Giving Way
By Saoirse Roghan
Copyright 2012 Blushing Books and Saoirse Roghan
Copyright 2012 by Blushing Books® and Saoirse Roghan
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Saoirse Roghan
Giving Way
eBook ISBN: 978-1-60968-675-8
Cover Design: by ABCD Graphics
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Chapter One
A desperate woman will resort to desperate measures.
Denise Marrow lost both parents when she was 21, three months shy of graduation, three months and twelve days after breaking up with her fiancé, three months and eighteen days after totaling her car, and three months and nineteen days after losing her job. She had -- just to make things even more overwhelming -- been appointed guardian of her three younger brothers. She would have been happy to have had a nervous breakdown but there wasn’t any time, and honestly, it wasn’t really her style.
Standing in her mother’s art studio, Denise watched funeral guests straggle to their cars under the overcast sky. The threatened rain was holding off, allowing the guests time to do what they’d really come for – a chance to let their eyes roam over the property while speculating about what it all meant. Over the years very few people had been allowed through the gates so they were happily making up for lost time. Since Denise lived inside the gates (did she) she knew there was plenty of fodder for gossip. The place was rundown and ill kept -- and that was being extremely generous.
A shout broke through the funereal quiet and floated up through the open windows. William appeared out of nowhere chortling madly and tore off across the gravel at full speed toward the barns. The other two boys followed in his wake.
Denise smiled. The boys had been solemn and silent for days now. It was time they broke loose. She was quite sure somewhere in the house Mr. Tullamore, and Mr. Lawrence, dear friends of her father co executor’s of her parents estate, would be shaking their heads with serious misgiving while Mr. Millicent, guardian of the will, cast his eyes heavenwards and prayed for patience. She doubted any of them understood, at that precise moment, the need for adolescent boys to kick free. Denise drained the liquid in the glass she held in one hand and turned for the door. Time to go down and face the music.
She descended the elaborately carved and curving staircase as slowly as possible giving them a few moments to adjust themselves, or at least lower their voices, in case they might not want to offend her.
Fat chance.
Her mother’s sisters fluttered between the front sitting room and the hall, anxious to keep their eyes on the action. The husbands paced about as well and everyone twittered away --in the old fashioned, bird brained sense of the word having nothing to do with the internet or smart phones. They were assuring each other that dear Dorothy had indeed left ‘things’ poorly and speculating on who best to put things right. Not one of them wasted any time suggesting Denise’s father, Henry, would have encouraged Dorothy in any significant way to make common sense plans for the future in the event of their death.
Mr. Millicent, the lawyer, waited grimly in the doorway to her father’s ‘library’.
“Those boys!” Aunt Caroline boomed out as Denise’s foot hit the floor from the last step. “Are carousing. Outside. Do call them in.”
“Don’t!” Mr. Millicent barked the word out. Up to this point he’d appeared too gravely depressed and morose to manage an effective bark.
“At least not in my behalf. I will speak with Ms. Denise privately, along with the executors.”
All heads turned towards him. Eyebrows rose. Mouths opened.
“As per the terms of the will.” Mr. Millicent cut off further protest. “ He seized Denise’s upper arm in a firm grasp and propelled her into the library setting her loose abruptly enough to send her rocketing into the room and banging into the foosball table while he braced himself against the door in case any of the aunts rebelled.
Denise boosted herself onto the foosball table. In addition to foosball, a full size basketball hoop hung from the balcony of the upper level. Several targets were lined up outside beyond the French doors, easily accessible for some indoor/outdoor shooting practice. A golf putting device perched in front of the French doors. And there was a ping pong table, a pool table, a 72 inch TV, a miniature bowling arena, and several antique pinball machines.
No books anywhere though there was a staggered file stand -- used to store wrestling magazines -- perched on the end of the pool table. Not one sign indicating anything of an office/work nature occurred in the room. Denise let her legs swing slightly, and leaned back, bracing herself with her palms. She may have had a wee bit more to drink than was wise.
Tullamore and Lawrence came in a moment later. They had little faith in Millicent’s ability to withstand a barrage from Dorothy’s sisters and immediately propelled a wheeled cart containing free weights into place in front of the double doors, stamping down the brakes before beginning to pace. Mr. Millicent looked around the room, sheer distaste written on his features.
Setting his briefcase down on the pool table he shrugged out of his coat, deftly turned it outside in, and laid it reverently across the felt of the table before snapping open the case.
“I have rarely been involved in such a poorly planned estate.” He peered at Denise from over his fashionable horn rimmed glasses.
“Only the staggering fees mitigated my natural hesitation to be involved in such a proceeding.”
Denise stared in disbelief. Her pseudo-uncles shot her a sympathetic glance and stood shoulder to shoulder, hands clasped behind their backs. Lawrence rocked slightly on his heels.
“I will read the damn thing -- of course.” Millicent stalked along the perimeter of the pool table. “But it boils down quite simply. Denise and her brothers inherit everything, with all held in trust for various periods of time until conditions are met -- graduation from college etc. You two are the executors and will receive significant salaries based on Denise and
the boys achieving goals set forth.”
Denise and her co-executors stared at each other, some relief on their faces. Nothing seemed too horrible under the circumstance so far, with the exception of how to break the news to the expectant buzzards squawking outside the door of the library. Denise eyed the French doors. She could leave that way and hide in one of the barns.
“There is one significant qualifier,” Millicent intoned. Denise felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle. She met her uncles’ eyes. They both looked nervous.
“Denise must marry the fiancé.”
Denise, in the act of polishing off a single malt scotch, snorted it thru her nose instead. Tullamore and Lawrence, with little if any understanding of the matter, didn’t judge this to be a problem – people usually married their fiancés – and they returned to visions of their salaries.
“Impossible!” Denise was floored. Never in her wildest nightmares would her mother have done this to her, or to her darling boys.
“Otherwise the boys go to Lucille.”
“And all of the money goes to various obscure charities with the exception of two million which will be held in trust until the boys graduate with at least a B cumulative from a 4 year accredited university. No truck driving school.” He glared at Denise to make sure she understood the irreversible nature of this stipulation. “Benson-Mr. Lucille, I believe? Is executor under this scenario?”
Granted she had never expected her parents to die at any point in the immediate and foreseeable future.
“Oh?” Her uncles queried as one. Lawrence stood straighter and Tullamore slapped his chest with one pale, well-manicured hand.
“Makes no difference to me.” Millicent tossed the document into his briefcase. “Shall I read this to Lucille?”
“Wait!” The uncles clutched each other. They looked at Denise, panicked. “What’s the problem?” said Tullamore.
“I can’t marry him.”
“Sure you can,” said Lawrence.
“I broke it off!”
“Stick it back together!” Tullamore made it sound like she’d broken her favorite, dime store knick-knack.
“Or marry him just for a little while.” Lawrence’s voice was jovial, meant to be heartening. “A year or two?”
“Ah Ah Ah.” Stipulations against divorce.” Millicent snapped the locks on his case and lovingly picked up his coat. He shook it. “Staggered penalties based on time married, etc.”
“I won’t marry him.”
“Oh surely?” Uncle Tullamore probed. “Your brothers, Denise? With Lucille and Benson?”
Lawrence continued to be hearty. “He’ll be happy to take you back. Something in it for him, right, Millicent?”
Millicent shook his head. “No. Beyond three juvenile delinquents and an unemployed wife with a derelict property.”
“A wealthy, unemployed wife!” Tullamore threw in.
“Impossible! Totally out of the question.” Denise resisted the impulse to shriek. “There must be a way out.”
“You can file a legal action of course.” Millicent thrust one arm into his coat. “But in the meantime, the conditions of the will—“
Denise sank back onto the foosball table and rocked forward. She wrapped both arms around her stomach. To start with she’d find a killer lawyer.
“Do I have time?”
Millicent handed a packet to Lawrence. “There are copies for each of you there. And some extra if you wish to use them?” He gestured towards the door barring the relatives, before turning and loping towards the tall windows forming a back wall of glass.
“You have five days. Sorry to be a coward, but --“He nodded his head in the direction of the hall door and shrugged before shoving open the French doors. He clattered across the terrace and walked briskly across the lawn, heading for his car at a fast clip.
Denise moaned. Her heart pounded in her chest. She doubted she’d be able to draw sufficient air into her lungs to sustain life. She adored her brothers.
She could admit that like herself, her brothers had not been raised with long term self-discipline as a goal. Her parents were benevolent and clearly loved them. She knew that. But they had no desire to be parents or to deal with the mess children could and did cause. They all ran wild.
She herself had only gradually realized that some limits would have been useful. She had a growing awareness it was a miracle she wasn’t a complete ass. Her brothers could certainly use some guidance. But Aunt Lucille and Uncle Benson-dam and sire of The Robo Children-were not the answer.
And her? She not only had no idea how to parent adolescent boys, she absolutely couldn’t marry Andrew. She hated him. He didn’t have any respect for her. There was a small matter of pride, for one thing. And there was the other matter. One she couldn’t exactly share with anyone.
He had insisted she listen to several short talks; she’d day dreamed through them. Later, he’d delivered one lecture she hadn’t even begun to take seriously. And then he tried to spank her.
***
She’d stared at him, on that particular day, dumbfounded. Her mouth even hung open slightly.
“Now!” He barked. “Over my knee!”
She giggled. “This is like, a game? To be sexy?” She laughed cheerfully. “Sorry. Not my thing.”
Andrew let out his breath slowly, leaning back against the leather couch, placing his long, slim hands on his knees and looking levelly at the woman he loved.
“We’ve had this discussion, Denise.”
“You told me you were a spanko?” She frowned at him and then walked into the kitchen.
He heard the frig open.
“No, you didn’t, Drew. That’s the kind thing a girl would remember.” Strolling back into the room she set a glass of ice on the table and unscrewed the cap to the plastic bottle of Pepsi.
“No, Denise.” Andrew kept his voice even as he got up and moved towards her. Putting his hands around her upper arms he drew her close to him and kissed her forehead.
“You agreed to marry me, right?”
Denise snuggled against his chest.
“I told you, I’m what’s considered an old fashioned man.”
She cocked her head back and ran her hand up his cheekbones and then trailed a finger over his lips. “You are old fashioned. You open doors, you pull out chairs --”
“I expect to be obeyed.” He moved her hand away from his mouth and looked down at her, keeping his face calm, patient.
One of her beautiful long brows quirked. Andrew moved them towards the couch. He wasn’t backing away from this. He’d known what kind of relationship he wanted for years. If she was going to marry him, they needed to settle this now. He’d been afraid she’d blown off their conversations. She had a tendency not to hear what she didn’t want to. That was one of several habits he intended to relieve her of pretty quickly.
“I told you I expect to be the authority in our relationship.”
She snorted. “I remember you telling me you were older, more experienced, and you do know more about stuff than me. Thank god.”
“And I told you there would be consequences when you disobeyed me.” Andrew cut her off firmly. He wasn’t going to rehash this. Now or ever.
She gave a little laugh and tried to pull away from his hands. “Really, Andrew that’s kinda creepy. Enough.”
“It is enough.” He moved quickly and pinned her across his lap, both hands imprisoned in one of his behind her back, his strong arm resting against her back and pinning her in position.
She fought back immediately, at first with words along the lines of “this isn’t funny” moving quickly to the insulting and obscene, and finally on to the physical. Through it all Andrew remained silent and unmoving. As far as he was concerned, he behaved heroically, steadfastly ignoring the impulse to settle her down fast with a few sharp smacks.
Eventually she gave up and lay still, fuming.
“I will let you go, Denise. But I have some things to say and you’ll
listen to me first and then you need to make a decision.”
This provoked a new round of verbal abuse and physical resistance. Andrew waited it out.
“I made my position clear several times, Denise.” He began speaking again only after she rested quietly for a moment across his lap.
Honestly, he was too tense to enjoy the splendid sight of her bottom lying across his knee. He loved Denise, and although he’d known this moment was inevitable, he wanted – desperately --for it to be over, and a success. Meanwhile, thousands of evolutionary years of DNA thundered through his bloodstream and he ached to throw her on the bed and fuck her.
“I’m sorry you chose to minimize the message-and you did minimize it!” He increased his grip on her wrists, sensing she was ready to break into speech. She did comply-he noted-and said nothing in response to his non- verbal warning.
“I recorded the conversations, Denise. Listening to them would be a good idea. Not paying attention to what people are saying is one of your chief faults.”
“You fuckhead!”
Andrew took a deep breath. When he was very young his parents had ignored verbal protests as long as he or his sibs moved towards compliance. Of course when they were older, they’d been expected to be responsible for their mouths as well. This was his model for introducing discipline to Denise. He thought it was pretty damn generous of him considering she’d just called him ‘fuckhead’.
“I’m the authority in our relationship and when you disobey me you will be punished however I deem suitable. And that includes corporal punishment. If you decide that isn’t acceptable –“
“It sure as fuck isn’t!” Her words were slightly muffled by her position, and her hair. Andrew was human. He grinned.
“I’ll let you up. But make no mistake, Denise!” He tightened his grip again. “Refuse discipline and our relationship is over.”
“Fine, Fuckhead! Like I’d marry a perv!” She gave a kick to accompany her words.
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