Page 3 of Her Submission (Monica & Henry #2)

The Wicked Witch

“Renovations begin next week,”

Monica said from behind her high-rise desk, tucked in the back corner of Le Salon.

“I have the contractor’s word that daytime work should not interfere with my nighttime work hours here.”

She looked at the woman sitting before her desk as if she’d believe it when she saw it. (Or didn’t hear it..

“Once I’ve signed off on the initial renovations, I’ll be sure to invite either you or your wife over to inspect it for yourself.”

To the mellow sound of jazz music filtering down the hallway, Monica’s closest confidant outside of her marriage uncrossed his legs and contemplated the news with amusement.

“Should be a blast to check out for myself. Considering this is another venture I’m sticking my fingers in, so to speak.”

He chuckled.

“How long has it been since you opened this place? The Chateau? Ten years on the latter.”

“And about three on the Salon. Would’ve been earlier, but the pandemic put a stop to so much progress.”

Monica dared not relive those days.

For several months, the Chateau was closed to anyone but the patrons who kept her employees in primary business.

Everything else was done online, much to the chagrin of women like Judith and Sierra.

We all hated it.

We moved on. Monica tried not to think about all the money she lost during those days. She was simply grateful to have enough in her rainy-day fund to help offset the losses her employees suffered.

“The point is that you continue to expand to accommodate all of your successful business.”

Ethan Cole, the man who had helped Monica more than any other (outside of her husband, anyway) said.

“You’re very successful. Despite all this talk about the IRS, I’m sure you’ll continue to flourish. Sex work isn’t exactly the kind of thing that disappears during economic dips.”

“Don’t get me started on the dips, Ethan.”

Monica slammed paperwork into folders before slamming those into her lockable desk drawers.

“I’ve got enough competition as it is.”

“Ah, yes. By the way, do the Monroes know you’re doing this?”

She leveled such a fierce gaze on him that it was a wonder Ethan didn’t react. That left Monica to shut off her computer monitor with a sigh.

“Probably. They have as many eyes and ears as I do. Just theirs tend to be male. Like on the construction team, probably.”

“Word on the grapevine is that you and the Monroes are not in great favor right now.”

“What else is new? Although, I admit our cordiality has been flung out the window lately. After my daughter and theirs…”

Another sigh.

“The teachers and school therapist have no idea why Abigail and Clarise have been fighting at school.”

Something else Monica didn’t like to dwell on. Her sweet, docile Abigail wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone pull another girl’s hair with malice. Yet that was what Damon Monroe’s daughter continued to claim every time a scuffle occurred at Winchester Academy.

“I have a hard time believing that Abigail is behind it. She’s given nothing away, if she is. And you know I don’t want to speak ill of others’ parenting…”

Ethan remained mum, but it didn’t stop him from listening.

“But maybe something is going on with them. Clarise could be disturbed for all we know. The Monroes aren’t exactly known for their lack of drama.”

“And you are?”

Ethan drolly asked.

“The Warrens, of all families?”

“We’re fun drama.”

“If you say so.”

She couldn’t be too mad at her ex-boyfriend when he made quips like that. The man was no more a fan of Damon Monroe than Monica was, but it was easier for men to have healthy rivalries and call truces for a while. Monica knew where she was… what circles she traversed, all the way to the lowest level of hell. Old wealth families like the Monroes weren’t too different from the Warrens, who claimed to be one of the oldest, if not wealthiest families in the city. The way Isabella tells it…

Oh, God…

“My in-laws are flying in tomorrow,”

Monica said with her elbows on her desk and her hands covering her eyes.

“My period has just started. My daughter wants to start taking ballet after seeing The Nutcracker last month. And now I have this renovation starting next door while I’m running the Salon here and checking in on the Chateau over the phone.”

“I would at least think a woman’s period is a known quantity at this point in her life.”

Monica stuffed her belongings into her purse, careful not to crush the spare tampon she carried.

“Out of all that, that’s what you focused on?”

“I’m the kind of guy who has so many in his life who just… tell him about their periods.”

“Me, your wife, and…?”

Ethan grinned.

“My receptionist, her wife…”

“Nadia doesn’t seem the type.”

“Ever since she married Eva several years ago, she’s become overbearingly confident in what she can get away with at work.”

“You like it, Ethan.”

“That’s not the point.”

She offered to escort him out of her office and into the short hallway leading into the main area of Le Salon. On a Friday night, it buzzed with both regulars and out-of-towners looking for a place to unwind in the company of beautiful women. One such woman was Ethan’s wife Jasmine, who always delighted in the presence of Monica’s employees.

She was so engrossed in an amusing story that a woman named Blair told her, that she didn’t see Monica or Ethan coming up behind her. Not even when her husband took off his jacket and left it on the back of her chair.

“…So, there I am,”

Blair said, recounting a story Monica had heard a dozen times before.

“Having eaten way too much fried chicken before going out on that stage. So not only am I so bloated that I look pregnant in my lingerie, but the first time my Mistress spanks me, I rip my undies in half with the wickedest sounding fart to have ever echoed in The Dark Hour.”

Jasmine bowled over into a fit of giggles, feet tapping on the floor as she helped herself to more of the wine Blair had poured at the start of their conversation.

“You know someone in the audience was into that! So many perverted freaks! Love it!”

“Blair!”

Monica hissed when she could tell that her employee was about to descend into more childish details. While Monica didn’t care what everyone talked about in a private room, people could hear everything going on in Le Salon. The last thing the owner wanted was comments that one of her most successful hostesses was “gross.”

“Anyway,”

Blair continued.

“I now keep fervent track of what I eat before a show. ‘Cause I never heard the end of it from Mira.”

When Jasmine came up for air, she caught sight of her husband standing behind her.

“How long have you been there?”

she asked with a slight smack to his arm.

“Creeping!”

That was Monica’s sign to retreat into her work, especially since she wanted to get home earlier to spend the evening with her family before the in-laws arrived the next day. Before she could do that, though, Monica had to check in with the weekend manager of Le Salon since Judith was minding the Chateau that weekend. She also went over a few things with the bartender and the bouncer so she wouldn’t have to worry about the operations while she was home that weekend. Any time she had to think about work for the next few days had to go toward the renovations in the unit next door.

I insist on being so busy, don’t I? That sounded like something Ethan would say out loud, but Monica didn’t have time to dwell on it as she grabbed her coat from her office and messaged her driver that she was coming down.

He had soft rock playing in the car, and she didn’t ask him to change it, although she would have listened to anything else. Monica busied herself with her final plans for the next week and was home before she had the chance to see the rental car occupying her parking space.

Her driver went off duty as soon as she was inside. Maybe that was why he didn’t think to say anything – just in case the boss told him to suddenly drive her elsewhere.

“Mom!”

Abigail came running through the foyer, her hair lashing back and forth and periwinkle pullover riding up her torso from how hard she pushed herself.

“Look! Look! Grandma and Grandpa came a day early!”

The maid helping Monica remove her coat was almost knocked over when she whipped around and caught sight of her least favorite woman emerging from the family dining room.

“Oh, good. You’re home.”

Isabella was soon followed by Henry, who looked at his wife with sympathy.

“Imagine my surprise when I asked Henry where the sitting lady of the house was, and he said you were working.”

Monica was used to caustic personalities. Yet it was the personal ones that almost cracked her professional fa?ade. The same one she used when dealing with her mother-in-law.

“Yes, I had a few loose ends to tie up before I could dedicate myself to my family these next few days.”

She approached Isabella, hands outstretched, inviting her for two cheek kisses that were as ice cold as the wind chill outside.

“You’re a day early.”

Isabella certainly didn’t miss the angle of how Monica said that.

“Afraid it was necessary. A snowstorm was suddenly called to roll through Bozeman and we didn’t want to be stuck. Since Henry was kind enough to have already sent the plane ahead, Gerald and I decided to get in late tonight instead of possibly never.”

Abigail hopped up and down next to her mother and grandmother, her excess energy not lost on the woman expected to mitigate this behavior in front of the “true”

matriarch in the family.

“You should see what they brought me!”

Abigail exclaimed.

“Can I show her, Grandma?”

“Of course, dear.”

Abigail flashed her right hand at her mother, who had yet to see the diamond ring twinkling on that child-sized finger.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Monica gasped.

“Grandma says it’s for me!”

Abigail stopped her jumping long enough to admire the rock on her hand.

“Isn’t that right, Grandma?”

Although Isabella caught the look of paling disbelief on Monica’s face, she snottily said.

“It belonged to my mother. I’ve been holding on to it for so long, just sitting in my jewelry box, and… well, it seemed silly to let it waste. Besides, my mother was quite a small woman and this ring on Abby’s middle finger used to be worn on my mother’s ring finger, if you can believe it. She was such a delicate woman… Abigail can have it resized. Isn’t it lovely?”

Isabella’s gaze lingered on Monica’s tired face. She’s testing me. There Henry was, standing beside his mother and wife, smartly not saying anything while Abigail resumed her bunny hops while staring at her diamond ring. While there was no shortage of jewelry in that family, Monica had been careful about what her daughter owned. It was mostly the usual costume jewelry most kids preferred, with a couple “real”

heirloom pieces to make her feel special and like a member of her family. A ruby broach from my mother and earring studs with her genuine birthstone. She wore the latter for parties.

But a diamond? Abigail was seven. What did she need a diamond for?

“Did you thank your grandmother?”

Monica asked her daughter, whom she corralled with a snatch of her hand.

“Yes! Thank you, Grandma.”

Isabella bent down, hands on her knees as she cooed.

“You’re very welcome, Princess.”

Monica barely bore hearing that. At least Isabella had no way of knowing that “Princess”

was Henry’s pet name for Monica. It’s a coincidence. That’s what Monica told herself.

“Why don’t we let Monica settle in?”

Henry said.

“She’s been hard at work all day.”

From the way Isabella looked at her daughter-in-law, she didn’t quite believe that.

The worst part wasn’t knowing that her in-laws were a day early – it was knowing that she had to appear under the mild guise of entertaining them late on a Friday night.

When Isabella and Gerald stayed in town, they often claimed one of the spare bedrooms in Eva’s wing of the house.

While Monica appreciated the physical distance between them, it didn’t stop her from having to host her in-laws in her private living room.

After she and Herny tucked Abigail into bed – her hand still attached to the diamond ring she now slept with – Henry poured his parents some drinks and sat with them in the living room.

Monica, who didn’t dare wear her nightwear in front of them, donned a baggy sweater with her comfortable winter leggings.

It was the mos.

“dressed down”

she ever got, let alone without a skirt on.

“You’re doing well with that portfolio, it seems.”

Gerald, who often skipped on these visits to save face back in Montana, where he and Isabella “retired”

nearly fifteen years ago, said as he wandered what had once been his living room.

Everything had changed since Monica moved in, and she didn’t doubt that Henry had changed a few things before her.

What did Gerald see when he gazed into the family photos that still hung on the far wall, though? Did he see his proud heritage… or his tarnished legacy?

“Things have been going much better since we downsized many of our divisions. Unfortunately, that included the gemstone mines, which Eva was upset about.”

“What isn’t your sister upset about?”

Isabella tsked.

“She’s even so upset about your father and I being here that she refuses to come home.”

The corner of Henry’s mouth twitched.

“Neither she nor Nadia knew you were coming early. Friday night is their big date night after Nadia gets off work.”

“The fact that the wife of any of my children still works is an insult in itself,”

Gerald proclaimed, before looking at Monica.

“No offense. You at least own your own enterprise.”

“Nadia enjoys her job and making some money for herself,”

Monica tentatively explained.

“As someone from a similar background as hers, I understand the urge. Nothing wrong with any wife in this family making her own money.”

“Really, Gerald, we should be grateful that our daughters-in-law aren’t mooches.”

He flopped into a large armchair and pulled a cigar out of his inside pocket. Gerald knew better than to light it in front of anyone, least of all his wife.

“Not like there is that much money to go around.”

Isabella sniffed her displeasure at money talk.

Henry attempted to change the subject.

Monica was stuck in between, taking her mind off things by instinctively refilling glasses and brewing herself some herbal tea in the adjacent kitchenette.

The only one who wanted any was Isabella, of course.

So I have to serve her.

That was something Monica had noticed about the woman over the years.

Isabella wanted her daughter-in-law to serve her, and Monica was all too ready to do it.

Too many years did it take for Monica to realize that it got her nothing with Isabella.

The woman looked down at her like a cat looked down at the mouse it cornered.

I’m a plaything to her.

When I’m not disgusting her, anyway.

But Monica couldn’t help herself.

If she was hosting, she served… something.

It kept her busy and made her feel useful.

Even in her own house.

And this was her manor now.

Her name was on the deed alongside Henry’s.

Eva stood to inherit if anything happened to the couple before Abigail came of age, but the point was that Isabella and Gerald wiped their hands of the family manor when they were on the verge of bankruptcy.

Anything to get away from the high taxes of New England.

And away from the social class that would certainly judge them.

Like Henry had hustled to save his family business and investments from insolvency, Monica had worked overtime salvaging their social credit. Not just for the leverage during future disasters, either. For the love of God, we need friends.

And her daughter needed as normal of a life as possible.

The last thing Monica wanted was for Abigail to grow up too isolated from other kids, be they heiresses or the third daughter of a working-class family.

Monica knew how to move through the wealthy class without drawing too much attention to herself, but she still remembered where she came from.

“How is Abigail’s schooling going?”

Isabella expertly steered the conversation.

“She’s growing so quickly, Henry. Soon, she’ll be as tall as you.”

It was rare to see that woman smile like that. Nevertheless, Monica didn’t trust it.

“She’s getting straight-As so far,”

she said.

“Her teacher adores her. The choir teacher likewise sees promise in her singing and dancing skills. Abigail’s recently asked if she may start taking ballet.”

Isabella’s countenance waged war between insolence that Monica dared speak in her husband’s place, and satisfaction toward the information she heard. Monica would have laughed if it wouldn’t have sparked another battle between mother and daughter-in-law.

“Ballet is a wonderful hobby for her to have. Honestly, I don’t know why you didn’t have her enrolled when she was four. That’s the perfect time to start. She’s so far behind already…”

Henry saw the look on his wife’s face and curtly nodded in understanding.

“We’re letting Abigail decide what hobbies she wants and when to start. You ask me, this will be a flash-in-the-pan thing until something else catches her attention. We’re just grateful to be in a position to let her do something like this.”

“What else could a girl like her possibly be doing?”

“Sports, for one thing,”

Monica said.

“She loves sprinting.”

“Of course she does! She’s a child. That’s all they do.”

“She’s quite into arts and crafts as well,”

Henry continued.

“She mostly asked for drawing supplies this past Christmas. We got her a lightbox to practice her tracing. You should see her coloring prowess already.”

He sounded like the proudest father in the world when he said.

“Always right in the lines.”

“Well… suppose it’s high time we got that girl a calligraphy set,”

Isabella said to her husband, who was lost in his phone.

“It’s important for children to learn finesse and fine motor skills. Plus, calligraphy is a proper hobby for a young lady.”

Monica pursed her lips.

“She would probably enjoy that. She’s slated to start learning cursive next year.”

“Why not now? What’s the point of that fancy academy if my granddaughter isn’t learning important things like cursive in first grade?”

“Even when I went to Winchester,”

Henry said.

“I didn’t learn cursive until second grade. I think that’s fairly standard.”

“The whole point of private schooling as rigorous as Winchester Academy’s is that it’s not standard.”

Isabella tsked.

“She should be challenged from the moment she started kindergarten. Don’t you want her to go somewhere like St. Ignatius?”

She referred to the boarding school for girls an hour outside of town, and the sister school to St. Mary’s, where Henry received his high school diploma. Eva was supposed to go to St. Ignatius… She finished school at Winchester Academy so her parents could keep an eye on the wild child who was always in trouble because she was just different enough.

“That’s so far away. We still don’t even know what kind of student Abigail will be,”

Monica said.

“For all we know, she’ll skew toward STEM and be a better candidate for Curie High School.”

Isabella scoffed.

“Isn’t that a public school?”

“It’s the best science-based school in the whole state, Mother,”

Henry explained.

“Many of our contemporaries send their kids there now. There’s no better way to live in this area and be set up for a school like MIT.”

From the look on Isabella’s face, she abhorred the idea of any of her progeny going to MIT! It was Ivy League like Henry or bust. Eva went to a local university… Private, of course, but she claimed that she preferred to stay close to home and picked that institution for its burgeoning business program. Considering she stuck around for her masters…

“You must consider these things now,”

Isabella insisted.

“Don’t you want your daughter to be well educated? To marry well?”

Henry’s eyes widened.

“Marry? We’re far from that.”

“This is where you show your shortsightedness, Henry. By the time you were Abigail’s age, your father and I already knew what families you might marry into. So many of our decisions toward your education weren’t just ensuring you were prepared to inherit the family business. It was also about attracting the right families.”

She looked right at Monica when she said that.

Henry changed the subject as soon as his cheeks stopped flushing red. Monica rightfully kept quiet for the remainder of the evening, until her in-laws decided to turn in for the night. After more cheek kisses and derisive sniffs, Monica was free to release the tension from her shoulders and march into her bedroom, where she promptly changed into her nightgown and furiously brushed her hair. Henry waited to say anything until they were both in bed, a book in Monica’s hand.

It remained unread.

“I know this isn’t ideal, Princess.”

Henry rolled onto his side, elbow propped on his squishing pillow.

“If I had known they’d be flying in a day early, I would have warned you. But they had just arrived when you were already on your way home.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Monica’s eyes were fixated on the words in her book, but she absorbed none of them. She didn’t even remember what the title was.

“We would have done the same thing in their shoes.”

He must have sensed that she was not totally placated, for he said.

“I’ll do most of the entertaining this weekend. You focus on what you need to do to keep your sanity.”

“Is that the same thing you say to your sister?”

She didn’t wait for an answer.

“At any rate, I must oversee dinner both nights this weekend.”

“We’re going out tomorrow. The big family dinner here at home isn’t until Sunday, as is tradition.”

“I’m the one responsible for the reservation and relaying all instructions to the staff.”

They were already prepared to dine at the most exclusive Italian restaurant in the city. All of us. Including Abigail. Including Eva and her wife Nadia, who would put in appearances for dinners but otherwise made it clear she was spending as little time around Isabella as possible. Monica didn’t blame her but wished for more camaraderie with one of her sisters-in-law. Nadia’s good for having a level head that understands the non-wealthy life. Not so much for dealing with Isabella and Gerald. If they were still having children in the future, though… Nadia would have to learn many of the same hard lessons that Monica had.

Especially since Monica knew where the paternal DNA was coming from.

“What?”

Henry asked.

“Hmph. Just thinking about your future children, and how that gives your mother the ‘right’ to rule their lives too.”

He furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Eva’s future kids. Have you already forgotten?”

“No… just confused as to why you’re bringing that up right now. What is on your mind, Princess? Know something about my sister’s imminent plans that I don’t?”

Monica absentmindedly turned a page, her reading glasses slipping down her nose.

“You don’t want to know.”

She sighed.

“What’s on my mind, I mean. I have no idea what Eva and Nadia are up to.”

“That can’t be true. You know everything going on in this house.”

Henry pushed his face closer.

“Every affair between the staff, every intimate conversation between my sister and her wife, and every step my mother takes.”

A calculating smile curled on Monica’s face.

“That I do.”

Nothing got by Monica. Nothing happened in her house without her knowing about it first. She read minds at the Chateau, and she read minds among her extended family.

Which was why she knew what her husband was thinking about now.

“Not tonight,”

she said, her safe word on the tip of her tongue if it came to it.

“Between my period and your mother’s sudden appearance, it’s going to be a long week, Henry.”

He flopped back into the bed, the covers rustling around his half-naked body.

“Don’t I know it.”

Sleep settled over him in the next ten minutes. Monica continued to stare at the words in her book without comprehending them. Her mind was nothing but anticipating her mother-in-law’s next move.