Page 18 of Her Submission (Monica & Henry #2)

Changing Tides

Monica knew none of what happened beyond her world while she flew in and out of Thailand. Henry kept silent about what was going on at home, too, with their plane ride from Phuket to New England highlighted with watching a movie with their daughter and all getting into bed together, where Henry read from the chapter book Abigail had packed into her suitcase.

When they landed several hours later, it was to a media circus.

“What the…”

Her phone was blowing up with messages from Eva and Ethan. Never mind what Judith and the others at the Chateau had seen on the news. Apparently, while Monica had flown from America to Thailand, Henry called his sister and the two of them agreed to get the family’s PR firm to disperse through the media what exactly had happened.

Henry offered a sympathetic look to his wife, who was given Abigail to watch over.

“Go to the car. Eva said she would meet us here. She’ll take Abigail home. You and I will deal with this.”

He placed a gentle kiss on her cheek.

“As a team.”

Voices shouted at them from behind the barricade the private airport security had erected to keep reporters away from the family. Before Abigail could express fear, Monica pulled up the hood on her daughter’s sweater and insisted that they walk closely together toward the black, window-tinted SUV pulling up alongside the plane in the middle of the tarmac. Eva rolled down a window in the backseat and poked out her blonde head, sunglasses slipping down her nose.

“Hello there, kid!”

She waved at Abigail as she approached.

“Good to see you home again. How about Auntie Eva gets you home and fed? Matilda has been worried sick about you and misses you terribly.”

Monica encouraged Abigail to get into the other seat.

“Thank you for doing this,”

she said to her sister-in-law, who helped pull Abigail’s suitcase into the car.

“You won’t believe what happened. Your mother…”

Eva held a finger up to her lips.

“One event at a time. Matilda and Nadia are holding down the fort back home. There’s a detective there who wants to talk to Abigail. If it’s all right with you, I’ll oversee it. But I can also tell them it has to wait until either you or Henry return.”

“If she’s up to it, go ahead. Just make sure she’s put into a clean change of clothes. She took a shower on the plane before we landed, but those clothes are not ideal for this weather.”

“Sure thing. What do you think, Abs?”

Eva opened her arms, inviting her niece to crawl over and hug her.

“Go home? I hear you went to France. Learn anything good?”

As Abigail began showing off her ability to count to ten in French, Monica blew them both a kiss and closed the door. The SUV was already pulling away by the time Monica found Henry on the tarmac and approached him. He was speaking with Dana McMillan, the Warrens’ PR agent from Oscar & McMillan.

“I was just catching Dana up to speed on what’s happened since you rescued our sweet daughter,”

Henry said. Wind whipped his words away from his mouth, but Monica didn’t have to strain to hear him.

“She’s contacted the media so we can get ahead of the story. This is our chance to speak with the journalists after we speak with the chief of the city police.”

Monica sighed, aware that between her bedraggled lack of sleep and the wind pummeling her hair that she was hardly prepared to go in front of cameras.

“What is this really about?”

she asked Dana directly.

“It can’t just be about tarnishing Isabella’s reputation in New England.”

Although, that was fantastic. If Monica wanted to ensure her mother-in-law never came around again, turning everyone in her old social circle against her would be tremendously helpful.

“There are other benefits to this, depending on what the police say we can or can’t talk about in public right now.”

The middle-aged woman with a prominent nose, stark blond bangs, and a Gucci peplum top and skirt held out a printed page of notes for Monica to peruse.

“I understand that you’re being investigated by the IRS?”

God, I had forgotten about that.

“With everything going on right now,”

she said.

“do I want to be drawing more attention to myself?”

“I’ll be blunt, Mr. and Mrs. Warren.”

Dana looked at them both with the know-how of a woman who had been doing this for people like them for decades.

“You’re a good-looking couple and one of the few wealthy families around who haven’t made total asses of themselves in the political sphere as of late. You’ve got some goodwill. We need to build on that by reminding the public that you have an adorable girl who was almost sold as a child bride by her grandmother.”

Henry gritted his teeth while Monica stepped in.

“I know where you’re coming from, but we cannot talk about Abigail like that. I do not want any attention on her, do you understand?”

Dana shrugged.

“Look, I get it. You want to protect your daughter. And I can help keep her face out of the press as long as you give them something in return. Talk to the detectives. I think there’s someone from the FBI here too. They’ll tell you more about what’s going on.”

Henry wrapped his arm around Monica’s and escorted her to the men in uniform and the woman in a department store suit. She must be the detective. Monica barely remembered them from when they turned her home upside down looking for clues about Abigail’s disappearance. While everyone wanted their official statements and assurance that they would take Abigail to the doctor as soon as feasible, there was something else on Monica’s mind.

“What happens to Isabella?”

That was the million-dollar question that Monica would happily pay to answer. Yet nothing was ever simple in these cases. Currently, as far as anyone knew, Isabella was still in Thailand. If she was smart, she would stay there, letting her best friend harbor her. But if we wanted to press charges and have her extradited… They could do that from Thailand, right?

Both Henry and the detective had to get her attention again. Monica’s mind was elsewhere, imagining Isabella in a prison jumpsuit doing a perp walk.

They approached the podium and microphone set up for them by the concourse. A dozen reporters shouted questions at them, but the chief of police took the opportunity to introduce the case and highlight the most important updates, such as Abigail’s safe return. When he turned it over to the Warrens, Henry stepped forward to give his rehearsed statement to the press. Monica stood with him, but couldn’t bring herself to speak.

She realized she stared into a local news camera. Local my ass. It was from a major network that would doubtlessly send this to all of their affiliates across the country. By this time tomorrow, everyone would know Monica and Abigail’s names.

She had her own opportunity to say something to the press, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Monica was suddenly exhausted. All she could think about was passing out in her bed back at Warren Manor as if she hadn’t done that just two days ago. But I didn’t have Abigail. If she went home now, she could see her daughter again.

It was that weakness that made her freeze up in front of the microphone. Once it was apparent she couldn’t say anything, Henry stepped in and apologized, with Dana offering further information that the print media could run with.

Monica apologized when they got into the car Dana provided them. They both told her to not worry about it.

“You were crying on camera,”

Dana mused.

“The strong mother who risked everything to fly across the world to get her daughter back. A real Sally Field. We can use this for your long-term image rehabilitation.”

“Excuse me?”

Monica asked.

“Sally Field. Not Without My Daughter? It’s perfect. Just instead of Iran, it’s Thailand.”

“Ms. McMillan, please,”

Henry urged.

“You pay me to see these connections that the public loves.”

“What do you mean rehabilitate my image?”

Dana clicked her tongue.

“Journalists are about to do more digging in you two. While you have always been an ideal couple because you know how to keep your noses on your own work, we have Evangeline to thank for blowing holes open in the Warren name for years. Never mind your father’s penchant for gambling away most of the family fortune,”

Dana said to Henry.

“Despite Monica having several shell companies to cover up her hospitality businesses, it’s always possible someone uncovers Le Chateau while doing their investigations. We have to always stay ahead of that now. Which means painting Monica as the ideal, distraught mother who would do anything to save her child.”

“Well…”

Henry crossed his legs, knee brushing up against Monica’s thigh.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

Monica remained silent the rest of the way home. Everything is blowing up in my face. She couldn’t emote what she felt very well, but she knew that the twisting knot in her stomach and the bile in her throat were not good omens for what was to come.

Retrieving Abigail and ensuring her health were the first good things to fly out of her personal Pandora’s Box. Yet there was that pesky thing at the bottom, struggling to crawl up the sides and scream.

“Everything you’ve ever worked for, everything that’s defined you, is about to crash.”

Monica didn’t know if she had it in her to rebuild again.

One week later, when the detectives cleared Warren Manor, when the journalists stopped calling at all hours of the day, and when Abigail felt ready to go back to school after her family doted on her and the doctor gave her a clean bill of health, one major thing came to a head.

Isabella brazenly flew back to New England.

They were tipped off by Nina, who called from Phuket because her team had been keeping an eye on the comings and goings of Mercy’s Grove. She claimed that as soon as she saw Isabella packing her bags into a car and being ported to the airport, she knew she had to say something.

Her hunch was correct. Isabella had returned to the States, believing that she hadn’t done anything wrong.

The worst part? She came straight to Warren Manor, the one place she had been told not to go. And Monica was prepared.

“What is the meaning of this?”

While a commotion erupted in the main house, Monica rushed out to discover Isabella being handcuffed by two uniformed police officers who had been called by one of the staff.

“In my own home? I’ll have you know, officer, that I’ve spent the better part of my life living in this house! How dare you do this? Uncuff me right now!”

Monica stood at the top of the stairs leading to the East Wing, where she and Henry had been discussing something unrelated. The worst part wasn’t that Henry joined her on the stairs, watching everything unfold – it was Abigail peering over the banister, her eyes wide and her cheeks pale in fear.

“Matilda!”

Henry hissed to the nanny rushing out.

“Get her out of here!”

But Abigail was glued to the banister. Monica couldn’t do anything about it as she hustled down the stairs and intercepted Eva as she came out of the West Wing.

“Did you miss the restraining order we all filed this week?”

Eva shouted at the woman being dragged through the front door.

“You can’t come within fifty feet of any of us! Pretty sure this is fifty feet, Mom!”

“Restraining order? What do you mean? I can’t be held back from my own family!”

Although she continued to play dumb, Isabella’s quick retention of a lawyer proved that she was willing to play the game. She was detained in a hotel room once released from jail within hours. Monica wasn’t going to face her, but when she put Abigail to bed that night, she realized her daughter had been crying.

“Is Grandma going to be okay?”

Monica pursed her lips while wrapping the bed covers around her daughter’s shoulders.

“She’ll be fine, sweetie. Your grandma is a very resilient woman. We’re just going through some things right now. It’s… complicated, huh?”

“Will I get to see her before she leaves town?”

Monica couldn’t hold back her frown.

“I don’t know. That’s for the police to decide.”

That was her cue to put her coat back on. Henry caught her about to leave.

“There’s a restraining order,”

he reminded her.

“I’ll explain to everyone that I just want to talk to her one last time.”

“Monica…”

“No, Henry.”

Monica finished fixing her hair over her coat and turned toward him.

“There were things I couldn’t say to her in Thailand because Abigail was right there. Don’t worry. I’m not going to end up in jail, too.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“Then what? I don’t fear your mother.”

She didn’t know if she would even be allowed to see Isabella in the hotel. When she approached an officer on duty, he told her that it wasn’t usually a good idea. Just to be on the safe side, Monica called up the family lawyer, and while the man was in the middle of his dinner, asked him to come downtown to help handle this.

Isabella’s lawyer was there too. To oversee everyone’s best interests.

“How dare you humiliate me.”

Isabella met her in the living area of her hotel suite, where she was still only dressed in her nightgown and robe.

“First, you cast me out of my own house, then you come to my cell to talk terms of a restraining order? Against my own family?”

“It was a long time coming.”

Monica sat across from her at the small dining table. Their tired and cranky lawyers stood by the door, conferring about something Monica could not hear.

“You’ve been upsetting this family for years. Long before I even came into the picture.”

“Perhaps the issues my children have with me could have stayed private, Monica.”

“You would have never allowed it. You thrive on everyone knowing you’re in charge.”

Isabella didn’t try to defend herself. She merely drummed her fingers on the table while positioning her body language far away from her daughter-in-law.

“I’ve hated you from the day my son fell in love with you.”

Monica didn’t take that personally.

“You didn’t even know I existed back then.”

“I felt a current in the air. That everything I worked so hard for in this family was about to crumble.”

Something tightened in Monica’s chest. Such a familiar feeling… Was it something she shared with Isabella, but for different reasons?

“I’ve done nothing but love this family,”

Monica said.

“I gave you a granddaughter. She even looks just like her dad and aunt. You can hardly see a trace of me in her.”

“I see you in her eyes. They may not be the same color, but the spirit is the same.”

The spirit.

“What do you mean?”

“When I look in your eyes, Monica, I see that insufferable view of the world. The one that suggested that anything is possible if you just believe. If you roll over and show your belly to the beast. It’s the same look my children have started showing since getting to know you. Evangeline alone… if it weren’t for you, she would have never married that woman.”

“I had nothing to do with Eva and Nadia falling in love.”

“You encouraged it.”

How could Monica refute a truth that Isabella had convinced herself was fact? Once she decides something is the way it is, there’s no reasoning her out of it. Isabella lived in her own world. She constructed her own reality. And in the one Monica had entered, Isabella was the eternal matriarch to an ancient family who went out of their way to displease her. As if they were so ungrateful. All Monica had done was catch the eye of Isabella’s son. All Henry had done was fall in love with a woman who was committed to him and would do anything to protect everything they built together.

But those things weren’t good enough for Monica. She was never the righ.

“breeding.”

Her history as Jackson Lyle’s long-term girlfriend and a know.

“acquaintance”

of new money upstart Ethan Cole was only the start of Monica’s sins – she was also the madam of the most exclusive brothel in America. I represent everything she resents in life. A woman who had built her own life, her own wealth, with only her brain and body to help her.

“You thought you could take my daughter and barter her to the Beaumonts. Tell me, what kind of modern woman does that?”

Monica held her bag close to her chest as if it were a shield to erect between her and Isabella.

“Was it because Eva turned against you, too? You couldn’t marry her off to the Beaumonts, the Monroes, so Abigail has to suffer for some perceived sin?”

The finger drumming stopped. Isabella slowly inched her head forward, revealing more of her wrinkles in the overhead light. If this was the last look Monica got of her up close? Then so be it. She’d commit it to memory.

“Abigail is the greatest chance this family has at reclaiming the glory it had when I arrived. Back then, you couldn’t go anywhere without the Warren name opening doors and creating futures for everyone in the room. Yes, my husband made a few mistakes with the family money, but we rebounded. Better than ever, from what I understand.”

“Because of Henry.”

And Monica. Her knowing her way around money and making millions a year from the Chateau’s success had helped the Warrens pay off their debts and start renewing whatever “glory”

Isabella thought they still had. Everyone’s future is fine. Abigail has a trust fund. Everything could go tits up on the morrow and Monica would make it work.

“Henry… oh, Henry. My sweet golden boy.”

Monica said nothing.

“He could have had any woman he desired among my friends’ daughters. Some very lovely women, too. And it’s all because of me! I’m the one who watched his diet for him as a child so he would never get too fat. I’m the one who enrolled him in multiple sports to keep him fit. I’m the one who worked alongside the best nutritionist in the business to ensure the best of the Warren genes allowed him to grow tall and strong. A name and money will only take you so far, Monica. If you’re ridiculously handsome, too, the world is your proverbial oyster. Even his perversions didn’t stop women like Victoria Nicholson from throwing themselves at him.”

She’s crazy, right? Victoria was a lesbian, just like her acquaintance Eva. From what Monica understood, Isabella had tried to get the heiress to marry into the Warren family and the two had even dated for a while. According to Henry, though, there was no long-term spark between them. Because she’s gay. This probably also wasn’t the time to bring up Victoria was the partner of Madison, one of Monica’s best employees and the day manager of Le Salon.

“There’s an illness overtaking our society. You might know something about it.”

Isabella pointed a finger in Monica’s direction.

“You’ve got all these queers running around now. It infected my daughter, it infected the Nicholson girl, and for all I know it could infect our dear Abigail, too. We have to strike while it’s still possible to foster a fortuitous marriage with the right family’s boy. It’s a time-honored tradition, Monica.”

She leaned both arms against the table, her dry lips spitting more of her strange words.

“Abigail’s future depends on it. This family’s future depends on it. We don’t know where this country will be twenty years from now. Who knows who will be in charge! But families like the Beaumonts have shelters and money stashed all over the globe. Their cash is so old that the Sun King used to wipe his behind with it. I’ll be dead before Abigail has the chance to make something of herself. Let her be the next matriarch of a great French family that can protect her should the world implode, Monica. Don’t you want what’s best for your girl?”

I don’t know where to begin… While Monica was willing to admit that the world was crazier than she liked, she could hardly believe anything her mother-in-law said. She sounds… deranged. Paranoid. Conspiracy theories rotting her brain. Isabella was so high on her self-worth and what she “offered”

her family that there was no talking her out of what she convinced herself was true.

“You’re acting like we should work together to construct my daughter’s future.”

“Think about it.”

Isabella sniffed.

“It could be your one redeeming act at this point, Monica. Prepare your daughter for her future and ensure she marries the right family as quickly as possible. It doesn’t get better than the Beaumonts.”

She wagged her finger again.

“There’s still time to make amends with Lily and Jean-Pierre. Louis is old enough to kick up a fuss, and we can only control him so much, but… he’s young enough that we can convince both him and Abigail that this is best for their futures. Trust me, Lily is totally behind this because she’s forever vexed with who Jean-Pierre got involved with. You think I treat you poorly? Ha! Olivia Beaumont hasn’t slept a full night since she moved into her mother-in-law’s house. Her only saving grace in Lily’s eyes is giving her two healthy grandsons. That’s where we come in.”

“That’s grooming, Isabella.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re talking about grooming my daughter to marry a boy she barely knows. At seven! Even if she doesn’t marry him until she graduates college, that’s at least fifteen more years of spinning tales and forcing proximity between them. I’m not sorry when I say I refuse to partake in ruining my daughter’s mind like that. Just like it was Henry’s destiny to choose who he married, it’s the same for our daughter. I will have no part in selling her to someone.”

“And yet…”

Isabella was still infuriatingly cool as she said.

“that’s what you do, isn’t it? Barter and trade women’s bodies with the men who want them. That’s what you do best.”

Red burned within Monica’s stomach. Her heart threatened to give out if she looked too deeply into Isabella’s eyes. I’m going to be sick. What was this sensation sucking her blood from her veins and tying them into unfinished knots? What plucked her soul from her body and laid it out for everyone to see and judge?

Anger. It had been stewing inside of her for years, but Monica, always the queen of diplomacy, had suppressed the harshest parts of her that wished she could reach across the table and slap that smug, selfish bitch in the face.

But that was the thing. As satisfying as it would feel, and as much as she didn’t give a shit about angering their lawyers… that was what Isabella wanted. She was goading Monica into violence. Or, at the very least, an emotional eruption.

She wanted to see Monica crack. It would be her greatest achievement as the full-time thorn in her daughter-in-law’s side.

Yet another reminder that this wasn’t about Monica. It was about Abigail’s future.

“God have mercy on you.”

Monica stood up, shoving that latent anger deeper down into her stomach. The only thing consoling her was the idea that this might be one of the last times she had to look into this woman’s eyes and withhold a shudder.

“Maybe one day Abigail will forgive you after she understands what’s happened, but I will not.”

She didn’t wait for Isabella to say something witty in return. Monica was focused on her lawyer, who curtly nodded in her direction as they left the hotel room.

“How did it go?”

the lawyer asked as they entered the elevator.

“I’m surprised you held yourself back from throttling her. Grateful, too, although I would understand the urge.”

“Trust me. I would have loved nothing more.”

Ten years. That was how long Monica had been putting up with Isabella’s bigoted schemes. And I wasn’t even raised by her. She had seen the long-term effects of Isabella’s special brand of abuse on Eva, and their whole generation of Warrens would be damned if the same thing happened to Abigail.

“But that was playing right into her hand. That woman… she would have loved it if I hurt her.”

“So she could sue you, I assume.”

“Oh, that would have been a lovely benefit, but not the only reason.”

Monica’s stomach lurched into her throat as the elevator careened toward the lobby.

“The thing about Isabella is that she literally thinks she’s ‘Lady Warren.’ It’s the only thing she’s had to cling to for most of her life. So, here I am, attempting to steal it all away from her. A woman that she didn’t pick to inherit the mantle. A woman she deems unworthy.”

The lawyer was silent but thoughtfully looked toward Monica.

“There’s no such thing as a Lady Warren. I am Mrs. Warren, nothing more.”

Monica blew her bushy bangs out of her face.

“There is nothing to take from her. Anything Isabella has lost was her fault. She’ll simply always refuse to acknowledge it.”

Monica brushed away another tear as her lawyer led her to the car out front.

Am I crying for that woman? No, not Isabella.

Not specifically.

The reason Monica was emotional was partly because of the anger that still festered inside of her and needed an outlet, but also because she envisioned a world where she was Isabella.

Where Monica had turned into the kind of awful witch who pushed her children away and only curried favor with those as terrible as her.

A world where Abigail hates me.

Resents me.

Monica held her hand to her chest after buckling her seatbelt. The thought of treating her daughter the way Isabella had treated Eva… as a bartering chip… as a plastic doll to be styled and cowed into a different kind of unnatural submission…

The lump she forced down her throat didn’t go very far.

But it soured her stomach, and by the time she was home, all Monica could think about was going to her daughter’s room and reading her favorite story to her as she slept.

She’s perfect.

As Abigail burrowed beneath her covers, safe and sound in her bed, Monica ran her hand along that long blond hair and gently patted her daughter’s arm.

She was an angel.

A princess.

A darling child who needed her mother’s love and protection now so she could grow up into a powerful woman who did things her way… but for the right reasons.

Monica was still getting to know Abigail.

Her personality, her likes, her fears… As the future came, she wanted to believe she would handle her daughter growing up with grace.

Like aging.

Don’t pretend you can stop it.

Embrace it.

Monica didn’t know what the world had in store for everyone’s future.

She didn’t even know if she believed in God.

There were too many convincing arguments for and against.

But she believed in being the best woman she could be and demonstrating that to her daughter.

“I pity you.”

Monica said that to the photo of Isabella in the hallway on her way to bed.

“You could have had it all.”

Her children’s happiness. Their financial security. Friends and parties who gave her an excuse to be herself. A beautiful granddaughter who adored her.

Instead, she threw it all away for some nonexistent title.

Monica swore to never make the same evil mistake.