Noelle’s brothers and sisters-in-law had run interference between her and her mother when they first arrived at the house, but at the dinner table she was trapped in a chair with no one able to get between them.
“Really, Noelle Ruth, what sort of alleged husband lets his wife parade around in something like that?”
Noelle looked down, fingernails biting into her palms. He likes this dress, she thought.
“What will people think? My daughter, dressed like a common streetwalker? Did you not think of how your appearance would reflect on this family? On your father?” A pause, cold and precise. “You’re not the only person in this family, Noelle Ruth.”
Ellie felt the nausea rising. Through her hair she shot a desperate glance toward the chair they had shown him to.
He wasn’t there.
Her hand dropped reflexively, fingers stroking the tattoo on her thigh. His, she thought frantically. His, his, his.
“Stop touching that disgusting thing, young lady.” Her mother’s voice was practically a hiss. “I have told you before: well-raised young women don’t. Fidget.”
Panic surged. She felt herself starting to hyperventilate --
Then large hands settled softly on her shoulders, and a gentle kiss pressed to the top of her head.
“Say your goodbyes, kitten. It’s time to go.”
Ellie felt her mother’s shock, then heard the note of triumph.
“Young man, you are causing a scene.” A poisonous pause. “Do sit down.”
Her chair moved back, gently. She felt herself stand, his hand settled at the small of her back, guiding her. A cold metallic undertone threaded through his voice: “You’re being a bitch at my wife.”
Shock rippled around the table. One of her brothers made a small, involuntary sound. A sister-in-law’s fork clattered against her plate. Ellie kept her eyes down and let him guide her.
Her mother’s voice, no longer triumphant: “Young man, what do you think you are doing?”
A pause. She felt her purse strap settled carefully into her hand. Then he took her chin gently and lifted her face, “Anything else, kitten?”
In a daze she looked into his eyes and saw the warm green. She shook her head.
That mild pressure at the small of her back started her walking; she tucked herself under his arm.
“You will not take my daughter out into the rain dressed like that!” Elizabeth’s voice scrambled, her demeanor cracking. Her script isn’t working, Ellie thought distantly.
“Leave if you wish, but I will not stand for my daughter to catch her death! I forbid it!”
Ellie clung to him. He moved, shifted, and weight landed on her shoulders. His sport coat. Still warm, smelling of him.
She grabbed the lapels, clinging like a drowning man clings to a life-preserver, burying her face in the warm, familiar scent of him. Her mother’s voice faded into background noise.
The sound of the rain grew louder. Cool air hit her lower legs -- he had opened the door. Then she squeaked as he picked her up.
“Tuck under my chin, kitten.”
Obediently she snuggled her face against his neck, feeling the scrub of his short beard. His boots splashed through puddles, rain rattled on the brim of his hat. Drops hit her shins. The heat of his body and the solid thump of his heartbeat under her cheek were the only warm things in the world.
She wondered, distantly, why she wasn’t feeling the rain on her face … then the sound of rain on his hat and the way she was tucked under his chin …
Oh.
He paused. Still pressed to his neck, she reached out blindly, found the cold glass of the pickup window, slid her hand down until it bumped the window ledge, then moved it back and forth.
“To the right, kitten.”
Her hand found the door handle. Fingers wrapped. Thumb landed on the unlock button, clunk of the locks. She pulled as he stepped back, the door opened, and he placed her gently on the seat.
The moment he let go, her eyes snapped open. She scooted across the bench seat and twisted to watch him.
He slid in, shut the door, and pushed the start button. He took off his hat and set it in the back seat; his shirt was soaked. She stared at the wet cloth, nausea pooled in her stomach.
He’s wet because I took his coat. Selfish, selfish, selfish… A small, stubborn voice (newer, quieter) whispered back: If he wants his coat, he’ll take it. He put it on me.
The anxiety smoothed … then returned as another thought took root: That’s three hours. He’s tired. It’s dark. It’s a long way to drive. There’s a perfectly good bed. You’re being selfish … Distantly she heard herself ask, “Can we go home?”
She kept her eyes shut. Silly, selfish …
“I was thinking about that exact thing, kitten. Let’s go by the hotel, get our things, check out, and go home.”
Her jaw unlocked. She snuggled against his side as he drove.
“Thank you, my wolf.”
His arm tightened gently. His hand patted her hip, then settled possessively.
The nausea fled.
*****
“Oh, I like him!”
Elizabeth spun on her daughter-in-law, “Rebecca, you are pregnant and not thinking clearly.”
She drew herself to her full height and turned to Alan, “That man is trash. He is uncouth, ill-bred, and clearly no match for my daughter. What was she thinking? Did you see that rag he dressed her in?”
Alan thought, No more or less modest than any other woman her age wears, but kept the thought carefully off his face.
Rebecca smiled.
Oh, dear, Alan thought.
“If you think the dress was bad,” Becky’s voice was almost a purr, “what she was wearing under it would probably give you an aneurysm.”
Elizabeth stared at her for a moment, then snapped, “James Alan, do you let your wife speak to your mother that way?”
Janet, Alan’s other daughter-in-law, smiled wickedly.
“Becky and I replaced her entire lingerie drawer as a wedding gift. Amazing how much very little cloth costs, but …” She nodded thoughtfully. “Worth it.”
“Robert William!”
Janet’s husband, Rob, pondered for a moment. “Bet Remy appreciated that.”
His wife bumped his hip. “From the way Ellie looked at him, I’d guess she appreciated it more.”
Elizabeth drew herself up, back rigid, “It seems,” Cold, injured tone, “That I am a laughing-stock in this family. I’m going upstairs. I suddenly have a headache.”
She swept out of the room. Silence held for three heartbeats.
Then Becky looked at Janet, eyes sparkling, “Worth every penny,” she murmured.
Janet grinned and clinked her water glass against Becky’s.
Alan sighed, long and quiet, and reached for his drink.
*****
Remy drove, Ellie tucked tiny and precious against his side.
I had control, he thought. Is this what Dad felt with Mama?
He gently poked at the green part of his mind. His triggers were … less sensitive. Still there, just … quieter. Hmm.
He pulled the pickup under the porte-cochère at the hotel, turned it off, and climbed out. Ellie slipped out behind him, her tiny hand seeking his. He took it gently and they went inside.
“Do you mind if we leave it there for a moment?” he asked the desk clerk. “We’re checking out, and I don’t want to walk my wife through the storm.”
“No problem, sir. Everything okay?”
Words. He could use words, and taste the meaning in people’s faces. He nodded thoughtfully, “Everything’s good.”
They went upstairs. Ellie let go of his hand and packed quickly and deftly, then sat on the side of the bed and watched him with large eyes. He threw his things together with Coast Guard efficiency and stood their luggage by the door. She stood, walked to him, and took his hand again.
He looked down at her, tiny and lost inside his sport coat, and tipped her chin up.
“Do you want your coat?”
She looked at him a moment, chewing her lower lip, then gave a slight shake of her head. Her hand tightened in his. He had a brief image of her sitting with her fists clenched. The green shifted -- just a soft shift.
Remy smiled at his wife. “Okay.”
He watched the tension in her shoulders -- tension she probably didn’t even notice anymore -- ease a fraction.
They took the elevator down. Ellie stood next to the luggage, tiny and beautiful, and watched him with those eyes while he spoke to the clerk.
“Everything okay, Mr. Moreaux? I see you’re checking out early.”
“Fine, thank you. Our business was concluded early, and we’re missing our bed.”
“Very good, sir. You’re checked out. Please remember us the next time you and your wife are in town.”
He turned in time to catch Ellie give the clerk a soft smile. The man nodded politely. “Mrs. Moreaux, a pleasure.”
Outside, he was walking her around to the passenger side when she stopped at the driver’s door, a firm grip on his hand. He blinked, then opened it and helped her in. She scooted over just far enough to give him room behind the wheel and snuggled under his arm the moment she could.
They pulled out of the parking lot and headed north.
About twenty minutes later he remembered what he’d seen on her plate when he extracted her from the table. He swore gently in the vaults of his mind and felt the green alert.
She hadn’t eaten anything.
He pulled off the interstate. Ellie stirred. He smiled down at her, “We need to eat. Window food okay?”
She nodded.
“What would you like, kitten?”
Her voice, soft, “I don’t know.”
“There’s that chicken sandwich place you like. Sound good?”
She nodded again.
He ordered. She shook her head when he asked about fries. She unwrapped his sandwich and put it in his hand before she unwrapped hers, then waited, hands in her lap.
He took a bite. Only then did she start to nibble.
They ate in silence.
When her sandwich was gone, eyes lost in thought, Ellie reached into the bag, came out with one of his French fries, took a dainty bite, then froze.
“I’m sorry!”
The green flowed, twisted, settled. He reached for words and found them, “You didn’t read the fine print, did you?”
She blinked at the non-sequitur and whispered, “What?”
He wrinkled his nose at her. “On the marriage license. Down at the bottom. It clearly states that you are obliged to steal my French fries.”
She frowned. He crossed his eyes at her.
A brief moment … and she giggled.
Then she nibbled the rest of the fry, watching him with big blue eyes.
This is the week after Remy and Ellie’s honeymoon, they’ve been married for about five days, and that’s five sleep cycles of skin-to-skin contact, resulting in five nights of massively-increased oxytocin levels. His amygdala has become significantly less reactive, and his insular cortex has started treating her touch as the default “Home” signal.
Neurologically she has reset his berserker baseline — his triggers are significantly less sensitive, and his prefrontal cortex has a stronger vote in things, including his day-to-day interactions.
The problem — well, one of them — is that Ellie is a much stronger regulator than the old coping mechanisms he had developed, and those old mechanisms that let him function in society simply won’t work anymore if she’s away from him for extended periods. More than 24 hours without skin-to-skin contact and Remy becomes, quote: “A real problem”.
30+ hours means the special music on CNN.
Anyway, I’m not certain about this scene — it feels a bit “over the top” to me.
I’m at P-Con, trying not to listen to my Muse. I’ll revisit this chapter when I get home.
Ian
I like the scene and I like that Noelle's brothers and sisters-in-law all understand just how much of a controlling bitch Elizabeth is.
The scene when she finally gets a collective FOAD from all of her children and their spouses will be glorious.
I think it's perfect. It drew me in, and reminded me of times I've stood between my better half and a threat. The small touches of love are perfect as well. You can change it if you want (It's YOUR story! LOL) but I'd leave it like it is! Excellent job - really looking forward to the book.