The Replacement Wife: A Psychological Thriller

by Britney King

  He leaned back against the dresser and crossed his arms. “How many men have you been with?”

  “Excuse me?” I sat back on the bed and crossed my legs.

  “Your sexual history. If we are going to do this, I need to know.”

  “Whoa. Wait just a minute.” I held up my hands. “You’re very presumptuous, aren’t you?” It was a rhetorical question, so I didn’t stop there. “I only invited you for a drink. And, to learn more about your religion.”

  “I don’t drink,” he said. “I’m sure I mentioned that. In fact, I’m certain I did.”

  “So?”

  “So— we could have conversed down in the bar. So—unless, I’m mistaken, which this is your chance to clear that up, you invited me here for sex.”

  I leaned back, propping myself on my hands. His eyes drifted to my tits. No doubt about it, I told myself. This was happening. “How many women have you been with?” I apprised him carefully

  “Two.”

  “What? Seriously? No way.” I can see by looking at him that this could be true. Nevertheless, it astounds me.

  “Seriously.”

  “And men?”

  He gave me a look.

  “What? I have to ask. One should never make assumptions.”

  He offered a look of recognition. “You’re right about that. Now, answer the question.”

  “Same.”

  “You? Two partners.” He cocked his head like he was waiting for the punch line.

  “Yes. Me.” I feigned offense. “My parents are very religious. But my father had a lot of affairs. So I guess you could say I learned early not to throw that part of myself around freely.”

  “How early? You’re so young.”

  I laughed. “I’m twenty-two. That’s not that young.”

  He didn’t say anything. I don’t think he knew what to say.

  “Okay, maybe I’m a little young. But I know what I want when I see it.”

  “And what is it that you want?”

  “A little fun, a little distraction with someone I can trust.”

  “So, not much.”

  I acted like I was giving it some thought, when really, I had it all figured out. I knew I had to make myself Tom’s ideal. I had to create an illusion for him. I had to find out what was missing in his life and become that. Doing that for a person may not be love, but I wasn’t looking for love.

  Quite the opposite, actually.

  Love is common. But being someone’s ideal is rare in today’s world. It takes effort, and time, and most of all, patience. It requires attention to detail. Why go through all this when these days all you have to do to find a lover is swipe right?

  I’d been there and done that. I’d had my fun. And now, I wanted more.

  Tom had the means to be the more I was looking for. He had the means to fulfill those desires. Tom was a safe bet. Smart, boring. Looking to win, as was showcased in the meeting down in the bar. Basically, Tom was easy prey. But don’t get me wrong. The seduction started well before I got him up to my hotel room. In fact, it started down on the street. I looked for subtleties, and I found them. I made a point of reading what was said between the lines. “No,” I told him finally. “Not too much at all.”

  “Scottsdale? You thought Arizona was an ideal place for a honeymoon?”

  He shifted. “Have you been here before?”

  “No.”

  “Well then, you wouldn’t know, would you?”

  It’s familiar, though, this place. I remember my former sponsor, Josie, posted photos of a trip she took to Scottsdale not long before things went south for her. “What are we going to do here?”

  “Whatever you want?”

  He doesn’t actually mean whatever I want. But I intend to make him mean it.

  When we arrive at the hotel, the man unloading our bags makes a comment to our driver. “Could be his daughter…could be his whore,” he laughs. “Who’s to say?”

  Before I realize what’s happening, Tom has the guy pinned to the ground by his throat. “She’s my wife,” he says.

  “Tom,” I say. “Let go. His face is turning blue.”

  He isn’t looking at me and he doesn’t let go. “Apologize.”

  I’m afraid he is going to kill the guy. His lips are purple. “Tom,” I say. “You’re choking him.”

  My husband shakes his head slightly. “This is grappling. It’s a simple submission hold.”

  “Oh my God.” The dude’s eyes are bulging. “Tom, you have to let go.” I reach for his arm.

  “Right now, I have control,” he says. “But if he doesn’t apologize soon, he has approx— ”

  I remove my hand from my husband’s forearm. This is all very sexy.

  I hear the guy mutter something that sounds like an apology. Tom lets go.

  “Say it again,” he tells the guy. “Clearly, please.”

  “I’m sorry,” he stutters. I watch as he backs away, holding his neck and looking at Tom like he has lost his mind. “It was just a joke.”

  “Jokes can get a person killed,” Tom warns. It isn’t a threat exactly. But now I can see my husband is smart that way.

  As we stand in line to check in, Tom’s breathing finally returns to normal. “You know karate?”

  “Jujitsu.”

  My eyes widen. “Anything else I should know?”

  He doesn’t have to think about his answer. He leans forward and kisses my cheek. “I hope we can make this marriage work.” Afterward, he pulls away and meets my eye. “I really hate liars.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Tom

  Melanie thinks we’re here honeymooning. Someone should have told her, honeymoons aren’t supposed to be based on a bed of lies.

  What we’re really doing here is not honeymooning. It’s business. If I can keep Mark happy, and Melanie away from things that might put her in immediate danger, then I can work behind the scenes to carry out my plan. Part of that plan is saving my own ass. In the process, I have to make the determination of whether or not to keep my lovely bride around. You could say there’s something about a betrayal that leaves a bad taste in a person’s mouth. On the other hand, I have to say, while there are some kinks to be worked out, so far, so good. My wife is good entertainment if you’re looking for that sort of thing, and right now I could use a bit of levity in my life. Which is why I was pleased to receive confirmation from a mile high that all is nearly in working order. They really put her into shape. Where I thought things were perfect, they made them better.

  Nonetheless, I’m aware the ultimate warfare is the understanding that the moment one feels secure is the moment you have to change things up. God knows, aiming low is seductive.

  Personally, I aim high. Around the throat region, generally. That’s why I paid the guy to let me prove a point to Melanie. It still amazes me how far people are willing to go in pursuit of the almighty dollar. I could have killed that guy. It’s risky, to say the least, when the only thing standing between him living and dying was a few seconds and a little control on my part. Seems like a lot to risk for fifty bucks, if you ask me. But then, it’s a proven fact that once people make a decision or a commitment to something, they are likely to follow through for no other sake than they don't want to be seen as inconsistent. If compliance is what you’re looking for, it’s best to start small and build. Works like a charm. In this case, as soon as I got him to say yes to helping me impress a girl, I knew the rest was pretty much in the bag. The devil is in the detail. Who cares that I left out the part where I’d choke him into submission when it was only meant to be a shove? He’d already agreed to the deal.

  “Fancy a swim?” I ask Melanie after lunch.

  “I don’t swim.”

  That’s good to know. Drowning is the third leading cause of unintentional injury death worldwide, accounting for 7% of all injury-related deaths. “Fine,” I say. “You can lay out. I’ll swim.”

  We’ll start small and build.

  “Perfect,
” she quips. “I’ll bring the agreement. I’ve been reading up on it, and this will give me a chance to ask a few questions….”

  “What kind of questions?”

  She yawns loudly, and after a second or two, she holds a finger up. “First a nap.”

  While Melanie is sleeping I check my phone. I’d purposely left it in the room when we went to lunch, and I was pretty sure what I’d missed. Three calls from Mark. I step out of the room to call him back.

  He answers on the first ring. “How’s the honeymoon going?”

  “Very well.”

  “Good,” he says. There’s a pause. “Listen, I have a bad connection. I’ll ring you right back.”

  I don’t think much of it. Mark has always been suspicious of being recorded. He likes to be the one initiating calls. He thinks this matters.

  Three seconds later, he rings me back. “I have to ask…is there a reason you chose Scottsdale?”

  I hadn’t told him where we were going, but I’m not surprised by the question in the least. Mark knows everything. “It’s sunny here.”

  “So then it doesn’t have anything to do with the flagship location Grant Dunn had in the works?”

  “No,” I tell him “But while I’m in the area if you need—”

  “Do you know why Michael is dead, Tom?”

  His question catches me off guard. I don’t like to think about Michael’s death. But I never forget either. “I know speed was definitely a factor.”

  “Michael was a drunk, Tom.”

  “Yes,” I say. People like Mark need all the reassurance one can give. “I’m aware.”

  “Do you know how long we had been trying to rehabilitate your friend?”

  “No.” The truth is a fickle and vindictive mistress.

  “Ten months,” he tells me. “We gave him ten long months.”

  I find myself pacing the length of the hall. “I see.” I don’t see. I have no idea what this has to do with anything.

  “Rehabilitating Michael was a social experiment for the church.”

  “I see.”

  “And you know the interesting thing about experiments Tom?”

  No, but I have a feeling he’s about to tell me.

  “He couldn’t mess up our rate of success if he were dead.”

  “Like June,” I say.

  Mark inhales deeply. “You are very good with your deductive reasoning Tom. Very good.”

  “What did you need?”

  “Huh?”

  “You called. I assume it wasn’t to tell me how smart I am.”

  “Oh.” There’s a brief pause and then he says, “You’re right about that Tom. You’re my favorite accountant. But that you already knew.”

  I hear a door open down the hall. I assume it’s Melanie looking for me. I walk around the corner so I’m out of sight.

  “Tom?”

  “I’m here…”

  “We need to move our latest experiment along. The men’s alliance is getting antsy.”

  “How can I help?” I want to make him spell it out.

  “Stick to the plan,” he says. “You have the portfolio. Make a choice in the direction we should take. One way or the other. Something has to be done.”

  “What do you mean one way or the other?” I want clarification.

  “I trust you’ll make the right decision.” He doesn’t give an inch.

  “I’m working on it,” I assure him.

  “Great. Now, go enjoy yourself. You know what they say about being all business and no pleasure…”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “It makes Tom a dull boy.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Melanie

  Tom is in the pool. I sit on the side. I half-watch as he swims several laps and half-study the agreement. If I’d known it was this fascinating, I wouldn’t have put it off so long. I’m glad I did.

  No doubt, if I’d read it, I wouldn’t be sitting here now. I would have found an easier route to get what I want. Sometimes you can’t see where the path will take you, and sometimes you realize it’s where you want to go, but that you wouldn’t have started out in that direction, if only you’d known what was ahead.

  Tom takes a break and swims over to where I am. I can feel his eyes on everything as he examines my body. Thankfully, I’ve already ordered a drink. When it arrives, he gives me a look that conveys his disappointment.

  “What?” I shrug. “We’re on our honeymoon.”

  He doesn’t offer a response. He’s too busy running his hands along my thighs. “Have you ever thought about getting lipo?”

  “Only every other day.”

  He splashes some water on my legs and watches as it drips off. “We should schedule that when we get back.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I say, and then Tom kicks off on the side of the pool. He backstrokes his way to the other side. I hold the agreement where he’ll see it when he looks my way. Eventually, he swims over.

  “I have some questions for you…”

  My husband raises his brow, and then he glances around to see who might be listening. It’s late afternoon, and the pool area is starting to fill up. I follow his gaze. So many people in this town, I’ve noticed. With a little lipo, I tell Tom, I could probably live here.

  “So you like it here then?”

  “I do.” It isn’t a lie. You can smell the money coming off the patrons. Perpetual vacationers. I guess one never really ventures that far from what one knows.

  “How much money does the church make anyway?”

  He puts on his surprised look. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious,” I say. I lick the sugar on the rim of my daiquiri. “I’d like to learn more about our finances.”

  Tom doesn’t respond for several moments. He’s stretching, and I can see he really has been working out. Finally, he says, “I’m not here to talk shop.”

  “Fine.” I stuff the agreement in my bag. “What do you take home?”

  “Enough.” Tom likes his double entendres.

  I silently seethe as he props himself on his elbows. He rests against the side of the pool. After several minutes, he glances over his shoulder and gives me the once-over. I take this as a sign to continue the conversation. “Well, as your wife, I’d like to know.” He stares at my bottom lip as I chew on it. “It just seems like for the amount of work you do, they should give you a bigger piece of the pie, is all.”

  “Like I said, I do well.”

  “If you insist on being vague…whatever. But I think I could help.”

  He looks at me for a moment. I can see he’s pondering his next move. We both know he wants to go deeper.

  “If you want to talk numbers…I can tell you about your new clothing allowance.”

  “My allowance,” I laugh, choking on my own spit. “You make it sound like I’m a child.”

  His silence hangs in the air for a bit too long.

  “It’s a business expense, the clothes,” he tells me, finally. “There’s money for other stuff too. The church wants you to take a more active role. Obviously, you really proved yourself at the center.”

  “How much?” I have to ask.

  “Plenty.”

  “What do they want me to do?”

  “That much I don’t know.” He shakes his head, and then gazes off into the distance. “Not for certain.”

  “Well, what do you know?”

  “I know they’re setting up social media accounts for you.”

  “I don’t do social media.”

  “You do now.”

  “So basically what they want is a replacement for Josie?”

  He furrows his brow. “Josie?”

  For someone so smart, sometimes he can be really dumb. “Yeah, that was her job. Remember how she was always posting on Instalook?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Well, I do. I watched her. She couldn’t put that damned phone down. Checking, always checking.”

  “I never paid att
ention.”

  “Have you ever thought about leaving the church?”

  “No,” he tells me, meeting my eyes. “Why do you ask?”

  I sip my drink and say, “I’m just not sure I understand the appeal.” This, of course, is a lie. Free clothes. A nice lifestyle. A community of like-minded people. It’s all about image. Everything is. I get it. I do. People want to see themselves a certain way, every bit as much as they want others to see them that way. Offer them the chance, shine a mirror on what they think it is they see, and they’ll be putty in your hands. Ripe for the picking, or however the saying goes.

  “The church owns me, Melanie.”

  I didn’t expect him to say that. I feel like we’ve gotten to the point of oversharing.

  “Own you? How?”

  “Never mind,” he says kicking back. “You said you had a question about the agreement?”

  “You know what?” I down the last of my drink. “I’ve forgotten.”

  He doesn’t believe me. “Must be the alcohol. It feels like forever since I’ve had a drink...”

  “Twelve weeks tomorrow,” he says.

  I raise my brow. I’m impressed. “Yeah, something like that.”

  At dinner I get drunk. Like properly drunk. I don’t know how, but I have to make myself fall in love with this man. The writing is on the wall. We could be good together. We could stage a coup. We could have it all. I don’t recall what I ate. My appetite is diminished by my memories of ice baths and liquid diets, only now I’ve exchanged smoothies for rum. I could probably make it a combo deal if it came down to it. Mrs. Elizabeth would be proud. I guess I’m coming around to the idea of drinking my calories. This explains why the evening is kind of hazy.

  But I do intend to remember what happens when we go back to our room. I have a plan. Clearly.

  “Let’s fuck,” I tell Tom, stripping out of my clothes. Sometimes sex can lead to love.

  “We can’t.”

  “Sure we can.” I can hear my own slur. I need to slow down. We need to speed up. “It’ll be fine,” I assure him.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”