Page 2 of Her Submission (Monica & Henry #2)
Service With a Sigh
Atext from Henry waited for her when she eventually woke up in the city. They were only two minutes away from Warren Manor, but to the tune of the windshield wipers furiously pushing away a rain shower, Monica read that her husband’s flight from Toronto had been delayed due to the weather and he wouldn’t be home until around eight.
It was dark outside. Monica immediately longed for her wing of Warren Manor, with or without her husband.
She woke Abigail up as they drove through the gates of Warren Manor. The driver pulled up in front of the main entrance, hazards flashing as he opened her door just as the head butler of the house appeared with a large umbrella.
“Where’s Ms. Smith?”
he inquired about Matilda.
“She took her separate car elsewhere. It’s her weekend.”
The butler nodded before greeting Abigail and securing both mother and daughter into the house. He returned to the car to help with the bags while Monica took off her coat and Abigail shook out her hair like a wet dog.
“Stop that,”
Monica chided.
“You didn’t even get wet. You also didn’t thank Elson for keeping you dry, now did you?”
Abigail cupped her hands around her mouth as she turned toward the open front door.
“Thanks, Elson!”
she shouted.
A tall woman with short blond hair appeared from the west wing of the manor.
“Kids these days,”
Eva, Monica’s sister-in-law, teased as she approached her family.
“Did you get Henry’s text? He won’t be home until after eight.”
“I did.”
Monica waited for Abigail to get over being excited at her aunt’s presence. With a furious oomph!, Eva picked up Abigail and commented on how big and heavy she was. Sure enough, Eva teetered backward. Soon, only Henry would be able to pick up the youngest member of the family. How long until he can’t, either? Abigail kept growing and showed no signs of stopping.
“Something about the weather. Must be hitting the whole region.”
“It’s that time of year.”
Elson approached with bags in his hands.
“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes, madam,”
he said.
“I heard that Mr. Warren will be late tonight. What protocol should we follow for his supper?”
“Keep a plate warm for him, Elson. As for me, I think I’ll take my dinner in the east wing.”
She looked to Eva and Abigail, both glommed together like one tall, lanky blond unit. Is my daughter even one drop me? Abigail could have easily been Eva’s daughter.
“Would you mind having dinner with Abby tonight?”
she asked her sister-in-law.
“I have some files to go through from the tax team. I want them in order by the time Henry gets home.”
“Ooh, how fun. Taxes.”
Eva booped her nose against her niece’s.
“How about it, kid? Dinner with your Aunties Eva and Nadia? She’ll be home from work soon.”
“Yessss! I have to show you the video from the Christmas play!”
“It’s a good one,”
Monica said, removing her earring studs and tucking them into her purse.
“Thank you, Eva. I appreciate it.”
“After that, why don’t we watch a movie? I’m bored as heck today, kid.”
“Can we watch Inside Out 2?”
“Sure, sure. Then we’ll watch The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.”
Monica almost dropped one of her earrings as she gasped at Eva.
“Just kidding. She has to be at least eight before we watch that.”
“Next birthday!”
Abigail cried.
“Absolutely not,”
Monica muttered as she secured her earrings.
“Twelve. At the earliest.”
Eva put Abigail down and went with her to the dining room. Monica gave further instructions to Elson as he checked in with her. It took ten minutes for Monica to finally be free from her duties as “Lady”
Warren and allowed to disappear into her family’s wing of the house, where she took off her shoes and quietly ate a plate of dinner while watching TV.
She texted her husband during a commercial break.
“Are you in the air? I have a lot to talk to you about tonight.”
By the next commercial break, when most of her dinner was gone, he texted her back.
“We’re about to descend. Looking forward to seeing you all.”
Monica started typing many pithy lines of love but erased them all.
“I miss you.”
“I want you.”
“I’m overwhelmed.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
There was more than childcare and the IRS to talk about. Henry’s parents were visiting for a few weeks starting that weekend, and Monica needed to know what the game plan was now that she was home and could focus on preparing for her monsters-in-law. All while working. God help me.
After she swallowed her last bite of dinner, she texted him.
“I look forward to taking care of you.”
She followed that with a heart emoji and a sunflower, their code for the kind of lifestyle they enjoyed together.
She had decided she needed it tonight.
Henry simply sent her a snowflake, indicating that he was receptive to whatever she wanted to do that night.
I can come up with a whole emoji code to use with my Dom, but can’t figure out how to keep my daughter out of trouble. Story of her life.
At least she knew what she was doing with the rest of her night. Henry would be home within the hour, which gave her enough time to prepare. God knew she needed it.
After telling Elson that she and Henry didn’t want to be bothered as soon as he came home, she secluded herself in her wing of the house. Monica laid out her bedclothes while running a bath. Stripping out of her day clothes was as refreshing as stepping into a cool breeze on a hot day. Or maybe that was the hot water of her bath welcoming her naked body for the next half hour.
IRS. My daughter. The in-laws. Monica allowed herself to dwell on that unholy trifecta before splashing the cooling bathwater on her face and forcing her brain to dump it all. Once she emerged from this tub, she was entering a completely different headspace. One that often healed her more than it harmed.
Especially that past decade, when she shared that side of herself with the only man she truly trusted with her heart – and body.
Wasn’t it sweeter than anything else right now… to think about her husband?
The way he speaks to me. Always kind, always reasonable. The way he touches me. Sensually, romantically. The way he is with our daughter. Fatherly and sweet. The way he treats the rest of our family. Sometimes the leash was too loose with his parents but with his black sheep of a sister? That was one of the things that told Monica she had finally found a keeper.
But Henry was more than a husband and father. He was a Dom, and he was more than agreeable to honoring Monica’s desires to be a lifestyler with her.
Granted, as the years had gone by, they had pushed aside the kink in favor of keeping a harmonious home and presenting as a vanilla couple for their daughter’s sake. Yet it sort of made their time together even sweeter. Monica didn’t mind waiting for the perfect opportunity. She liked knowing a night just for them was on the horizon. By the rainy night sky, they made it count every time.
A lascivious montage of their greatest highlights flashed in front of Monica’s eyes. Water dripped from her fingers as she raised her hand from the bath. Her head leaned back. Her other hand was soon between her legs, remembering what it was like to be erotically charged in the comfort of her own home.
But she didn’t let herself get very far. She wanted to be ready, to enter that erotic space that consumed her whenever she let it.
The bathwater circled the drain as she took her time drying off and brushing her shoulder-length hair. She dabbed on a single fingertip of Henry’s favorite perfume and donned her baby pink silk robe with lace sleeves and back. Once she was happy with her appearance, she texted him that she wa.
“ready and waiting to serve him”
in the way he liked best.
There was no reply. He didn’t need to. Knowing that he had seen it was enough for Monica, who entered the sitting room adjacent to their bedroom and stoked the fireplace to life. She poured a glass of Henry’s bourbon and left it on the table next to his favorite chair. By the time the fire was roaring and the pillow in the chair was fluffed, Elson stopped by to inform her that Henry was home.
“He says he has already eaten on the plane,”
the butler said.
“but will be visiting with Ms. Warren and Abigail before heading over for the evening.”
“That’s fine.”
Monica didn’t mind waiting longer if Henry wanted to kiss his daughter hello and check in with his sister. It gave her more time to make sure everything was perfect for the man she called hers.
She knew he was near from the way her body alit with electric alacrity. It knows before my brain does. When she glanced in the mirror hanging on the mall, she caught a glimpse of her husband’s dark blond hair moving through the hallway. He was removing his travel coat and shoes. Monica didn’t think about any plan. She simply smoothed out her robe, fluffed her hair, and stepped out to greet him.
“Welcome home,”
she softly said, his back still turned to her.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
Henry dressed down to his trousers and off-white shirt before greeting her. Almost immediately, Monica melted into his embrace as they shared a wordless, tender kiss in the hallway of their home. Just like I always dreamed of as a girl. Back then, she watched old movies of glamorous Hollywood stars pretending to be married, but Monica knew that was her future. She just had to find the perfect man to share it with.
It had been a long road of giving her heart to the wrong men, but when she finally met Henry? She had been ready. Everything she had trained herself for had been leading to that moment – to this life.
“I’m glad to be home.”
Henry followed her into the library, where the fire crackled and the bourbon was poured. Monica gestured to his favorite chair in front of the fireplace. Henry handed over his phone and had a seat, grasp already reaching for the sink.
Monica shut off her husband’s phone and placed it on the credenza in the short hallway between the library and the family living area. She closed the doors. Although they were not expecting anyone, least of all their relatives, Monica wasn’t taking chances. She enjoyed the sweet privacy closing and latching the doors to the library offered them, anyway.
“I hope your flight went well.”
She spoke so softly as she came up behind him, that she almost worried he might be startled. Instead, Henry continued to drink his bourbon with one leg angled over the other. The more he settled into his chair and contemplated the fire, the more content his wife became.
“I’m sorry to hear that you were delayed.”
“The rain is lovely to hear against the window when you’re sleeping in your own home.”
He took her hand in his as she loomed over him from behind. She hoped to smell his natural scent or remnants of his cologne. What Monica got instead was the faint odor of cigars. Henry hadn’t partaken in years, but it signaled that some of his business associates had been smoking on the family plane. Well, that’s not allowed. Since their daughter’s birth, Monica had installed a no-smoking policy in any family-owned dwelling, and that included the Gulfstream. A discussion for later.
“Not so much when you’re sitting on the tarmac at Pearson, waiting to get home.”
Monica kissed the top of his head.
“I’m sure Abby was excited to see you. She’s been missing you all weekend.”
“You’d hardly guess since she was engrossed in a movie when I just checked in on her.”
“Your sister was gracious enough to watch her for the evening so you and I could have some privacy.”
His soft fingers gradually fell off her hand.
“Something we need to discuss?”
Yes. Later.
“Thought I made myself clear. Or would you rather keep it simple tonight?”
“I know better than to question what ‘keep it simple’ means to you.”
That brought a smile out of her.
“I do attempt to be transparent to my husband.”
Henry’s head slightly turned at her words. It was close enough to her lips to kiss him on the forehead.
“You must have had a long weekend if you’re in need on a Monday night.”
“When am I not in need of you, sir?”
He brushed his knuckles against her chin.
“Your husband is tired after a long weekend of his own. He might need some inspiration.”
“That’s the idea.”
She gently massaged his shoulders as he turned back toward the fireplace.
“All I want is to take care of you tonight.”
Henry didn’t have to say what he was probably thinking.
“So I can then take care of you.”
Such sentiments were implied.
After a decade together, Monica swore she and Henry knew how to read each other’s minds.
They were so in sync that they spoke in cryptic emojis over text and had code words in public that conveyed what they meant without intruding upon anyone else’s mood.
For if there was one thing Monica prioritized after ensuring her daughter’s health and well-being, it was finding solace in submission.
She had been like this her whole life.
Back before she even knew what the words meant or how to parse the thoughts in her head.
Henry would have loved her no matter what she desired in and out of their home.
But he was a Dom, and maintaining a lifestyle with his wife was as easy as kissing her goodnight.
They exchanged no words as her thumbs searched for his troubled muscles right beneath his neck.
Henry set aside his drink as he sank into the chair and closed his eyes.
Monica almost lost her grip on his shoulders as she saw a few fine white hairs spread throughout the mellow blond that had been there his whole life.
We’re getting older, aren’t we? Henry was in his mid-40s and Monica was in her late-30s.
While he focused on rejuvenating the family business, she fussed over their food, exercise, and vices.
Genetics willing, they were both living until at least 85.
Monica was determined to say they had spent sixty years together in coupled bliss, even if they grew so old that they physically could not indulge in each other’s sexual desires any longer.
What a far-off day that still feels like. Monica yearned for her husband just as much now as she had when they first met in her Chateau.
Their courtship had been short but determined.
They both knew what they wanted.
They knew they were compatible.
Monica simply needed to accept that she was ready to move on from her previous relationship.
She lifted her hands off her husband’s shoulders.
The last person she wanted to think about now was him, the man who had tried to consume her life.
As the fire crackled and Henry finally relaxed since coming home, Monica rounded the chair, kneeling on the floor and resting her head against his knee.
She wanted to feel small.
To forget that government agencies were thinking too much about her, that her baby was now old enough to have an opinion about things and a liability at her mother’s work.
If Monica could have anything, it was to travel back in time, when this marriage was young and everything was ahead of them.
When I hadn’t become jaded by my work and hadn’t decided to stop at one child.
Henry was fine with having however many children his wife desired, but also probably preferred just the one, if he were finally honest with Monica.
“I love you,”
she cooed into the calm air as he brushed the top of her head with his hand.
“Tell me you need me.”
His strokes slowed until his hand remained on the back of her head.
“I love you, too. I thought about you all weekend. How I’d rather be up in the mountains with you than brokering deals in soulless conference rooms in Toronto. At least with you, I’m always in a good mood.”
“Henry…”
“Yes, I need you. You’re the sunlight in my garden.”
She sighed against his knee.
“You’re the sea that surrounds my island.”
Her husband slightly stirred against her cheek.
Such a simple movement shuddered her whole body, naked beneath her robe.
Monica lightly touched her covered breast and realized she had been ready since before he walked into the room.
I need him wrapped around me.
On top of me.
Inside of me.
This was how Monica responded to stress.
Stepping back from being the madam of a house of sex workers who catered to some of the richest men in the world made her remember why she was the perfect candidate for bringing luxurious pleasure to the world.
Funnily enough, she had never properly worked as a sex worker, but she knew exactly what clients and patrons wanted from their experiences.
Monica always followed the energy of men and women who exuded dominant sexuality.
She knew it would lead her to her happily ever after.
Knowing that even ten years later, she still ached for her husband? That was bliss.
He said nothing, not even offering a grunt of approval when she buried her face in his lap and searched for the belt to his trousers.
Fire roared behind her and warmed her from behind, but it was the front of her body that burned for him.
Her breasts were loose beneath her robe and needed his touch; her entire pelvis was heated for what she knew he could do in bed.
Their daughter had been a happy accident when they were engaged but not married, but Monica never forgot the night she must have conceived.
It had been so full of love and worship of one another’s mortal bodies that it couldn’t have been any other night.
Monica always chased that high.
She would be reliving that night for the rest of her life.
Henry’s eyes were closed and his head against his chair.
Finally, she sensed his natural musk beneath his clothes.
It would have made her feral if it weren’t for her determination to be as attentive as possible as she pulled his cock out of his trousers and wrapped her hand around his shaft, massaging him to life.
She didn’t need to gaze into his eyes.
Nor did she care to acknowledge her womanhood as she licked his tip and recalled everything she knew he liked.
Gradually, he stiffened, and when the first light moan echoed in his throat, Monica took him into her mouth and lavished him with her oral attention.
Getting lost in his body like this was sometimes more fulfilling than the other way around.
As much as she enjoyed his gifts, Monica had been built to serve.
To provide.
To submit.
Henry was her perfect foil because he knew how far was too far for a woman who sometimes couldn’t stop digging herself into a deeper hole of depravity.
He respected her even when she spent the night debasing herself.
He saw her as a wife, a mother, and a businesswoman as well as his pet who sucked his cock on command and spread her legs, sometimes without his command.
Playing the coquettish mistress sometimes invigorated her, but at the end of the week, Monica preferred to be ordered around and even denied his touch if it led to greater rewards later.
Tonight? Things were simple.
She would retrace the inches of his cock with her tongue, taste his familiar precum, and fill her throat with his thrusts and his seed.
Maybe she’d do all the work and let him fully relax before the fire.
Or maybe he’d want to claim her throat as she gave herself over to breath control and relaxing her gag until he had all of her.
Then he’ll have me however he wants.
Monica had a few ideas.
She could ride him in this chair, her robe open and his mouth on her body.
Or they could go to bed, making love in the darkness of their room.
The finale was as sumptuous as the foreplay for her.
It’s all a part of my identity.
Wife.
Mother.
Businesswoman.
Submissive.
She found her rhythm as her knees dug into the carpet and she braced a hand against the arm of the chair.
Henry was as hard as he got whenever she tasted him, and she knew that this would not end with him staying that way.
Her body was a vessel for his pleasures.
If he wanted to come in her mouth, she would see this to its end.
If he wanted to use any other part of her, she eagerly awaited his rocking hips and sharp, aggressive breaths.
Right here in front of the fire if he wants. Wouldn’t be the first time she was taken in front of the fireplace.
Monica pulled her mouth off him and let her hand take her tongue’s place. She looked up into her husband’s glassy eyes and asked.
“How do you wish to use me, sir?”
He almost looked pained that she was making him think about anything.
“Keep doing that,”
he growled.
A ripple of anticipation began in Monica’s chest and found itself between her legs. ‘In my mouth?”
“Surprise me, Princess.”
She opened her robe, letting the silk slip off her shoulders as her hair rested upon her skin.
“You could have my breasts,”
she whispered.
“Or my pussy.”
Her hand increased its intensity on his shaft, his precum covering her thumb as it continued to round the tip of his cock.
“Do you want my ass tonight, sir?”
She almost wished he’d say yes. It had been forever.
“Like I said. Surprise me.”
Putting the choices in her hands was like telling a fish it could swim wherever it pleased. There were so many possibilities, and they all led to the same place. My body.
She took him into her mouth again, licking him clean with her tongue only to have that same familiar taste return.
Monica’s bare nipples rubbed against his legs as her head bobbed in his lap, one hard inch after another sinking farther down her throat.
She only came up for air once, because like an excited novice, she forgot to breathe.
“Ah, fuck me,”
Henry finally relented.
“I’m the luckiest man alive.”
She drank his praise as she lavished him with attention. Her mouth never tired. Her tongue never stopped memorizing his body. And the depths of her being begged her to share some of that with the rest of her.
He’s so close. Should Monica slow down or go for it? Which did her Dom prefer?
Good thing she was his mind reader.
“Ooh, I see how it is.”
Henry offered her his dirtiest smile when she stood up, robe halfway down to the ground, showing him what he could have.
“This beautiful creature has somehow only become more…”
He shrugged, giving up thinking of decent vocabulary when his cock was that hard.
“Beautiful.”
She moved to climb into his lap, but he stopped her with a firm touch to her waist. “No?”
Still sunk into his chair, Henry pulled her robe off one arm and rubbed the warm skin of her hip.
“Are you wet for me, Princess?”
“Of course.”
“Are you sure?”
“Do you not trust me to know my own body?”
“Not what I meant at all.”
He finally sat up.
Both hands came for her head, bringing her face down to kiss.
His tongue slammed into her mouth, and she inhaled him, greedily.
Taste yourself on me, Henry.
He was never shy about that. Much like he was never shy about putting his tongue in every inch of her body.
When he stopped kissing her, she felt like she had been knocked unconscious.
Henry was so much taller than her.
She always marveled at that when he stood, hand still cupping her face and the rest of her robe pooling at her feet until she stood naked before the fire.
He didn’t sweep her up into his arms, but he did direct her toward the hallway.
Instinctively, she knew they were heading to bed.
Neither of them turned on the light.
Monica headed straight for the bed, where she sat preciously on the edge and reached for him again.
Henry let her, holding the back of her head as she swallowed the length of his cock and willed him to fuck her throat.
Use me.
All night. Please.
Take her away from this world.
Away from whatever stressed her out and made her forget the simplest pleasure she indulged.
Henry pushed her down onto their bed.
Monica opened her legs, inviting him into her, but he remained standing over her like a sentinel searching for its keep.
“Beg for me.”
“Please,”
she immediately said.
“Fuck me, sir.”
“More.”
“Please!”
Her hushed urgings were barely heard in the air between them, but they both knew her intent.
“I need you.”
For the first time since the bath, she touched herself, proving to both her mind and her husband that she was ready.
“Come take your wife.”
“Mm, that’s right.”
He unbuckled his belt the rest of the way and pushed his trousers and boxers to the floor.
“You are my wife, aren’t you?”
Next came his shirt, unbuttoned and tossed aside. Every second of him undressing was more reason to anticipate his lovemaking.
“I get to do whatever I want with you.”
She loved the little details, like with you. But he could also do whatever he wanted to me.
“You know what I want to do, Princess?”
“No, sir.”
She cocked her hips to the side and opened her legs, chest pushed high into the air. Want me, Henry. Work yourself up until you can’t help yourself. Those were the best nights.
“What do you want to do to me?”
He propped her knees open as he climbed onto the bed.
Monica reclaimed her breath before she knocked herself unconscious.
Even though they had made love a thousand times before, she still anticipated him like it was the first time.
In that room in the Chateau. Always special to her, forever more.
“I want to make you scream in ecstasy.”
Her eyes fluttered shut, completely blinding her in the darkness of their room.
“You’re already halfway there.”
He bent down and kissed her again.
The moment Monica dropped her guard, he flipped her over, shoving her face into the comforter as she scrambled to grab a pillow.
I love the little details… Like him grabbing the pillow for her before he completely gave in to the animalistic instincts she drew out of him.
Monica barely had her face buried in her pillow before her husband thrust his hard cock inside of her.
I’ll scream, all right.
The intensity of his entering her would have echoed down the hallway if it weren’t for the pillow protecting some of her integrity.
After he pulled out and thrust into her again, however, she didn’t even know what integrity was.
Sounds like something that gets in the way between us.
She hoped he appreciated her telling the truth about being wet.
For him.
Monica would have been proud, but she was too wrapped up in the mind-numbing sensation of him fucking her as if that was what she was born for.
It was.
She wanted to weep from how satisfied she already was, how her husband always knew exactly the perfect direction to take a scene.
She had inspired him, yes, but Monica needed surprising twists as much as she needed the same old romantic lovemaking.
As much as she loved her husband sweetly but intensely making love to her, she loved being fucked into the depths of the bed just as much.
“Don’t stop…”
How futile were her words as Henry lost himself in her, and she lost her voice against her pillow? “Harder…”
No, he couldn’t hear her. “Harder!”
She wasn’t one to usually make demands of him in bed. But she was still in that begging mindset, desiring his crumbs like she desired anything else he might give her.
A hard spank landed right on her ass as he pulled out his cock and teased her with his finger.
“I’m the one who decides that, Princess. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
That was all he cared to say before he slammed back into her, making her toes curl up into the air and her face strain against her pillow. Monica completely forgot who she was or even who this man was. My husband. My Dom. And he wanted her. Needed her. He never forgot her for a minute. Never forgot to ensure her pleasure even when he used her.
So, it was no wonder she cried out into her pillow when he reached his arm around her thigh and stroked her clit with his fingertip. He sank deeper into her, and she held her breath for what felt like forever.
If she had more of her wits about her she would play with him too. Monica was a master of controlling her inner walls and giving her husband a well-timed squeeze when she wanted him to come undone. Yet she didn’t have the wherewithal now. He had decided to fuck her like this, and that was that. She was his. She was his to use.
There she went. Deep into that headspace that made her feel one with her Dom.
She didn’t need kisses. She didn’t need caresses or words of reassurance. What I need is him. And that was exactly what she got.
Monica was so deep in that space that she didn’t even register her orgasm until she was halfway through it, sailing the highest peak of that wave and surrendering herself to the motions of his endless thrusts.
No, no, no… She didn’t want to reach the shore. Not without him.
Ah, maybe she could do it, after all. That well-timed squeeze of her body that would fucking end him.
Ah, God… Yes. There it was. Her husband giving her his seed before he even knew he was coming too. The delayed groan making him stiffen his movements and hold her hips close to his as he rocked forward only made Monica extend the ecstasy she experienced.
Wasn’t this what she had wanted all night? To serve her Dom, to make him unleash this side of him?
Henry kissed the small of her back before joining her down by her pillow. Monica finally lowered her hips and rolled onto her side so she faced him. Silently, they entwined their arms, Henry attempting to catch his breath while staring into the abyss of their dark room.
Monica, meanwhile, closed her eyes. She was still in that sweet space between reality and fantasy, and she would cling to the fairy tale for as long as she could.
“It could get expensive,”
Monica said.
“Even for us.”
They were properly turned in for the evening, long after showering and collecting their daughter from the other wing of the family manor. Abigail was half-asleep as her father lugged her to bed and Monica helped her change into her pajamas. The two of them kissed her goodnight and left her asleep before they even stepped out of her room.
Now they were entwined in bed, Henry’s nightstand light on and the soft fabric of his T-shirt an angelic touch to Monica’s cheek.
“Nothing we haven’t survived before,”
Henry said.
“Yes, but if the IRS…”
He patted her arm.
“If nothing. Let them audit you. You’ve got the best tax lawyers on this side of the state border. We also have our other lawyer on retainer should they feel frisky with possible criminal charges…”
“Henry, no. Don’t even speak that into existence.”
“I don’t think it will get that bad. But you know me, Monica. I’m a catastrophizer. My parents trained me well.”
She had no comment on that.
“I also had the realization that I can’t take Abigail with me. She’s old enough now that she’s possibly seeing things that none of us want her to. It’s bad enough I’ll have to explain everything to her once she can understand… whenever that is.”
“Too soon. She’s growing up way too fast.”
Monica grinned into his chest.
“That’s what they’re supposed to do. Before you know it, she’ll be telling us that she’s in love.”
“Hopefully after she’s already had her teenage rebellion. That way I’ll be used to the idea of my baby girl moving away from me.”
“But she’s also not old enough to be left here with just Matilda. We have to figure something out. Especially before your mother gets here and has something to say about it.”
“God, why are you reminding me about that? Not just my mother, but my father, too.”
“They seldom come together.”
“Only for Christmas.”
“Well, there you go. We didn’t do Christmas this year, so now they’re here to torment us in a New England winter.”
“Abigail will be happy. For some reason, she loves her grandma.”
Monica sighed.
“I’m glad she does. She’s too young to understand that her grandmother is a toxic person.”
“Some people are like that, Princess. They treat their children like shit, but grandchildren? Can never do any wrong.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Often, Monica wondered what her mother-in-law really thought about Abigail.
This was a woman who had been appalled by Monica coming into the family, never mind getting pregnant right before the wedding.
The constant derisive comments leading up until when Abby was born… Yet as soon as that baby was in Isabella’s arms, she softened – to Abigail.
She had a hand in hiring Matilda, whom Monica signed off on as soon as she vetted the young nanny.
But Monica still didn’t trust Isabella’s intentions toward Abigail.
Right now, Monica’s daughter was the only member of her generation and would be until Eva and her wife Nadia had one of their own (if that ever happened.) Isabella put a lot of stock into family legacies, including her own.
She had raged against Nadia’s inclusion in the family as well, and not just because she was a woman.
To this day, that woman is convinced that Nadia is Jewish-Irish, and I’m still wrapping my head around that one.
The layers of bigotry!
Everyone who currently lived in Warren Manor agreed that Isabella’s influence over Abigail was kept to a minimum. Maybe that was why Abigail looked forward to her grandmother’s visits. It helps she looks like her father, not me. Because Isabella cared about that too.
Henry tightened his hold around his wife’s shoulder.
“It will be fine.”
Monica breathed again when he lowered his hand.
“My mother is a piece of work, but she cares about propriety above all else.”
“And your father?”
Monica croaked.
“Easier to handle than my mother.”
At least that was true. Gerald came by so rarely, mostly out of embarrassment, that even Monica could count the number of conversations she had one-on-one with him on a single hand.
God give me strength these next few weeks. They would both need it.