When Christine awoke the next day, Harold was already gone. He left a note. ‘Call me if you need anything.’ She assumed he was at work- that was pretty much all he seemed to do. She wondered whether he was annoyed by the fact that he had to take time off to get married, whether she was an inconvenience to him. He had been polite – nothing but polite – but that didn’t mean he didn’t consider her an annoyance.
She ought to get up, she had to… actually, she had nothing to do. At all.
Christine lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling. She didn’t even hear him come home last night, though she had been tired and went to bed at ten. But still – ten was late for him to be out and at work, especially for a Sunday. If he was at work… Yes, he could have been anywhere and she wouldn’t have a clue. He could have been with a mistress or a girlfriend and she wouldn’t know. Not a happy thought.
Her phone started vibrating and for a second she wondered if her husband was calling her. She almost hoped he was, to ease the nauseous feeling in her stomach. But of course, it was her mother, a friendly voice Christine was grateful for in that moment.
They said their hellos and Christine asked after her family.
“Where are you right now, sweetie?” asked her mother.
Christine stared around at the vast, white room. “Actually, I’m still in bed – in my new home.”
Her home. Her huge, cold, white, husbandless home. The words tasted bad on her tongue.
“Oh!” Her mother fluttered on the other end of the phone. “Harold is not there is he?”
“No, he left before I woke up.” Perhaps he was avoiding her.
“Are you… physical?”
“Am I what?” She hadn’t done any exercise that morning.
Her mother sighed in dismay. “Is Harold performing his… manly duties?”
“What, like opening doors and stuff?”
“No! Goodness, Christy!” she exclaimed. “I meant are you two having S-E-X?!”
“Mother!” Her cheeks flamed. Undoubtedly her mother knew she wasn’t a virgin, but that was as much detail as she should know on that matter.
“Well, I tried to be subtle. I wanted to talk to you about this yesterday but I couldn’t in front of your father. He’d hit the roof if I mentioned you having S–E-X. He already has it in his head that Harold is ravaging his virginal little daughter against her will.”
Nope, no ravaging - just some very enjoyable sex. But since then he had barely been near her in over a day. More’s the pity thought an inner voice best left unheard.
“Mom, we’ve… we’ve consummated the marriage.” Goodness that was hard to admit to her mother.
“It wasn’t… was it…”
Her hackles rose. What was her mother suggesting of Harold?
“It was fine, Mom.” Better than fine. “Look, I have to go… ah… unpack.”
She didn’t, but she definitely didn’t want to be in earshot of anymore of this conversation.
They said their goodbyes, told each other they already missed the other and promised to talk soon.
Christine took a quick shower and tried to forget about the conversation with her mother. She pulled on some sweats and dragged her hair into a loose bun before venturing down to the kitchen for some breakfast.
She scented something was off a couple of seconds before she ran smack dab into a middle-aged wolf shifter.
“Crap on a cracker!” Christine exclaimed as she came face to face with a female wearing a pink, frilly apron.
The female wasn’t half as shocked. The woman beamed. “You must be the new Mrs. Buchanan,” she gushed, grasping one of Christine’s hands. “We weren’t introduced at the wedding, but I’m Esther, your housekeeper.”
“Housekeeper?”
Since when? Harold didn’t say squat about any housekeeper! Was this his way of telling her? Scaring the living daylights out of her?
Esther didn’t seem to think anything was amiss in Christine’s reaction. “Yes, I’ve worked for Mr. Buchanan for a year now. I make sure the household bills are paid. I do his cooking and I freeze his meals. I do the shopping and the laundry and supervise the cleaning. When Mr. Buchanan lived in the apartment I used to do the cleaning myself, but this house is a little large.”
“Oh wow, that’s a lot – I actually kind of thought I would be doing some of those things.”
Esther beamed at her. “No need, that’s what I’m here for. Can I make you some breakfast? I can whip up practically anything,” said the chatty woman. “I always keep the kitchen well stocked. If there is anything you want food-wise just ask, or write it on the list on the fridge. I rarely ever see Mr. Buchanan – given his working hours - which is why I started putting the list on the fridge. Like I say, I tend to make Mr. Buchanan’s meals in advance and freeze them so if there are any you would like me to make, just let me know.”
“Umm, thanks, but I’m happy to cook for myself and Harold. Shouldn’t I be doing any of the household stuff?”
Esther patted her hand. “I’m sure you’ve got much more important things to do.”
“Right.”
She just had no idea what.
*
Harold reread the sentence for the third time, but it still didn’t sink in. Damnit! He had to know this damn contract inside out for his next meeting that was in – gah – ten minutes. But, he couldn’t concentrate. All he could think about was Christine.
She was in a strange house, in a strange city and her strange husband had just left her to it. He regretted that they hadn’t seen each other in over a day now. Not the best start to their marriage, though perhaps she would have to get used to it. He worked long hours, and he had no intention to change that. He had a lot of responsibilities to his pack mates, and one day he would be the alpha. He took that seriously, and his wife would have to understand that.
He thought that, but it didn’t ease his worry over Christine. She had looked mildly disappointed when he left her yesterday and that both bothered and pleased him. Disappointment was better than her being relieved to see the back of him. He remembered her sweet smile, the tiny dimple in her left cheek, the way she cried out and bit her lip as she climaxed in his arms…
Harold grabbed his phone and called home. He wanted to speak to her, wanted… oh, he knew what he wanted at that moment.
His ardor dipped a little when Esther answered.
“Esther, put my wife on the phone,” he growled, not bothering with any formalities.
“Oh, Mr. Buchanan, it’s you!” exclaimed the chatty housekeeper. It was not a quality he cared for in a person, but thankfully, he mostly communicated with her through notes and texts messages. He could tolerate her in writing.
“My wife,” he said tapping his fingers on his desk.
“I’m afraid she isn’t here.”
He tensed, fearing for a moment she had left him – already.
“Your mother came by and took her out for lunch.”
“Thank you,” he muttered and hung up quickly before Esther could add anything else.
His desire was now thoroughly wilted. He didn’t want Christine to be alone, but he wasn’t sure he wanted her spending too much time with his mother. The last thing he wanted was for his wife to turn into a clone of her.
*
Christine self-consciously picked at the fraying hem of her denim jacket. Dress casually Marguerite had said. Sure. Christine was the only one in a mini skirt, sneakers and a denim jacket. Everyone else looked like they were posing for a preppy photo shoot. The country club was very much an array of boat shoes, sweaters tied around shoulders, polo necks, and chinos. She looked like she’d got lost trying to find a protest rally.
On the plus side, the club was nice. The food was amazing, the service was excellent, and they had a very large pool of which Christine would definitely be getting better acquainted with. On the downside, she had to deal with Marguerite’s snooty friends.
She could tell they weren’t overly impressed by her; particularly as they kept pretending not to be able to understand her accent. It was not that thick!
The other women were downing bloody Marys like the world was about to end, but Christine stuck to water.
The women complained about their husbands. One of them apparently didn’t want to vacation in the Caribbean. Another was annoyed that hers refused to allow her to buy a painting she wanted – it was only five hundred thousand dollars – imagine that!
Christine didn’t take a turn with complaining. She didn’t have much to complain about other than not seeing her new husband much. She really didn’t know him well enough to complain.
Marguerite didn’t say much about Harold Sr. – she was mostly quiet, but Christine put that down to the fact that she spent her time eye-fondling the tennis instructor from across the room. Lars was talking a male member of the club, but he had time to return her flirty glances, and when he caught Christine’s eye, he winked in a way that could only be described as suggestive.
She quickly looked away and focused on her salad, trying to ignore the whining women.
“Christy!”
She looked up to see Harold’s brother making his way to her. He was suitably attired like the rest of the members of the club, but at least he didn’t have a sneer on his face.
“Jonathan,” cooed Marguerite.
He leaned down and kissed his mother’s cheek before pulling up a chair next to Christy. He was a good-looking guy, and he was garnering a lot of looks from the females around the club. He shared similarities with Harold, though Jonathan was more conventionally handsome, his face less hard and more appealing. She had an uneasy feeling even as she thought it; she felt disloyal to her husband. Though given the flirty looks the other women were giving various sports instructors and wait staff, she wasn’t the most disloyal wife around there.
Jonathan waggled his eyebrows and gave her a smoldering look. “How are you, Christy? How is married life?”
“Fine, thank you,” she replied politely.
“Old Harry keeping you happy?”
She opened her mouth, but thankfully, Marguerite snorted at her son and interrupted.
“Let’s go shopping tomorrow,” she said to Christine.
“I suppose we could,” Christine hedged.
Marguerite presented her with a credit card. “You’ll get a monthly stipend, though if you want to go over I’m sure Harold will allow it – and there are few stores in the city who wouldn’t extend credit for a Buchanan.” Marguerite named the amount of money she would be allowed each month without flinching.
Christine gaped. “Wow, that’s…” Literally, five times how much she was earning when she was working full time. Christine held the card in her hand and ran her finger over the bumpy name – Mrs. H. Buchanan. No longer C. Morrow. “I don’t really know if I need anything.”
“I’m sure you’ll want some new clothes.” Marguerite looked her up and down. “A new wardrobe. One day you’ll be the alpha’s mate, you need to look the part.”
“I don’t know,” said Christine stubbornly.
“How about some underwear to entice old Harry?” suggested Jonathan in a low tone so his mother wouldn’t hear.
Christine ignored him. “It’s a little sudden, all my stuff from Texas hasn’t turned up yet.”
“Well, there’s no harm in looking, I’ll pick you up at one.”
Christine considered arguing – she didn’t really want to go shopping with her. But by that point, Marguerite was already haranguing the waiter for being slow to bring her a martini.
Jonathan rolled his eyes and smirked.
“Okay,” muttered Christine. Well, it wasn’t like she had anything else to do.
*
By the time Christine got home, Esther was gone. The house was pristine, and there didn’t seem to be anything to do. Looking through the freezer, there were certainly lots of food options – meals and desserts to last them a month. Esther was certainly… efficient. That should be a good thing, but it just gave her the blues. Esther was doing things she assumed she would be doing. She hadn’t necessarily wanted to do them; she just thought she would be.
Feeling slightly petulant about Esther, Christine pulled out some ingredients to make some slow cooker chili for dinner. But as slow as it was, it was ready long before Harold came home. By eight, Christine was tired of waiting, tired of looking up as she heard every car pass.
She found the number he left for her and called.
“Harold Buchanan,” he barked into the phone, answering on the first ring.
“It’s Christy… your wife.” She added that in case he had forgotten her voice.
“Of course, Christine, is everything okay?” His tone was brisk and businesslike, and she had the feeling she was wasting his time.
“Fine.”
“Do you need anything?”
“Umm, I was just wondering what time you would be home?”
He paused. “I am not sure.”
“I made dinner,” she said weakly.
“You didn’t need to do that.”
“I wanted to.”
“Thank you, just keep it warm for me. Don’t wait to eat with me.”
“Sure.” That appeared to be the end of the conversation. “Ummm… well, bye, then.”
“Goodbye, Christine.”
He hung up, and a stab of loneliness hit her. Sigh.