Page 17 of Her Submission (Monica & Henry #2)

My daughter has no idea what was in her future. Monica bit back her tears again. There could be no weakness here. She was in charge of the family. She was Lady Warren.

“I’m taking Abigail home with me. Back to America.”

Monica announced that to everyone who listened, including Lily Beaumont, who doubtlessly stood outside the door to the guesthouse and prayed to whatever God she believed in that she would not be in trouble with any authorities.

“I think you will do well to not come around Warren Manor for a long while, Isabella. You are no longer welcome there.”

She expected her mother-in-law to fight her. To raise her voice. To use her colorful vocabulary that was half erudite rhetoric and hal.

“I think that was a slur? I’m not sure.”

Instead, Isabella stepped out of the shadows, slowly revealing that whatever she thought of Monica, it didn’t matter. This had never been about her. Isabella was beyond that now.

“You would kick me out of my own home, Monica?”

Abigail said nothing but clung to her mother. I feel her questions burning through my skin. Until that day, Abigail had been having the time of her life with her grandma. She was too young to understand the details, but plenty old enough to understand that this was bad.

“It hasn’t been your home for many years. You made that clear when you moved out to Montana and only deigned to return to New England to meet with your friends and let them fawn over you. You only return when you want to be Lady Warren.”

“What makes you think I ever stopped?”

Monica furrowed her brows.

“Titles like that don’t exist, Isabella. Certainly not in America. All these years, and you think people called you Lady Warren to show you deference? To be polite? No, they were laughing behind your back. You acted like the ice queen who blessed the world with her frosty exterior. But unlike a real winter, you never gave way to spring. You only sought to kill the good beneath your feet.”

“My, such a poetic take-down of your mother-in-law. What would Abigail think if she understood what was happening here?”

“What is happening here, Isabella?”

“Oh, I think you know, Monica.”

Isabella played with her wedding ring, a simple gold band with three diamonds set deep into the metal. Like her. Like me. Two diamonds mined, cut and hammered into the illustrious band that were their unique lives. Who was the third? Monica pushed Abigail farther behind her, hoping her daughter wouldn’t ever have to play these dangerous games. God help whoever she marries one day… This was the mess a future spouse married into.

“There are many things I think. None of which I desire to say in front of my daughter.”

“Abigail was having a wonderful time with her Grandma, weren’t you, sweetie?”

Isabella’s attempt to make eye contact with her granddaughter led Abigail to glance around her mother’s body. Monica knew better than to let that side conversation continue.

“Until she is eighteen, you will never be alone with my daughter again.”

Monica grabbed Abigail’s hand.

“Come on, Abby. You’re going home with your mother.”

“Wait!”

Monica’s heartstrings were pulled back around when she heard that desperate voice from her child. No. Don’t make me force you away from your grandmother… Most of those heartstrings would break.

“What about my stuff?”

Although Abigail remained calm on the outside, Monica saw the confusion and fear in her blue eyes. Her father’s eyes… Monica had never known she had the recessive gene in her, since everyone in her family had brown eyes, including her. But there they were. Crystal blue and begging her mother to say anything but.

“I’ll buy you replacements.”

Because that’s what Monica wanted to say if only to get her daughter out of this gilded cage.

Those were Abigail’s things. Right now, events had become increasingly chaotic in her young mind. If she had her things, she would probably get through this easier. If Monica recalled correctly, one of her daughter’s favorite stuffed animals had probably come with her. She can’t sleep without it.

“All right. Where are they?”

With their hands still together, Abigail led her mother down the hallway, shuffling past Isabella as she continued to block the space. Her gaze penetrated the cool shadows of the hallway as Abigail showed her mother the second bedroom where she had been sleeping. The AC continued to occasionally blast on the duvet-covered double bed. The TV on the wall was off – unplugged. Abigail opened the bottom drawer of a teak dresser and pulled out her neatly folded clothes. Monica resolutely stood between her and the door, where Isabella soon appeared like a specter haunting the soul-stained halls of the Beaumonts’ Thai guest house.

“You know deep down that she should stay here with me, Monica.”

She didn’t dare turn to face her mother-in-law as Abigail pulled her suitcase out of the closet and began filling it with her clothing. The way she knelt on the hardwood floor, tidily pressing her clothes against her lap before placing them in her bag hurt Monica in ways she could not yet process. She’s only seven… This was beyond manners and decorum instilled into a little girl. Abigail was afraid of messing up. What have you done to her, Isabella?

“She won’t want for anything. You and Henry can tend to your own lives back in America while Abigail and I prepare for her future far away from noise and other distractions.”

Isabella wasn’t going to let this go, was she? While she didn’t have it in her to physically attack Monica – nor would that be smart, considering the manpower Monica had brought with her – she would needle into her mind, pressing the most insecure spots that would appeal to Isabella.

But Monica was not Isabella. She was the exact opposite kind of Lady Warren.

“Abigail needs to be with her parents.”

“I can oversee her education. She will be fluent in three languages by the time she reaches puberty. Abby, dear, why don’t you show your mother what you learned in France?”

Abigail stopped halfway through pushing down her clothing into her suitcase. “Um…”

“Don’t ever say ‘um,’ darling. It makes you sound uneducated. Like the boys and girls your mom grew up with.”

Monica’s jaw was about to pop off her face from grinding her teeth so much.

“J’ai passé un moment merveilleux…”

While Monica wasn’t fluent in French, she knew enough from her times in the world of the wealthy to understand I’ve had a wonderful time. Yet when spoken by a careful girl who didn’t want to upset her grandmother, Monica knew that this was a show for her.

“Very nice, darling.”

Monica cleared her throat, wanting to kneel beside her daughter and help her quickly pack. Yet she was more worried about stepping away from Isabella. As long as I stand here, I can protect Abigail.

“You’ll have to show off some more for me when we’re on the plane. It’s a long flight back home.”

“Monica.”

Isabella had entered the room, her aura as frozen as the ice that shrouded her heart.

“Abigail wasn’t happy back in America. I can ensure her education, both in academics and in refinement. By the time she’s ready to make her grand debut in Europe, she’ll be the greatest envy that the continent has ever seen. Globalized. Sensationalized.”

“And why would I want that for her? Why would Henry?”

Did Monica have to invoke her husband every few words? He’s Abigail’s parent, too. The man adored his only child like he loved his wife. Their family unit was stronger with the three of them together. If Isabella wanted to be a core part of her granddaughter’s life, she knew how to do it. Be present. Invest in her hobbies and interests. Guide her. Not like this…

“Henry has a mind for business, yes, I would never fault him for that. It’s the one good thing he’s accomplished in his life.”

“Because marrying me is not one of them.”

“Oh, you have a mighty head for business yourself, Monica. I’m sure Abigail was getting a front-row seat of it, based on what I heard from that nanny of hers. You really should vet your people better. Here in Thailand and back in France, Abigail will have the best nannies. They double as tutors. That’s really the best for her before she is sent to boarding school in Switzerland. Or has Henry not mentioned Zurich to you, Monica?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, no. I’m sure anything you discussed with your son was on the docket for us to talk about, but certain things came up, now didn’t they?”

Monica saw Abigail looking up at them and abruptly said.

“Finish that up, Abby. We have to get going. Don’t forget anything you would be sad to miss.”

“The Beaumonts have been nothing but gracious to us.”

Monica closed the gap between her and Isabella. I want to slap this woman. Monica was so close to laying a hand on the evil that had threatened to upend her happiness more than once. And while she wished she could say it was on behalf of everyone with the last name Warren, Monica was not even thinking of Eva, of Nadia, or even Henry. Henry can take care of himself. Abigail, though… she was so little. She didn’t understand that her grandmother didn’t have her true best interests at heart. She didn’t know that Isabella’s goal was to drive a permanent wedge between mother and daughter. She might not understand now, but… soon?

Abigail was growing up today. Maybe not in the way the world would see, but Monica sensed it. The way her daughter carefully tiptoed around the bed ten times the size of her and fished out a stuffed bunny her grandmother had given her last Easter tore Monica’s heart in two.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, Isabella. She loves you.”

Monica appealed to whatever ancient narcissism crusted over this woman’s heart.

“Abigail loves you. You could be a positive force in her life who looks out for her in ways the rest of us cannot. But this? Kidnapping her?”

She had lowered her voice in the hopes that Abigail wouldn’t hear her. Sure enough, her daughter clicked the suitcase shut and struggled to prop it up by herself. She placed her bunny on top and grabbed the sweater she had left on the bed.

“Is it still hot outside, Mama?”

Abigail asked.

“I was sweating really bad yesterday.”

My baby…

Isabella grasped that horrifying tell on Monica’s face.

“You’re correct in that I can look out for her in ways you have not,”

she said.

“Kidnapping. Such a foul word to use. I’ve saved her, Monica. Take her back to America now, if you insist, but know that there’s no real life for her there. She’ll rot and fester in even private education, where she’s been mercilessly bullied by another low-class, low-brow girl whose mother has tainted her husband’s illustrious line. Much like you have attempted to this otherwise sanctified family tree.”

Abigail rolled the suitcase behind Monica and took her hand.

“Okay, Mama. I’m ready.”

Monica swallowed her pride.

“Say goodbye to Grandma, honey. She has to stay here.”

“Goodbye, Grandma. Thank you for taking me to France. I had a good time.”

Monica smoothed the back of her daughter’s hair. She’s so polite. Even when she didn’t know what was happening, who she should completely trust…

Polite to a fault. Monica knew another girl like that. One who had existed a long time ago and learned some terrible lessons the hard way. Me.

“I don’t want you coming anywhere near her unsupervised again,”

Monica hissed at her mother-in-law.

“If I had my way, you would never see her again. And you will not set foot on Warren Manor as long as I’m around. You cannot be trusted around any of our children.”

Isabella slightly cocked her head in mild amusement.

“I will always do what I must for this family. Even if you are too soft to do it yourself.”

“Do what? Hold my daughter prisoner while you wait for her to be old enough, groomed enough to be married off to a boy she barely knows?”

“Louis Beaumont is a lovely young fellow who would have made an excellent playmate for our Abigail. They got along quite swimmingly in Nice. I was very much looking forward to taking her to his birthday party next month.”

Lest she said anything testy that she would later regret, Monica held firmly to Abigail’s hand and pushed Isabella aside.

“Let’s go.”

“Bye Grandma…”

Those two simple words almost made Monica cry as she rendezvoused with Nina’s team in the living room of the guest house and followed them back to the SUV still idling its engine in the front driveway.

Mercy’s Grove was soon a mote in the distance. Monica clung to Abigail as they raced back toward Phuket, Nina sitting across from them with one of her brothers and pretending not to notice that their client was crying.

With tears still streaming down her cheeks, Monica ensured that the white bunny was back in Abigail’s lap, her daughter staring straight ahead at the strangers in the car with them. She never asked who they were, and Nina and her brother never spoke to her.

There was little communication until the car finally pulled up to the hotel Monica was staying in until she could fly out again the next day. If fuel, inspections, and human rest weren’t all necessary, they would have gone straight to the airport and flown back to New England immediately.

“Thank you for your help.”

Monica didn’t know what the tipping protocol was in Thailand, but she didn’t think twice about removing a few hundred dollars from her wallet and handing them to Nina in the hotel lobby. The woman took them without thinking about it and placed the folded bills in her inside jacket pocket.

“I would not have had to strength to stand up to them like that if it weren’t for you and your crew. Now…”

“No worries, Mrs. Warren. I’ve got two stuck to tailing you and guarding the lobby for any Beaumonts until you’re on a plane in the morning. Besides, we’re just getting started in this part of the world. Something tells me your daughter isn’t the first one to be trafficked through the Beaumonts’ lair.”

Trafficked. Monica truly hated that word.

After saying their final farewells, Monica led Abigail up to their room. It was still the middle of the day in Phuket, but there would be no sightseeing. They would order room service from the hotel kitchen for dinner and Abigail would be welcome to plant her butt in front of the TV to watch whatever she wanted. Just as soon as Monica went through her daughter’s suitcase and took a shower with her in the bathroom.

“It’s important.”

Monica hurried Abigail into the other room, where the shower was already on. She began taking off her clothes and urged her daughter to do the same.

“I’m sure you took a bath last night, honey. But I just want to check a few things. Come on. I’ve missed you, darling.”

She tied Abigail’s hair on top of her head. While she needed that hair out of the way to keep it from getting wet when it wasn’t being properly washed, Monica also needed to see the skin beneath it even more. Her duty now was to inspect every inch of her daughter’s body for bruises, cuts, and scrapes. If anybody laid one hand on her… If she had bumped into a table… fallen down the stairs… tripped over her own feet and split her lip open…

Monica would kill them. All of them. Isabella. The Beaumonts. All of them…

But Abigail was clean. The only sign of distress on her body was an old scab in her ear from when she had an allergic reaction to some calla lilies and scratched her skin open. Nevertheless, Monica inspected it closely, telling her daughter that she was proud of her for not constantly ripping the scab open again and again as the child often did.

“Mama…”

Monica sat on the bench in the shower, Abigail on the floor as the water hit the tiles between them.

“Yes?”

She lifted her head, not caring if the showerhead hit her directly on the scalp and wetted her hair.

“Did Grandma do something bad?”

Multiple angels warred within Monica’s heart, and she had about ten seconds to settle the dispute with some sort of treaty – some compromise that would explain everything to her daughter without potentially traumatizing her.

“Tell her everything. Make sure she knows that Grandma is a bad person and isn’t someone to go near ever again.”

“Lie. Simply say that she has to go home early. Her family really misses her, too. Everything will be better at school now, too.”

“Distract her by changing the subject. She doesn’t need to know. Keep distracting her until she forgets that anything was going on with her grandma.”

Monica motioned for her daughter to stand between her legs. The water was diverted from Monica’s face to Abigail’s back, which ricocheted the powerful water droplets to the wall.

She smiled.

“Grandma has her way of doing things and her views of how the world so be. One of those things is she thinks it’s okay to take you places without telling your mom and dad where you’re going. For the past few days, I had no idea where you were, Abby. Do you remember that time we went to New York and you wandered away in the hotel?”

Slowly, Abigail nodded.

“I had never felt such a panic in my life. We mothers are like that, honey. All it takes is you walking into something dangerous, or someone bad trying to take you, and the next thing I know, my whole life has crashed to the ground because I’ve lost you forever.”

Monica was grateful for the steam in the shower instantly covering her tears as she shed them. Yet she wiped her face before putting her hand back on Abigail’s arm.

“That would be the hardest thing in the world for me to endure. As long as I’m alive and you’re a kid, it’s my job to know where you are and how you’re doing. So when Grandma waits for your mom and dad to go away for the weekend and takes you to France without telling us… do you understand, honey?”

“I didn’t know you didn’t know where I was.”

“I know, honey. You didn’t do this on purpose. You’re not in trouble.”

With her hands balled into fists, Monica rubbed both of her eyes and sniffed the steam through her nostrils.

“Right. Let’s try to get some rest tonight. You can tell me all about your trip.”

In fact, she insisted, since it might illuminate some of Isabella’s other motives.

“Just because you weren’t supposed to go doesn’t mean you didn’t have a good time, right?”

She listened as Abigail regaled her with tales of a large, fancy house in France and all the good food there was to eat. And th.

“interesting people,”

which consisted of the Beaumonts and their staff, all of whom insisted on speaking French in the hopes of helping Abigail learn it faster. Naturally, Abigail didn’t understand much at all, but she enjoyed it. She was even more excited to learn that she was about to go to Thailand for the first time. Until then, she had never even heard of Southeast Asia.

Monica told her all about the four cardinal directions and the seven continents as they dried off and she brushed her daughter’s hair in front of the bathroom mirror.

“There’s the two Americas, right?”

she quizzed Abigail while partitioning her hair to make it easier to brush.

“You live in North America, but there’s also South America, where they mostly speak Spanish. And Portuguese in Brazil. You remember about Brazil, right?”

“We did a class on it at school. They have a carnival.”

“That’s right. And both sides of your family originally came from the continent Europe. That’s where you visited France.”

Monica thought she heard something in the room but decided to focus on her daughter’s bright face in the foggy mirror. For once, Abigail was happy, probably because she got to share things she learned from school.

“There’s also Africa!”

“Yes, indeed.”

Monica moved to the next section of hair.

“It’s believed that’s where humans originally came from, you know. And then the first known civilizations came from Mesopotamia, between the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers.”

All of those social studies classes from middle school are coming back to me now. It gave Monica something to think about while brushing Abigail’s fine blond hair, all while she swore she heard another thump in the bedroom.

“Is that in Asia?”

“Technically, I think so. It’s in the Middle East, which is a region, much like Southeast Asia. It’s kinda confusing, yeah?”

“I know the last continent!”

“There are two more, honey.”

“Australartica.”

Monica didn’t know if Abigail said that on purpose, but she was quite chuffed with her wit, so Monica let it go.

Once they were dressed in their pajamas, Monica pitched ideas for dinner since she had a glance at the menu. It might be too early. It didn’t stop Monica from letting Abigail go on ahead into the bedroom so she could turn on the TV.

And gasp.

“Mom!”

Giggles hit Monica before fear could.

“You didn’t tell me!”

Monica let her hair back down as she rushed into the bedroom, already kicking herself for not listening to her gut. After all, she had heard someone rooting around out here, and it wasn’t the hotel maids.

She didn’t know who she expected to see out there. Nina or one of her men, confirming that there was still danger lurking out in the hallways? Isabella, having penetrated the line of guards that separated her from the granddaughter she wished to traffic across the worl.

“for her own good?”

“There she is!”

Henry finished taking off his jacket and bent down to pick up Abigail, who leaped into his arms with a squeal in her throat. As her father twirled her in the middle of the bedroom, all four of her limbs clinging to him as if he were a tree, Monica simultaneously let out a cry of relief and surprise.

“There’s Daddy’s girl! How are you, Abby?”

The happiness radiating off him was genuine. He had no idea that I had Abigail already. When Henry turned around amid Abigail’s babbling, he flashed a smile at his wife. Monica couldn’t resist going to them, wrapping her arms around both her husband and daughter as if she needed proof that they were real.

“I made it, Princess,”

he said to Monica when he put Abigail down and ruffled the top of her recently-brushed hair.

“I told you I would.”

That was Monica’s cue to embrace him with all the strength left in her body. Only now, when Abigail danced around them in glee and Henry returned her hug, did Monica let all of the stress flow from her limbs and into the ether.

She was safe. Abigail was safe. With Henry there, she didn’t have to worry about sleeping with one eye open and a dagger beneath her pillow. Because together, they could protect anyone… let alone the light of their marriage.

It almost didn’t feel real. So Monica indulged in the fantasy of the moment, remembering what it was like to have no fears, no worries.

The amount of love in that Phuket hotel room was as beautiful as the sun getting ready to set beyond the windows, the other buildings, and the inland view of an ancient city that had been far off Monica’s radar until that week. The only thing more beautiful was the glow of her daughter’s hair in the sunlight and the toothy grin on her face as she begged for a turn hugging Monica, who had just been in the shower with her.

“Tell your father what you’ve learned this week,”

Monica whispered in Abigail’s ear.

She promptly turned around and loudly declared.

“J’ai passé un moment merveilleux!”

He suddenly looked ten years older when he kneeled before his daughter and said.

“Thank God for that.”