"I'm sorry!" Lauren gasped, "I don't- I don't know what made me ask that I'm sorry I don't want to know and I apologize for asking and-"
He gave her a quick, brisk shake that nearly separated her head from her body. "What does that have to do with this morning?"
Shrugging while she tried to force her trembling mouth to form words again, his young wife finally forced out, "You sh-shot Frank and said you would kill me and I knew that women- Harding of the Berkshire Harding’s-" here, Lauren gave a hysterical little giggle and mumbled, "I've never heard someone say something so stupid, outside of the movies."
Sighing impatiently, Thomas filled a glass with water and sat down on the same chair where he'd spanked her the other day. Lauren dug in her heels as he pulled her towards his lap. Not another spanking! She moaned internally and shook her head.
"This isn't punitive," he said impatiently, "come sit down before you faint or say anything else so deeply foolish."
That worked, pissing her off made Lauren's shaking disappear as her eyes narrowed, but she perched bitterly on his knee and took the glass of water.
"Drink it." The expression on his beautiful face told her Thomas was losing his granite hold on his self-control and she hastily did as he told her. "Now," his gaze was polar blue again and Lauren sat very still. "You have some idea of what you have married into. I corrected you rather harshly when you mentioned the Bratva out in public-something that will never happen again, will it darling?" Thomas paused and gazed at her coldly until his bride nodded in a jerking fashion, like a marionette. "Today you showed the wisdom and restraint of not saying anything until we returned home, which is very good."
Briefly, Lauren hated herself as she felt a sudden surge of warmth at his praise.
Thomas's hold around her waist loosened a bit and his thumb began stroking the strip of skin visible between her tank top and shorts. "I do not kill people for being annoying, or half the population of London would be dead by now." Her wide, horrified eyes told him that Lauren did not appreciate his little joke. "In fact, I very rarely take a life, or order someone else to do it. I would make every possible effort to avoid it." The slight hope she felt was abruptly crushed by his cool, indifferent tone. "It is messy. These events require a great deal of... cleaning up and backtracking."
Lauren simply stared at his beautiful, indifferent face. Her unspeakable husband avoided murder simply because it was inconvenient?
"It's too late to pretend that you've married a man who simply goes to the office every day and attends to stocks and bonds- though you would be surprised how much more of my time is taken by financial dealings than anything else. But you will never be involved in anything so... serious. There are secrets you're required to carry for the rest of your life." Thomas watched as her huge purple eyes filled with tears, "I am sorry. But your silence and your obedience keep you safe. Your father alive. And because you're a smart girl, your friends like Macie-" Horrified, Lauren tried to pull away from him again, but he tightened his grip until she was still. "-like Macie will never know a thing. There is a reason The Corporation wives spend quite a bit of time together, because no one else can understand your position." Thomas watched her closely as his bride turned her face away from him. "You did the right thing by pushing Macie away," he added gently.
She finally seemed to collect herself and looked back at him, studying the translucent blue of his eyes in the morning sun coming through the window, his dark hair and sharply defined cheekbones and jaw. How strong his hands were, holding her down. The feel of his muscled thighs under her own.
"You're a monster," Lauren said tonelessly, and simply stared at Thomas until his hands loosened and he let her rise from his lap.
She was alone in Thomas's beautiful house after he left for The Corporation's offices without speaking to her again. A look out the front window showed that Chuck was waiting patiently at the curb. Lauren was grateful that she had a rehearsal for the season debut in a couple of weeks and just needed to burn off a couple of hours before it was time to leave. She'd already practiced, worked out, cleaned the huge kitchen of her insignificant mess from lunch, and now... absently wiping her sweaty hands on her jeans (Thomas wasn't home and she'd damn well wear jeans if she wanted to- until, you know, he was home, and stuff...) Lauren was standing in front of his office door. Her new husband had given her a brisk (and short) tour of the home, calmly explaining that any room with a locked door was logically not meant to be entered by her. This included the room on the second floor that he referred to as his office, and the room next to their bedroom on the third. She'd been happy to see the beautifully remodeled home had a third-floor laundry room which meant she didn't have to enter the basement, which she found creepy. Along with walking her through the suspiciously elaborate security system which looked closer to something Buckingham Palace might require, Williams introduced her to the Panic Room, "Once the locks are set, darling they do not open for twelve hours" the alarm button in each room that went directly to The Corporation security, and incongruously, the lovely butler's pantry off the kitchen that was filled with endless amounts of sweets of every kind and a rather impressive wine selection.
Damn him,Lauren had thought bitterly, "my two biggest weaknesses!
But here she was, in front of The Room She Was Not To Enter, and of course, dying to do so. What would he have? Knives and guns in the desk drawers? A wall full of spikes and swords? A live leopard, like the pets some of the Colombian drug lords thought made them look terrifying? Reaching out one hand, she tried the door handle. You never knew. Thomas might have forgotten to lock it. But the solid oak door didn't even more under her determined rattle, so Lauren sighed and got on her knees, laying her head down on the polished floor to look under the door. Other than the nicely polished legs of some chairs and an expansive desk, she could see nothing, so she crossly sat up, leaning against the door and drawing up her knees to rest her arms on them, thinking. Which was the sight Thomas viewed on his home security camera as he sat in a board meeting, looking at his iPad and keeping a smile from creeping across his face.
He knew his Lauren would not be quelled for long. Settling back and listening to Number One drone, he thought back to the only other locked room in his house, next to their bedroom. Perhaps he would accidentally leave that door unlocked. He was looking forward to seeing her expression when she openedthatdoor.
Lauren was grateful when it came time to put her cello in its case and head out the door to rehearsal. Thomas had made it immediately clear that her new bodyguard would be driving her everywhere. "For your security, darling." When she'd glared at him, he'd chuckled infuriatingly as he stroked her cheek. "You're new to London, you wouldn't want to be lost or in an emergency without assistance, would you?"
Translate that to-'I intend to keep an eye on you every goddamned second of the day,'Lauren thought bitterly as she hauled her gigantic instrument out the front door and suddenly into the capable hands of Chuck.
"Let me get that for you, Miss Lauren," he assured blandly, easily swinging the heavy instrument in one hand as he opened the car door with the other.
Being back into the crowd of musicians laughing, chatting, and catching up made Lauren feel - for the first time since that terrible night in Thomas's office - that her life was normal again. Laughing and nodding as she listened to one of the violinist's memories of his trip to Greece with his wife and children, she stiffened when she heard Macie's pretty laugh from across the room. When Lauren's friend turned to see her staring with a faint, hopeful smile, her own dropped and Macie turned away. Then reality came back like a slap in the face, and the new Mrs. Williams numbly found her seat and began tuning her cello.
The misery of her dearest friend's dismissal ate steadily away at Lauren during the rehearsal, forcing her to pay closer attention. In the past, she could always lose herself in the music, no matter what concerns or worries nagged at her in real life. But the cyclic feelings of loss, fear, fury, and frustration grew until she was a veritable cyclone of emotion by the end of the rehearsal. So, when she checked her phone and there was a message from Number One's wife informing her The Corporation men would be late in a meeting that night and would Lauren like to join her for a drink? Lauren was happy to type back,“Yes! When and where?”
"So..." Arabella waited until their obviously flirty waiter left their table before she leaned in, cradling her cocktail between her hands. "How are you? How is it going? Are you..." her shrewd brown eyes roved over Lauren's face, "is everything, you know, all right between you two?"
Delaying as she took an appreciative sip of the cocktail Arabella ordered for her - a Sritangtini? - the girl tried to decide what to say. She'd paid the price for trusting people who were nice to her in the past, and she still didn't know what Arabella's motivations were.
Finally forcing a smile, Lauren looked up and shrugged. "Well. It's all going well. I mean, all things considered, it's going well, and so..." she died off, having run out of anything she felt comfortable saying.
The older woman laughed, her head thrown back and looking very lovely, proven by the several admiring stares of the men around them. In fact, Lauren thought the selection of the Connaught Bar was a little surprising. It was beautiful, elegant, very "old-school" London, but they seemed to be the only women in a sea of expensively suited men relaxing after a long day of fucking each other over in the business world. Even Chuck had raised one discreet brow as he'd seated himself a couple of tables away, giving them their privacy.
"I know, dearie. It's difficult to say anything, especially in public." Arabella took another swig of her cocktail and raised a hand to their waiter for another.
"Oh, I don't-" Lauren tried to protest when his white-gloved hand placed another full glass next to her half-finished one.
"Live a little!" her friend gently urged her glass to her lips, "It is delicious, right? And you look like you could use some girl talk."
Idly twisting the glass in her fingers, Lauren chuckled humorlessly. "Thomas said-" she was looking at the glass and at not Arabella, not seeing the woman lean forward avidly. "He said that's why Corporation wives hang out together so much because no one else can understand our position."
