Rendered (The Cass Chronicles Book 3)

by Susannah Shannon

  Note to self, thought Cass, Spanx offer no protection from spanks

  …off and helped her step out of her clothes. Matter of factly, he reached for the pillows at the head of the bed, and pressed his wife's shoulders over them.

  She lay wearing nothing but a bra; she had no idea when she had lost her shoes. Her bottom throbbed and burned. She’d never been spanked so hard. Killian’s footsteps faded. He was pacing, livid. She was frustrated and angry. Usually, she would feel herself crest over an inner obstacle and then begin to see Killian’s point. She was nowhere near that. Killian paused at the door of their bedroom and she heard his sharp intake of breath.

  “Oh fuck,” he said. She was dying to twist herself around and demand to know “Oh fuck, what?” She could hear him in the kitchen, pawing through the freezer. He returned to the bedroom, holding two Ziploc bags of ice. He reached into the closet and withdrew one of his tee shirts, he slid the ice into the shirt and balanced the whole thing precariously on her upturned ass. He sat beside her and gave a long deep sigh. “I didn't mean to bruise you so much.” He buried his head in his hands. “I am really sorry.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said, trying to reassure him. If anything, the cold was bringing her aching backside into stark relief.

  “It doesn't matter,” she continued.

  He lay his hand on the small of her back. “I didn't know how lethal that brush could be.”

  Cass propped herself up on her elbows. “Honey, quit worrying about that—it’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay with ME!” her husband roared. “Or does that not even factor into the equation?”

  She was hurt. How could he even say that? Stung, she responded with a curt tone, “You know, we never agreed that I would obey you all the time.”

  He stood up and began to pace around their miniscule bedroom. “Okay, good point, so how exactly does sneaking around to confront your ex-fiancé, who is quite likely a sociopath, by yourself, play into ‘love, honor and cherish?’ Because I could have sworn that’s what we both said.”

  She wished she had some sort of reasonable reply. She didn’t. Lamely she reminded him, “I wasn't alone. I told you Jen and Mimi were there.”

  This only stoked his outrage. “Oh absolutely, let’s take a post partum female lawyer and a pregnant former model to confront a man who openly despises all women—nothing could possibly go wrong there.”

  She buried her face in her hands. There it was. He was right. He dropped himself onto the bed and rubbed her lower back. “Look, babe, I can live with a lot of things. I can live with being in Chicago, when my friends and family are all in Slick Trench. I will even get used to just being ‘that scroungy guy with the wife who is on TV.’ I can live with the museum’s budget making it impossible for my position to be full time.”

  “Is that what your meeting was about today?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I’ll find something else, don't worry.”

  “Oh, honey, I am not worried. I am sure you’ll find something else.”

  “Listen, I can live with all of that, but if anything ever happened to you, it would kill me.”

  Tears rose unbidden behind her eyelids. “I am sorry, honey,” she said, sniffling.

  She was without question the most bruised she had ever been after a spanking. She shot hateful glances at the bath brush each time she got up to pee during the night. She’d had a sting-y, hot red bottom before, but never like this. She considered rifling through her purse to see if she might have a Vicodin left from the last time she’d had a root canal. She decided to play it honest and true and pay the piper with her throbbing ass. The truth was rather stark. She hadn't told Killian because he would never have let her do it. And she had needed to. In general, a tit for tat dynamic was poisonous in a marriage that involved domestic discipline. She didn't want to start negotiating within herself by thinking, so, how sore of a butt is this worth to me? every time something questionable popped up. The good news was that they didn't need to get it exactly right every time. They were married to stay. Bath brushes would come and go, she would put her trust in gravity.

  She was stiff when she woke up. She stretched and arched her back. Looking at her sleeping husband, the soreness of her bottom migrated and morphed into desire. She leaned over him, kissing his neck. It was his favorite way to be woken up and he responded as she knew he would. Her hands roamed over his warm body. “Good morning, baby,” he whispered. She straddled him and guided his already stiff cock deep inside her. She gasped when her sore bottom pressed against his hips and then she ground down taking every inch of him and feeling claimed in every possible way. Killian sat up and wrapped his arms around her. He rocked her as she exploded deep inside of herself, whispering, “I love you, I love you,” over and over. They took a shower together and Killian’s hands gently explored the sore spots on the vulnerable curve of her ass. Pain blurred with pleasure.

  She slipped into some yoga pants and a tee shirt to head over and supervise the last minute wedding preparations. The Slick Trench contingent would all be there. It would allow them to see a wedding taking place at the mansion and give them a bit more time together. Killian carried his suit and her dress in a garment bag to the car. He opened the car door for her and she slid in, kissing him on her way.

  Chapter Eighteen – Wedding Bells

  Cass took a quick look at Made to Reign as Killian drove them to Mercy’s Folly. No sneaking. Not surprisingly there was no mention of his drubbing at the hands of the “hard nine” gestating Mimi. Aislin was in her element in the kitchen; she didn't need any help. Cass helped herself to a crisp apple slice and took an appreciative sniff of the pumpkin soup. A sous chef handed her a cube of bread and she gave it a dunk into the rich orange soup. “Oh my God, that is so freaking good!” Cass enthused. She grabbed a cup of coffee and moved from room to room feasting her eye on the flowers. The cakes that were the centerpiece of each table were placed on different glass cake stands and adorned liberally with yellow roses and white heather. The mantles were festooned with garlands of roses and Scottish thistles that had been spray painted dark silver. Fires were waiting to be lit and the heady scent of beeswax wafted. She dimmed the lights to get an idea of what the rooms would look like late in the afternoon. They gleamed with elegance. She paused to look more closely at the beautifully decorated tables. She was so glad they had gone with creamy linens and chargers that sported a wide pewter colored band. On top of each place setting was a large damask napkin tie. Individual salt and pepper shakers and deeply polished silverware ware laid in orderly rows around the perimeters of the round tables. They had almost gone with copper, and then had decided that pewter would blend better with the various tartans that would be filling the room soon enough. The few men that would not be wearing kilts—Sarah's father and brothers—would wear grey suits. Something in this wedding had to be neutral, she thought ruefully.

  The whiskey punch was chilling, the bottles of dry apple cider stood like soldiers in the fridge waiting their big moment. Perfect.

  She did a quick check that no one needed her for anything and then she and Killian headed to the church. They were barely in the car when Killian admitted, “I'm freaking starving. Do we have time for a burger?”

  Why yes, they did. There would be a gourmet meal later, but they were hungry now. They finished their drive-through burgers in the church parking lot and then headed into the church where she would be transformed into someone who could appear on television. She was zipped into her dress, her hair was coiled into numerous smoking hot rollers and she was doing her damnedest to keep her eyelids relaxed for the ease of the make-up artist artist when she realized with a start that the other women in the room were all speaking to her. She directed her attention at the phone that the hairdresser was holding in front of her. A video of Stephen getting the stuffing knocked out of him was running across the minute screen. “Who put that there?” she asked.

  “Who knows? But you’ve gone viral.”

/>   Cass hadn't exactly gone viral. Her role in the clip included standing to one side while Mimi turned Ahab into a human pretzel. She excused herself to go find Tabby. Tabby was pacing in a long narrow hallway that featured shelves of books, candle sticks, and vestments. Her phone was in her hand. “I agree, yes, a different direction is just what we need.”

  Cass guessed that her KPIs had simply not made up for the fact that she had made a fool of herself in her first TV performance, sworn on a radio show, and gotten their wedding reception picketed by men's rights activists. She was sad. She was. She would put a good face on it, but she had hoped that she would do a good job. She wedged herself between two bookshelves, pressing her back into the velvet drapes. She wasn't ready to face Tabby with what she knew. The silver lining, and it was a big one, wide as the metallic rings on those charger plates, was that they would return home. Killian would not need to look for another project. Any hope Cass had of keeping her interloping a secret was shattered when her elbow knocked a pile of hymnals off of the shelf.

  “What are you doing?” the hipster homunculus asked.

  “Oh, just, erm. I’m such a klutz,” Cass sputtered as if it were perfectly normal to be slinking around in some sort of churchy closet. “Ahem, I wanted to let you know about a video.”

  “The jackass who called the mom-to-be stupid standing in our studio?”

  “That would be the one.”

  Cass braced herself for the response that she both dreaded and knew she wouldn't understand. Tabby merely said, “The fucker deserved it.”

  And that, thought Cass, is my wedding miracle. She did think it a little phony of Tabby to not say anything to her, and yet she was probably not wanting to upset her host immediately prior to the wedding. Killian looked dapper in his suit and tie. He was sharing a hip flask with a bevy of kilted manly men. “Hi, babe,” he said when he saw her.

  He leaned close to kiss her and she whispered, “I am totally buying you a kilt. Totally.”

  He laughed. “A kilt? I'm a Viking, princess. We conquered the celts and took their women home with us to Scandinavia—genetic coding has proven it.”

  She grinned. “Well, that's because one of those Vikings must have tried on a kilt and all the Irish women took one look and jumped into their boats and refused to get off. Trust me on that.”

  He squeezed her bottom possessively. “The easy access would be nice.”

  She admired the array of tartans. Other than being unbelievably sexy, they really didn't clash as much as she had feared they would. The ring bearer had on a miniature kilt just like his uncle, the groom’s. The adorableness was practically palpable. Put one more in the win column, she thought.

  She stopped by the room where the women were getting ready. Although they had decided to dress the bridesmaids in the same dresses, Sarah had wanted them to have a bit of individuality. Sarah had chosen different floral headpieces for them. Her sister had an amazing twist of tiny yellow roses that coiled down her long French braid. Another woman, Cass could kick herself for her inability to remember people's names, had a delicate wreath of heather that gently circled her stylish pixie cut. Sarah and the florist had done an amazing job of picking something beautiful for each of the women. There were three flower girls in pale yellow silky dresses with a large satin bow at their waists. They had dark grey satin ballet slippers and the florist had done a stellar job with their hair pieces as well. The tiniest one, whose name Cass remembered since it was Hattie, and that had to be the single most adorable thing she'd ever heard in her entire life, who wasn't even two yet—instead of the standard too heavy wreath of flowers circling her head like an untrimmed topiary, they had made tiny little rosebud clips that adorned her curly pigtails. The bride's mother graciously kissed Cass and thanked her for everything. “It was my pleasure,” she responded honestly.

  Cass was struck with the warmth of her feeling for the bride. Sarah looked lovely. The gown she had chosen had a lace bodice and a full skirt. She wore a crown of yellow roses and white heather atop a filmy veil. She looked like a strong, smart, princess. “Do you need anything?” she asked. Sarah shook her head, “Nope, I feel awesome.”

  “You look awesome—actually, you are awesome.” They squeezed hands as Cass hurried into the cathedral to sit down right before the processional started. The music swelled. They stood for the bride and Killian whispered, “Second prettiest bride from Chicago I’ve ever seen.” She squeezed his hand.

  “I am a fucking genius for marrying you,” she whispered. She watched the ceremony, moved by the vows. Two smart successful people promised to be a bulwark for each other, to encourage, to cherish and to enjoy each other for all of the remaining days of their lives.

  She did not know exactly how things would sort out, she would tell Killian that they were returning to Slick Trench later. She did know that her husband was right, their love was like gravity. Non-negotiable, maybe even beyond understanding.

  The food was delicious; Aislin had done an amazing job. The band had the dance floor full from the very first note they had played. Hazel was teaching the flower girls the electric slide. She was a shockingly good disco dancer. Lloyd, Killian and Torsten were happily chatting over bottles of beer. They seemed to have resolved any hard feelings about the proposed changes to the lodge. Of course, Killian didn't know it yet, but they would be there to help with the renovations. She shook herself out of her reverie and moved in front of the camera. Cass stood in the grand hallway and gave what she now realized was her last monologue for the White Gown Network. She mentioned that the web site would include all the necessary links. With a hitch in her voice, she sincerely thanked Sarah and Connor for allowing them to be part of their big day. She thanked the audience, reminding them to keep their own lives delicious. She was on her way to rejoin Killian at the table when Tabby tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Oh, hi,” Cass said, rather flatly. She didn’t feel like pretending that she didn’t know what she knew.

  Tabby didn’t notice. “Next time we’ll have you tape your segment before the wedding. I didn’t know you were such a softie.”

  Cass felt the tears about to spill out of her perfectly made up eyes. “Yes, I am. It’s just that—what?”

  “What do you mean what?” Tabby responded.

  “Listen, I heard you in the vestibule.”

  Tabby still didn’t seem surprised. “Well, yeah. I know. Every non-deaf person in the tri state area knows that.”

  “So I know there won’t be a next time.”

  Tabby raised an eyebrow quizzically. “So, it’s a deal breaker?”

  It had to be the very first time that Tabby had used a term that Cass recognized. She snorted, “Well, yes—my being fired for being a lunatic is sort of a deal breaker.”

  “Who is firing you?”

  “You aren’t firing me?”

  “Of course not.” Seeing Cass’s skeptical eyebrow, she continued, “Above board—I swear. Top down, we’re in alignment on this!”

  “Tabby, I do not have an MBA from Ivy-Hipster-League-University.” That was a ludicrously clunky sentence, she thought to herself, “narrative was way overladen.” It was contagious, apparently.

  Tabby held her hands up. “We like you and you rock!”

  “Oh. Well, great.”

  “Yes, it’s great. We don’t doubt you could succeed here—your idea of doing one wedding in an in-depth way was a great one. People want you in Alaska though. So we were thinking we’d follow the planning of several destination weddings—in your lodge, is that okay?”

  “Let me check with Killian.” She had learned the hard way that making a unilateral decision could have extremely adverse consequences for her backside. “But I think it will be more than okay.”

  She whispered it into his ear, noticing the strong set of his sexy shoulders as she leaned over him. His response was an immediate, “Sweet!” accompanied by a fist pump. They both cringed when they realized that they had interrupted a toast. Sarah a
nd Connor motioned them to stand up.

  “We can never thank you enough. Not just for the perfect wedding, but for becoming my good friend.”

  “Right back at ya,” Cass said with heartfelt feeling.

  * * *

  The final episode of the first season of Cass Plans a Wedding hit record numbers. The show had done well overall, but the media storm had caused totally unexpected levels of viewers to tune in for the finale. Aislin and Curtis joined Cass and Killian in their apartment to watch it. They all agreed it was a triumph. Cass swirled her red wine around in her mouth, savoring every note. Aislin happily exclaimed that they were now booked solid for the foreseeable future. The only down note was that the yoga instructor they had hired suddenly wanted a higher salary.

  “How much does a resort pay a yoga instructor?”

  “Well, not much! We had an agreement with this guy; he was going to live in one of the apartments as part of his salary. We’ll just have to find someone and work around their schedule.”

  Cass felt a sunrise in the vicinity of her collar bone. “Did you mean what you said about doing anything for me?”