him appear like an excellent tree I’d love to climb.

“Angel, if you can’t keep your temper—” The Brent leader raises his voice, sounding very much as though he’s the one losing his temper.

“You gavno Italians!” says a Russian-accented voice. “She could have died!”

“Brent can’t take responsibility for all the Italian mafias any more than I can for the Scottish.” Duncan has clearly taken on the role of peacekeeper in this situation, which is pretty amazing given the number of times I’ve seen him return home covered in blood.

“I’m trying to help,” Brent snarls back.

Duncan sighs and stands. “Maybe you could?—”

The Russian pulls out a gun and three things happen at once: a shot is fired, my heart attempts to escape from my chest via my mouth but gets caught at the neck, I dive across the room in a futile attempt to do something heroic and foolish, Duncan rolls his eyes, and the kingpin of Westminster says, “For fuck’s sake, do you Bratva have no respect for decorum?”

I’m propelled forward by pure instinct. I have to save Duncan.

How would I save him? I have no idea, and that’s impressed on me when every one of the tall, suited, mafia bosses turn to look at me.

I come to a halt in front of Duncan, who looks down at me in alarm and surprise. “What’s the matter?”

I’m shaking with fear, that’s what. I’m terrified and unable to speak.

There was a gun fired and Duncan was mere feet from danger. I see the Westminster kingpin snap something and the Russian puts away his weapon with a grumble.

It was… No, it wasn’t nothing. Duncan could have been killed and all I’d have is his baby and not enough memories.

I can’t cope.