The Glass House

by Bella Bryce

  "Did she play the protective best friend role?"

  "Absolutely, and then against my better judgement, I told Emma that she and the girls were going to be our bridesmaids. I wanted to wait until we set a wedding date and invite them to Barton-Court to tell them properly, but Elisabeth was more withdrawn today than I thought she would be. Emma was on her case the moment we arrived, and I thought it would ease some of the tension between them."

  "Do you think it's a good idea to let them be part of her life after the wedding?"

  "If Emma, Aggie and Lucy agree to dress properly when invited to Barton-Court, respect my rules and Elisabeth's role in our relationship, I see no reason why their friendship can't continue. It would do them all quite a bit of good to get out of those ridiculous trousers and improve their posture," Bennett raised an eyebrow.

  Brayden chuckled.

  "Emma reminds me of Damian, actually," Bennett said. "A little polishing and a good thrashing is all they really need." That was Bennett's opinion of everyone.

  "Is Damian still leaving for Berlin tomorrow?" Brayden asked, once he'd recovered from the amusement of his best friend's commentary.

  "He is."

  Bennett was beginning to learn just how thin his brother's words had become. He returned from Waldorf that evening to find a small ivory card with Damian's monogram in gold foil at the top, with his blue script crawling from left to right, explaining why he decided to return to Berlin a day early. Bennett hated his brother's blue pen; he didn't believe anyone should write in blue. It sat prominently on Bennett's desk for him to notice; which he did as soon as he walked in. Bennett shook his head. They were supposed to have dinner, seeing as though Damian wouldn't be back to England until the wedding. Regardless of the date still being considered, it would be months before they saw each other. He had clearly used Bennett's distraction with the funeral as an opportune moment to leave for the airport a day early. He hadn't even a shred of integrity to phone Bennett before going. Damian just scribbled his pathetic apologies on a card, in blue pen.

  Bennett tapped the card against his hand, then ripped it in half and tossed it into the bin. His patience for Damian had truly worn out. He doubted whether he even wanted his brother to return to England. Perhaps it was best if he just stayed away.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Evelyn opened her eyes gradually. She'd sensed sunlight taunting her eyelids, but it seemed hardly possible when every window in their master suite had blackout curtains and heavy drapery. Although, she couldn't recall the maids coming in to turn down the bed or close the curtains, or do any of their usual duties before the Fowlers retired – because they'd gone to the bedroom in the middle of the afternoon the day before. It was all starting to come back to her. She turned her head to the side, and her eyes widened; Jon Fowler lay next to her, half naked from the top up, the luxurious sheet covering from his naval downward. She could tell by the lump not far below that he was entirely natural, and it caused her to blush like a virgin bride. Evelyn couldn't remember the last time she made love to her husband, but it was long enough that seeing him without his shirt made her fidget. She certainly hadn't fidgeted the afternoon or evening before; she'd been far too busy following the sound of his voice.

  Evelyn found herself sitting quietly beside her husband at the head of the dining table an hour later, her shoulders inverted slightly as she glanced sideways at Jon. He was in one of his usual suits although he was wearing a waistcoat. That was Bennett's trademark, not Jonathan's.

  "The usual, Sir?" Willis asked, when he'd finished pouring tea for them both.

  "For me, yes, but Mrs. Fowler won't be having half a grapefruit."

  Evelyn was pulled out of her thoughts and swallowed her tea hard, then replaced the cup in its saucer before looking at Jon. The butler would have fainted if propriety and his job were of no concern.

  Willis' eyes didn't divert from Jonathan's. He was tempted to look at Evelyn and receive confirmation, but Jon was the breadwinner and payer of salaries, so he wasn't completely concerned with Evelyn's facial expression. Nonetheless, her face was intent.

  "See to it that Chef makes her a proper breakfast. I want to see protein, carbs and some fat on her plate, for heaven's sake. No fruit today."

  "Yes, Sir," Willis replied, and left them alone in the dining room.

  Evelyn stared back at him. If he hadn't taken her like the strangely authoritative man on fire he was the night before (and long into the early morning), she might have been tempted to slap him. Jonathan Fowler had never told her what to eat. He'd never taken her across his knee. He'd never satisfied her the way he had the night before. Something had changed to cause him to demand she report to the bedroom – because Evelyn often withheld intimacy as a means of evil and pathetic retaliation against him – and no amount of apologising had ever changed her mind. That was, until the day before.

  They had, indeed, made up for lost time. After he'd taken his frustration out on Evelyn in the study, he ordered her to their bedroom where he spoke softly in her ear. Jonathan undressed his wife; something she'd never previously allowed him to do. He held her close and told her quietly to submit to him, to let him do as he pleased. He told Evelyn she was beautiful and he wanted her. And he did. He had for so many years. They'd put their marriage down on the list of priorities. He sensually apologised in her ear for being absent, for putting work first, for neglecting her, and the boys. He also apologised for not taking her across his lap sooner. Jon told his wife that she had been a spoiled and selfish woman, but that he still loved her. The arousing sting of his words with regards to her behaviour was unexplainably tender that she couldn't be angry with him. Evelyn knew he was right, and she wanted more. She had always done whatever she wanted, and took advantage of their wealth and status to get whatever she wanted in their marriage. But Jonathan told her it was over. All of it. The old marriage was done. He told Evelyn that they had both been foolish for putting their children first, and he had been foolish for putting work first.

  "If we would have been committed to each other properly, if I had been committed to you properly instead of my work, the boys would have fallen into place beneath that."

  She'd sat quietly, stunned, as the words came out of her husband's mouth with conviction and purpose. Clearly, he had been reflecting for a very, very long time. Or, he'd suddenly realised and pursued the opportunity such as was presented the day before when Evelyn disregarded his request to give Bennett his space. Something had snapped.

  They hadn't gone to sleep until nearly 3 am, after repeatedly expressing their love and intimacy in their king-sized bed with the thick burgundy drapes pulled closed around them. Evelyn had cried. She'd waited a long time not only to hear those words, but to feel them.

  "Jon," she began, in timid protest.

  "Your usual diet is akin to bird food, and you'll not avoid osteoporosis if you keep up that diet, especially at this age."

  Evelyn had, rather shockingly, barely argued in the last twenty hours, but food was off limits. She was also pretty worried about crossing Jonathan. She was sore, tired, a little ashamed, and yet still turned on – if not overwhelmed.

  "Jon," she repeated, although her voice was submissive, as it had been since the night before when he spanked her (and shocked the hell out of her in doing so, too!)

  "Darling," he replied, factually.

  Evelyn could see that he wasn't backing down. His tone and posture were very confident.

  "I can't eat it."

  "I've not seen you eat a proper breakfast in years."

  "We both know why that is," Evelyn replied, quietly, as she brought her teacup to her mouth. The reason had been because of the stress of his absence and the pressure from her 'ladies circle'. He was well aware of that.

  Jonathan raised an eyebrow.

  "If you think the last fifteen hours was an isolated incident, you're mistaken," he said, staring back at her.

  Evelyn swallowed and replaced her teacup in the saucer.r />
  "If you think I'm going to - "

  "Perhaps you should just bite that tongue, Darling. I wouldn't want to embarrass you in front of the staff." He leaned forward over the formal place setting toward his wife and then pulled back to sit up straight. "Unless of course you want me to —" He raised an eyebrow.

  "Jon, please. Anything but meals," she tried again.

  "That's not how submission works, my love." He picked up the china cup.

  Evelyn raised an eyebrow but declined to push him. She had alternate means of getting rid of food she only ate for show or to please other people and although it wasn't her preferred method, it made it look like she was submitting when really she was satisfied with purging her breakfast and didn't need to react further.

  "We'll continue this conversation in the study after breakfast," Jonathan said, as Willis served their breakfast.

  Evelyn sincerely looked worried. She knew what that meant, even if such a threat had only been reserved for their sons until the day before, when it apparently began to apply to her. "You can't be serious," she managed, with a short, but serious laugh.

  "I assure you I can. As I've said repeatedly over the last several hours, we have a lot of making up to do." He nodded at the eggs, toast, sausages, bacon and fried tomato arranged tidily on the plate in front of her. "And I expect you to eat it all."

  Evelyn's heart was pounding. Her stomach was pounding. Even her thighs were pounding.

  "I haven't had bacon in years," she replied, quietly, as she picked up her cutlery.

  "You're going to need it," he glanced over at her. "The day has just begun, and there are a few other matters I need to discuss with you."

  Evelyn wasn't sure if she should get up and slap him, or snog him. Either way, she didn't argue. After a long, rather neglectful marriage thus far, he spanked her for clearly stated reasons, he apologised, he cried, they made love, he held her and they repeated it. She wasn't sure how transferable the last 24 hours would be into their everyday lifestyle, although it sounded like Jonathan truly meant for change to take place in every facet of their relationship.

  Evelyn thought back to the first meeting they had with Anabelle about the wedding, when she'd observed Elisabeth's rather annoyingly submissive nature toward Bennett. She recalled how it had stung to watch Elisabeth so willingly agree with Bennett. In fact, it was more like Bennett hadn't readily received her willingness, it had seemed as though he'd expected it. Regardless of how much she adored her future daughter-in-law, it hadn't been easy watching the two of them. Their love was obvious, even when their affections had been subtle. Everyone could see it.

  Elisabeth looked at Bennett adoringly, and he would protectively hold her hand or speak on her behalf. It had irritated Evelyn because she didn't want Elisabeth to be weak, although having been on the receiving end of what she imagined her son might implement in their relationship (although the thought wasn't easy to swallow), she realised it took a great deal of strength. It was far beyond weak to be humble enough to climb over her husband's lap when he'd told her to. It hadn't been weakness that helped her to stay at Greystone instead of packing a suitcase. It was strength that allowed her to dare to do as Jonathan told her, and it was strength that allowed her to like it. And she did. Evelyn liked it a lot. She'd been waiting and waiting, and waiting, for Jonathan to find a backbone and have it installed before she ran down their marriage; before she destroyed her body, or took over their son's lives. She wanted to be rescued from the anxiety she constantly felt about being in control; it was a true burden, and she couldn't have made herself stop.

  Jonathan had finally figured it out, and when he took that away from her for the first time the night before, it was nothing short of relief. Evelyn was still going to fight some of his leadership, because she didn't really believe it would stick around; she didn't see how he could manage it. She was sure that in a couple of days it would all 'blow over', and Jon would be back to working nights and weekends in his London office or in his study, still travelling abroad, and then giving in to whatever she wanted when he returned.

  Evelyn hoped with all of the hope in existence that Jonathan wasn't just putting on a brave face, and he truly meant what he said. She wasn't about to beg him to stay strong; she wanted to see it plain as day in his unwavering, heavy-handed palm. If he wanted that kind of relationship, Evelyn wanted proof it wasn't going to be a waste of time. He'd made a pretty serious and dramatic impression on her thus far.

  Breakfast began quietly and despite the anxiety Evelyn was hoarding about the last twenty-four hours, and the next twenty-four years, she felt a strange peace settle over her. The peace was subtle, yet almost tangible, like a ball she could squish in her hand to help release the tension in her mind. She glanced at Jonathan, and he looked back at her, then nodded toward her plate. Evelyn wanted to cry. She couldn't eat bacon. It was against her rules. Or sausage. Or black pudding. She would have screamed, or left the table or melted into a puddle of tears for the countless time in the last twenty-four hours, but even Jonathan's nod was stronger than any facial expression she'd seen from him in a long time.

  "All of it," he reinforced, with both eyebrows raised.

  Evelyn's chest grew warm, and the heat spread like wildfire. The fear she had about her breakfast didn't go away, but it lessened. She could feel strength in his order, the kind that would help her to do as he said even if she was frightened of stepping on the scales afterward.

  She cut a small piece of sausage and hesitated, then lowered her head a bit so her husband wouldn't see her close her eyes as she chewed. She would have been sick halfway through if she hadn't heard Jonathan's voice.

  "Good girl, keep chewing." He reached across the formal breakfast table and placed his hand on her forearm gently. "I'm here."

  Evelyn kept her eyes closed as she chewed. She felt the warm mass of his palm on her arm, the same hand that had been a large mass on her backside multiple times the day before. It felt comforting in that moment. When she finished chewing, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. He smiled at the corner of his mouth. Evelyn wasn't sure she would be able to carry on with the entire plate, not after that many years of rules and avoiding food. She could throw it up later if she panicked, but in that moment, she swallowed the portion in her mouth. Jonathan's very involved approach was one more piece of evidence proving he was serious about the whirlwind of the day, night and early morning they'd shared.

  The staff waiting at the table that morning couldn't help but widen their eyes. Evelyn Fowler didn't eat fried bread. Never. She didn't even like the word bread. She'd cut a small piece and hesitated. Tears filled her eyes but Jonathan reached across the table again and held her hand.

  She couldn't look at him. It tasted so wrong and so guilty – the fatty juice extracting from the closed crystals of the bread as it leaked onto her tongue. It was so wrongfully satisfying. She shook her head and wiped one eye quickly with her napkin.

  "Okay," Jon said, when he saw her reaction. The staff looked down so as not to embarrass her. "Okay Darling, that'll do for now."

  He nodded at the butler to take the plate away. He wasn't giving in, but he needed to show his wife a little grace. She'd been vulnerable in front of him and their staff, and that was proof enough that her pride had lessened, and she was trying. Evelyn's pride was her greatest struggle so for Jon to have seen it dwindle, even if just for a moment, was proof that his leading was breaking down walls.

  After breakfast, Jonathan led Evelyn back to his study and closed the door before nodding toward the sofa.

  "There?"

  "There," he confirmed.

  "Jon, are you going to—" she asked, as she kept her eyes on him whilst approaching the Chesterfield leather sofa.

  "Evelyn," he said, putting his arms behind his back.

  "Is that a new suit?"

  "You're adorable. Sofa. Now."

  Evelyn rolled her eyes.

  "Oh, I see, we think this is just a bit of messing ab
out, now, do we?" Jonathan chuckled.

  "No," she started.

  "Hmm. Try no, Sir."

  Evelyn's eyes widened. "Pardon?"

  "Pardon nothing, my darling. You heard me."

  "Aren't we too old for this?" she sounded exasperated.

  "I'm just getting started," he replied, standing so close that Evelyn could feel his displeasure. "Don't ask me questions. I want you over the arm of the sofa." He nodded toward it.

  Evelyn gulped and then slowly turned around and moved toward the arm of the sofa. She looked sideways at her husband.

  "Bend over it and put your hands on the cushion. I want you in the same position you made our sons take," he said, as he moved to stand behind her.

  That voice from Jonathan made her shiver. It truly made her wonder what on earth he was going to do.

  Jon looked at his wife, his beautiful wife, from behind and put his left hand around her waist and his right slowly lifted her dress. Evelyn couldn't believe he was at it again. Wasn't there a thirty-minute hold on rabbit-positions after eating? He bent down over the curve of her back as she leant forward in the 'caning' or 'belting' position, and got close to her ear. "How does it feel to be over the arm of the sofa?" he whispered.

  Evelyn bit her lip and looked at him in her peripheral vision. She knew exactly what he meant. Jonathan wanted Evelyn to feel juvenile and naughty as she bent over, and it didn't take much for her to get there. Whilst he had absolutely no issue with the methods by which they raised Bennett and Damian, he thoroughly enjoyed making Evelyn realise she was going to be subject to the same treatment.

  "When was the last time you spanked them?" he asked quietly, as he began to pull down Evelyn's transparent stockings.

  She gulped.

  "When?" he asked, giving her bottom a smack over her knickers as they stood practically as one being.

  She blinked. "A few months ago," she blurted out, half-looking over her shoulder. "Damian was late for luncheon."

  Jonathan pulled her knickers down and lifted her dress as he continued to speak into her ear. "That isn't your job anymore," he said, then pulled his hand back and smacked her hard. "He's a grown man."