Girl Wife Prisoner

by Hanna Peach

  How dare he? I chased after him. “In that case, as it seems to punish you more when I’m around, I’ll think I’ll stay.”

  His lips pinched. “Whatever.”

  The grassy path moved into a small round lawn fringed with variations of the same flowering plant. The blooms had six petals from white to crimson and every shade in between. Around them bushes rose up taller than my head, creating a private circular space and trapping the heavy, honeyed perfume. Happy bees and butterflies flitted about. A flat stone, perfect for sitting on, was positioned in the center, and I just knew that it was placed there on purpose.

  “These are so beautiful,” I couldn’t help but admit as I studied the closest flower.

  This particular flower’s petals were flushed pink, edged in white and freckled red like pinpricks of blood. From the center, several stems ended in a cluster of powdery orange. I bent down, cupped my hands around the bloom and inhaled. The cloying scent filled my nose.

  “They’re oriental lilies,” Keir said, his voice losing a little of its hard edge. “That one’s a stargazer. But there are four other kinds here too.”

  I stared at him, stunned. “Did you plant these?”

  He snorted and rolled his eyes at the same time. Multi-talented boy. “I’m a gardener, remember? I plant things.”

  My jaw prickled and I looked away, pretending to study the flowers some more. How could such a horrible man create something so beautiful with his hands? Why was he so cruel to me?

  “Careful,” he snapped as I knocked one of his flowers with my hand, the pollen scattering from its stem.

  I crossed my arms over my chest, refusing to say sorry. It was just a damn flower.

  “You idiot,” he muttered.

  “I didn’t hurt your precious lily.”

  “Stop being such a girl and taking everything so personally.”

  “Am not.”

  “Are too.”

  “You stop being such a jerk and making it personal.”

  He rolled his eyes. If he rolled them one more time…

  “The pollen of oriental lilies is notoriously difficult to wash out. You had pollen on your arms.”

  I unfolded my arms away from my body and stared down at myself.

  He tsked. “Now it’s on your dress. Your beautiful white dress.”

  He was right. I had orange streaks across my breasts. The very first day I had worn it and I ruined a dress that cost more than my father’s monthly wage. I let out a cry for the heart-breaking waste and scratched at one of the marks.

  “Don’t,” he grabbed my hands, pulling them away. “You’ll make it worse.”

  His hands were rough and calloused and warm as they held mine. I felt so delicate. I didn’t think, I just reacted as I leaned closer to him like a magnet, my whole body just wanting to fold itself into his palms.

  He dropped my hands like they’d stung him and he stepped back, cool air rushing in the widening space between us. Oh that’s right, he hates me.

  “I suppose your husband will just buy you another one.” His top lip pulled up. “How much did it cost? Five hundred dollars? A thousand?”

  “I… I…” I was horrified. “That’s none of your business.”

  “No. I suppose not. Nor will it ever be.” There seemed something so final in the way he said it. As if he’d just said goodbye to me forever. He turned and began to walk away.

  Sadness filled my body as I watched him leave. I couldn’t win with him. I couldn’t make him see past my title of Mrs. Blackwell. Why was I even trying?

  He stopped at the edge of the lily garden and looked back at me over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

  Am I coming? He wanted me to come with him? Still in shock I stumbled after him.

  Keir led me to a large wooden shed. He went inside, leaving the door open behind him. I stopped at the entrance and stared into the dim clutter of machines and benches and metal, dust motes floating like dandelions in the thin stream of light coming in from the upper windows. Saws and hammers and other tools hung like skeletons along one of the walls.

  He was going to murder me here and hide my body somewhere. He would know the best places to hide a body in the Blackwell Manor grounds.

  Keir bent over some shelves, objects tinkering as he moved them around. My gaze drew to his dark pants stretched over a rounded ass. Something tingled between my legs. What was wrong with me? I was about to get murdered and all I could think about was how his butt would feel in my hands.

  Keir straightened and spun. I lifted my eyes just in time. He raised an eyebrow at me. “Are you going to come here? Or is this too dirty for the likes of you.”

  I set my jaw and stepped inside.

  The air in here was musty. As I made my way towards him I had to dodge tools and lawn mowers and other objects placed haphazardly around the shed.

  “You’ll have to forgive the state of this place,” he said. “My father forgets where he put things. He rummages through, looking for whatever he’s looking for but doesn’t put anything back.”

  “Your father works here as well?”

  “And his father before him. It’s my inheritance; to serve your husband’s family. Lucky me.”

  I said nothing.

  When I reached him he handed out a moist cotton bud stinking sharply of alcohol.

  “It’s turpentine,” he said. “You’ll need to dab the pollen with. That should get it out.”

  “Thanks.” I took the bud from him, our fingers brushing. Even this small touch sent sparks up my arm.

  I lifted my hand to my dress when I realized he was about to watch me rub my breasts. I couldn’t rub my breasts in front of him. Even the idea of it made my nipples harden. And I hadn’t worn a bra under this dress because of the low backline.

  Oh God. He could see the poke of my nipples. He knew I was turned on. I’m not turned on, I’m just…cold. Why didn’t I wear a damn bra under this dress?

  “I can do this later.” I started to back away. “Thanks again.”

  His eyes widened. “Look out!”

  My elbow clipped against the edge of a circular saw clamped on the side of a bench. I hissed at the small slice of pain. My shoe slipped on something. The fresh acrid scent told me quite clearly that it was fertilizer. I was going to fall right into a pile of it spilled on the floor out of a broken bag. My dress would suffer more than orange marks today. I’d need more than a cotton bud of turpentine.

  But I didn’t fall. Strong arms came around me, holding me up. I dropped the cotton as my hands flew up against him. Keir crushed me to his body as he stepped us both back to safety.

  His chest was wide and firm, his warmth seeping into my palms even through the thin cotton of his shirt. I couldn’t help myself; I brushed my fingers against him. I heard him inhale sharply, his fingertips dug just a little deeper into my back. My head spun. My nipples were now so hard they were almost painful. He must have been able to feel them as they pressed against him, but at that moment I didn’t care. The way he was staring at me, his pupils dilated, his thick lips parted…

  I wanted him. I wanted him so bad it hurt. Even with the smell of turps and shit around us, if he wanted to kiss me here, up against the gritty work bench, I think I would let him.

  “Keir…” I whispered as I tilted my chin up. A small groan fell from his mouth as he drew closer. God help me. He wanted this too…

  He pushed me aside. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he said, as he let go of me. He refused to look directly at me. “Don’t you look where you’re going?”

  Rejection blazed through my body. “You…you can’t talk to me like that.”

  “Newsflash. I just did.”

  “I could have you fired.”

  “I’d like to see you try.”

  “Is this how you treat the new wife of your employer?”

  “This is how I treat the wife of my employer who is younger than me. Look at you. You’re just a girl!”

  “I’m not a girl
!”

  “How old are you? Are you even eighteen?”

  “I’m eighteen,” I lied.

  “He’s almost old enough to be your father,” he sneered. “Or was that not the number you were focused on when you decided to marry him.”

  I inhaled sharply. The disgust in his eyes was clear. This was why Keir hated me. He thought I was a gold-digging whore with a meal ticket.

  “You judgmental fool. If you knew why…” I stopped myself. I wouldn’t tell him my real reason. Not him. Not an awful person like him. He didn’t deserve to know. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  I shouldn’t have come back. I turned and stormed out of the shed into the blinding sunlight outside.

  “That’s it,” he called after me. “Go back to your ivory mansion where you belong. And stay there.”

  I started to run, tears, clods of dirt and God knew what else shaking off me.

  “Noriko, wait,” he called after me, sounding almost remorseful. Or was it just a trick to get me to stop so he could insult me again?

  I wouldn’t stop for him. I wouldn’t let him know how much his words had hurt me. I didn’t even know why he affected me so much. I shouldn’t care. But I did.

  I didn’t stop running. He didn’t follow me.

  5

  The next afternoon Keir was cutting back the trees and bushes around the back terrace. I knew because I saw him working through the glass windows when I was having my lunch. He looked incredible, the bastard, wearing a black sleeveless top that showed off his strong shoulders, his khaki knee-length shorts hugging his ass.

  He didn’t look in to see me. I doubted he even knew I was there. Or if he did, he didn’t care.

  I could barely eat, my stomach shrinking upon itself with every involuntary glance towards him. His caramel arms worked like thick pistons and his diamond calves flexed every time he stood on his toes to reach up.

  Damn him. Damn him straight to hell.

  Now I sat in an armchair in my bedroom trying to use a book to get these images of him out of my head. But I couldn’t. His incredible body and his rude mouth intruded upon my mind, and the hero of this novel − what was I even reading? − kept morphing into him.

  It’s because you’re becoming a woman, I told myself. You want things from Keir because he’s a man. You’ll feel this way about your husband too.

  Whenever my husband decided to grace me with his presence.

  When story-Keir ripped off the heroine’s bodice and threw her onto the bed, I couldn’t take it anymore. I snapped the book shut. My body felt hot like I was running a fever. I squeezed my thighs together to try to relieve this throbbing between them, but it just made it worse.

  A knock on my bedroom door made me jump. I patted my burning cheeks before arranging myself in a casual pose. “Come in,” I called.

  It was Loretta. Seeing her was like a douse of cold water.

  I straightened up. “What is it?”

  “Miss van Scheurs is here for you. I made her wait in your formal living area.” As she spoke her top lip curled up slightly and her voice sounded strained.

  Loretta didn’t like Sasha either.

  This made me like Loretta even more.

  I gave her a nod of appreciation. “Tell her I’ll be out in a minute.”

  I made Sasha wait ten.

  When I finally walked into my formal living room, Sasha was standing beside one of my bookshelves. She spun towards me when I entered.

  Her long hair was curled in doll-like ringlets. Her outfit of the day was another tight and indecently short skirt suit, this time in bright pink, her lipstick and stilettos both matching.

  Excuse me? Barbie called. She wants her outfit back.

  “Mr. Blackwell is returning today,” Sasha said as she approached me.

  “Excellent.”

  “He wanted to send a gift for you, which he asked me to pick out.” She smiled, but I could see the hard glint in her eyes. She held out a large pale blue box tied with a silver ribbon. The box was just a tad smaller in dimension than a sheet of A3 paper, about three inches in height.

  Plenty of space to fit in a small bomb.

  Cautiously, I took it from her, holding it away from my body with only the tips of my fingers. But it didn’t blow up.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Open it.”

  No…it wouldn’t be a bomb. Bombs were too obvious for Miss Sasha van Sneaky. Inside would be a poisonous gas that would release in my face when I opened it. A neural toxin that would be hard to trace and make my last moments on earth very, very painful.

  I stared at the box then back at Sasha.

  Her eyes widened with feigned confusion. “Don’t you want it? I’d hate to tell him−”

  “I’ll open it.”

  I set it on the table and pulled the ribbon apart before cautiously lifting the box. Under the cobweb-like tissue paper there was something red and lacy. But there was too much material for it to be underwear.

  I pulled it out by the neckline and gasped as it unfolded. It was a dress, red lace over a cream satin underlay, dropping to mid-thigh. It had sheer lace sleeves to the wrist and an open back that dropped in a low-pointed V shape. It was stunning; classy and elegant.

  “It’s gorgeous,” I said.

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “I’m surprised, Sasha.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s not a dress I’d ever imagine you having the taste to pick out.”

  She scowled at me but said nothing. I smiled inwardly. She deserved it for being such a cow.

  I turned back to the dress and fingered the delicate lace. This wasn’t a dress a girl would wear. Just imagine Keir’s face if he were to see me in something like this.

  “Perhaps you’ll wear it for him?” Sasha said.

  I was struck dumb with horror. She read my thoughts. She knew of my illicit desires for my husband’s young gardener. I was finished.

  With a flood of relief, I realized she meant that I should wear it for Mr. Blackwell, not for Keir. Thank God I had my back to her and that she couldn’t see my face.

  I cleared my throat. “Perhaps I will. Is that all?”

  I waved my hand at her over my shoulder to dismiss her.

  When I was alone, I stripped down to my underwear. Carefully I pulled the dress on over my head and smoothed it down over my body. I draped my hair over one shoulder so that my back was exposed. I slipped on a pair of nude leather pointed stilettos before I stood in front of my full-length mirror.

  The woman reflected in it gaped back at me, open-mouthed. The dress fit perfectly, hugging her body in all the right places and making her breasts look fuller, cinching in her tiny waist and giving her more curves on her hips and butt than she naturally had. Her legs looked lean and shapely in these heels and they gave her some much-needed height.

  That couldn’t be me. I stepped closer to her and stared.

  It was me. I looked sexy yet classy. I looked older. I looked…like a woman.

  A woman. Not a girl. I’d show that cheeky asshole who’s a girl.

  Keir was still on the back terrace when I ascended to the ground floor. I lifted up my chin and composed my face into a serene mask before strolling casually through a set of French doors onto the terrace. I walked to the railing and leaned lightly against it with my palm, the white marble cool under my hands. I gazed out to the gardens and waited for his reaction.

  I got none.

  I sneaked a peek at him out of the corner of my eye. He was still snipping away at those branches, not even looking my way. He hadn’t even noticed me. I repressed a stir of annoyance and looked back to the gardens, staring without really seeing. I wouldn’t be the first to acknowledge him.

  His snippers went clack, clack, clack, on and on, and I grew restless.

  I cleared my throat.

  But his snippers didn’t stop.

  I glanced at him again. He mustn’t have heard me over the racket he was mak
ing.

  “Oh,” I said loudly and as casually as I could, “I didn’t realize anyone else was out here.”

  Finally those damn shears stopped. Keir spun towards me. He stopped dead when he saw me, his mouth dropping open, his eyes growing wide and as shiny as two silver dollars. He was completely stunned and he wasn’t even trying to hide it.

  Vindication flowed like fire through my veins. I felt sexy. I felt powerful. I felt like a woman.

  His shears slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground as his eyes traveled down then back up my body. I had to fight to repress the grin that wanted to burst out from my face.

  His gaze reached back up to my eyes where they locked powerfully with mine. Now it was my heart trying to burst out of my chest. The way he was staring, heated aggression rolling off him, and the sense that I was the only thing he could see, set off a shudder through my body.

  “Keir,” I said. My voice came out breathy. I didn’t mean it to. I was aiming for casual, but that failed.

  Then his face twisted from shock to horror. The longing in his eyes was replaced with disgust. “What the hell are you wearing?”

  His sudden change hit me like a slap to the face. “It’s called a dress,” I said. “Perhaps if you didn’t spend all day playing in the dirt you’d know what one was.”

  He strode towards me, glancing sharply around us. I stood my ground, thrusting my chin in the air. He halted right before me, so close I could see the slight smudge of dirt on his forehead. So close I could smell his uniquely Keir smell of woody aftershave, crushed leaves, and heady sweat.

  He grabbed my arm, his grip almost unbearably tight. “Go back upstairs and take that damn dress off.”

  Take it off for me. I tried to yank my arm from him, but his grip was too strong. “Let go of me.”

  “Take the dress off.”

  “How dare you.” My cheeks flared. “You remember your place, gardener boy.”

  Keir snatched his hand away from me and took a step back, his eyes growing cold. “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you again. I just thought you’d like to know that your husband’s mother was found dead in a dress exactly like that one.”

  My blood turned to ice in my veins. Sasha wasn’t just being nice. She had planned this. The gift from her was a bomb, now exploding in my face. Suddenly the lace of his dress felt scratchy and rough. What kind of insensitive monster must I have looked like parading around Mr. Blackwell’s mansion in this dress? What did Keir think of me now?