Magdalene

by Moriah Jovan

  The kitchen was almost completely silent, the appliances’ whirrs having ceased as if to allow us a measure of privacy. The only sounds were the ones he and I made as we began the last leg of our mating dance, the slight rustle of fabric, the meeting of lips and tongues, the sighs and breaths.

  Daring much, knowing he’d shut me down but still needing to chance it, I slid my hand from his nicely muscled ass around his hip to his cock, hard, long. He didn’t stop kissing me so much as pause and shift.

  I couldn’t tell if he was trying to avoid or encourage me.

  “Don’t,” he whispered, taking a deep breath and shuddering when I wrapped my hand around him. “Cassandra...” I tightened my grip and slid my hand down. He groaned and dropped his forehead on my shoulder. “I can’t,” he whispered into the crook of my neck. “I want to. I want to, Cassandra, you have no idea, but I can’t. Not yet. Please.”

  Then I understood.

  He was begging me not to push him past his breaking point, trusting that I wouldn’t, yet willing to go with me if I did—and I knew he would never look at me quite the same way if I didn’t respect his higher need, if I catered to his baser one. He had no control left, I knew that, and I could do whatever I wanted now.

  I’d won the game.

  I withdrew my hand slowly, then pulled away to put an inch or so between our bodies. We were both breathing hard and I would have liked nothing better at that moment than to feel cold granite under my bare ass, Mitch between my spread legs, pumping into me hard and fast.

  But at what price?

  “Thank you,” he whispered as he nuzzled my neck and it made me smile. Whatever needs I had I could take care of myself later and would indeed as I fantasized about this moment in time when I had him where I wanted him—

  —but took the higher road instead because it was important to him; because he thought it was important to his God.

  I didn’t know how he’d brought me to this, this willingness to forego my own desires, my own purposes in the face of his, but he had.

  He’d won the game.

  We stood holding onto one another for the longest time, his arousal receding although not calming completely, but I felt a different need rising in me. “I’m hungry.”

  He barked a shaky laugh and released me. “How many ways do you want me to take that?”

  “Food,” I returned smartly. “I made dinner.”

  “Besides the bread?”

  I hesitated, now treading different, though no less dangerous, waters. “I, um— I thought because it’s cold outside that—” But he’d wandered to the stove and lifted the lid on the stockpot.

  “Homemade noodles,” he whispered, and I hoped the floor would open up and swallow me whole right then. He shot a look over his shoulder at me and said, “And you made bread.”

  My mouth dropped open when I finally comprehended the look of sheer little-boy delight on his face.

  “I made honey butter, too,” I blurted and kept right on blurting, “I prefer apple butter, but that takes time. And apples.” He smiled at me and I felt a thrill roll through me because of it. Some skilled courtesan I’d turned out to be, to be so affected by any hint of approval. I didn’t need approval; I did as I pleased and fuck everybody else’s opinions. I wanted my approval in the form of cold, hard cash, which was one reason why Jack and I got along so well.

  We sat as close together as we could get while we ate, talking about everything in general and nothing in particular.

  I asked how Johnny was doing.

  “Don’t know,” he said after he’d swallowed a mouthful of food. “The lawyers got called out this morning after we left the hospital.”

  “Already.”

  “It doesn’t take long anymore,” he said matter-of-factly. “In fact, I’m surprised it took that long. It does make me mad I can’t know how he’s doing until they see fit to tell my lawyers.”

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  He grunted. “Every time something like this happens, it’s another cut in your soul.”

  We sat and ate companionably for a moment, and after I’d killed off the first pangs of real hunger, I said, “So, speaking of lawyers.”

  He nodded. “I call mine, you call yours? Let them hammer out the contract.”

  “Pretty simple, in my opinion. I leave with what I brought, and let you keep what you brought. I don’t quibble over what wasn’t mine to begin with.”

  Mitch slid me a look. “You planning to leave me for sure?”

  I shrugged and took another bite. “Depends on how fast I can get you trained.”

  That only made him laugh.

  “For all I know, you’re a slow learner, which, of course, will bore me.”

  “Thank you for bringing that up.”

  I glared. “Don’t. I was bored. That’s all you’re going to get.”

  “Cassandra, do you really think I haven’t figured it out?”

  Of course he had. “Then why are you bugging me about it?”

  “I want to know how ‘I was bored’ works within your family dynamic.”

  “No. You’re an accomplished liar and one sneaky bastard, so I’ll thank you to go with it.”

  He sighed.

  “I would suggest eloping so I can start your education by midnight tonight, but we both know how that’ll play.”

  “I have no intention of eloping,” he said. “Been there, done that. And I certainly don’t want the entire financial district wagering on how much I paid you to marry me. But you better make it quick.”

  “Fast, rude, and cruel, remember.”

  “Can you do it in a month? Because that’s about as long as I can last.”

  I wasn’t sure I could last that long. “Consider it done. All you have to do is pay the bills.”

  He laughed.

  “I,” I said briskly, “need to figure out what to do with myself for the next year.”

  “What do you mean, what to do with yourself?”

  “Jack’s already told me he won’t let me telecommute and I’m not doing a two-hour drive every morning and evening.”

  Mitch looked at me, confused. “That makes no sense.”

  “I know it, but...”

  “You don’t need Jack anymore,” Mitch said around his food. “You’ve got enough credibility now to go out on your own. In fact, I bet he was bluffing. He needs you a lot more than you need him.”

  That was true, though why I hadn’t realized it, I didn’t know.

  “How— Um, how do we do the church thing? You know I’m not interested in the least.”

  He took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I’m hoping I’ll get released soon, but I’ve got a few situations brewing I’m going to have to deal with, and I’m pretty sure I won’t be released until that’s done.”

  “Oh! That reminds me...”

  I launched into a description of what had happened during and after Sunday school with Sitkaris, to give him the opportunity to fill me in.

  “Does he really think I’m that naïve?” Mitch asked wonderingly.

  “I was shocked. He should have investigators all over us.”

  Mitch pursed his lips. “Well. He did. He must not have realized yet why they haven’t checked in for a while.”

  That made me laugh. “He’ll hire more when he figures it out. His biggest problem is he doesn’t see you as anything other than a bishop, so he doesn’t expect to find anything.”

  “And he has no reason to think he can’t take you away from me.”

  I slid him a glance. “Does that bother you? If it does, I’ll just slap him the next time he propositions me.”

  “Why would it bother me? I have everything he ever wanted, and I have no doubts about how you feel about him.”

  Warmth curled through me, and I couldn’t help but smile.

  “So...” he drawled, “tell me about Relief Society.”

  I described Prissy’s lesson, ending with, “It was an excellent lesson, but she was very
heavy-handed.”

  “She had a point to make to a few people, and some people don’t get it unless they’re bopped over the head.”

  “How do you know? You weren’t there.”

  “I might as well have been. I got a play-by-play from five different women the minute the ‘amens’ were said.”

  I started to laugh. “I take it Prissy isn’t popular?”

  “Oh, she’s popular,” Mitch replied, “but not in the way you’d expect. She does what she wants and doesn’t much care what anybody thinks about her. Most of the women look to her to validate their common sense and let them know it’s okay to dissent while remaining faithful. Her only goal is to teach concepts and principles, and the lesson manual doesn’t give her enough to go on.”

  “She veered wildly off the lesson manual yesterday.”

  Mitch smirked into his bowl just before he took another bite.

  “Oh, you sneaky bastard,” I said. “You asked her to do that.”

  He nodded. “I couldn’t run that ward without a bunch of sharp women watching my back.”

  “The lady who escorted me around was very upset with her.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Sally. Bevan, I think?”

  Mitch choked. “Sally?” he croaked after a moment, coughing here and there.

  “Uh...” I clapped him on the back.

  “Sally,” he said after a moment, “would like to have a last name other than her husband’s. Guess whose.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Was that lesson for her?”

  “Mmmm, well, about half.”

  “Do you need me to come and run interference for you?”

  “I’ve been fending Sally off since I was fifteen. I’d like you to come to church with me just so I know you’re there, not because I need protection from her.”

  I couldn’t help my smile. “Well, if push comes to shove, I’ll deal with her. Trust me. I’ve broken more than one irrationally jealous woman over my knee.”

  Mitch looked at me with an indecipherable expression.

  “What?”

  “It kind of turns me on when you get like that.”

  I burst out laughing.

  “Ah, but there is one thing I would ask of you, for however long we’re together.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That you don’t cheat on me.”

  I blinked. Cheat on Mitch? I couldn’t imagine such a thing. “What if I did?”

  He looked at me for a long time, then said, very slowly, “I’d forgive you.”

  My world shattered. I couldn’t breathe. “What if I did it again?” I whispered, actually feeling some amount of fear now.

  “I’d forgive you again.”

  “But—”

  He put his fingers over my mouth. “I told you. I believe. I live what I believe to the best of my ability. Forgiveness is part of that. That’s what I do, that’s my job, and I’m pretty good at my job.”

  I did not know what to make of this man. He defied logic, defied every worldly experience I’d ever had. He never did or said anything I expected him to do or say; it occurred to me that perhaps I should stop expecting.

  “Marry me,” he whispered, an odd, knowing smile on his face. “Be my wife and my playmate, my friend and my lover.”

  My heart stopped and I thought it would never start again.

  “Yes,” I said, knowing I had just promised him everything I’d never dared promise anyone else.

  And I would keep that promise, even if it killed me.

  * * * * *

  How to Marry a Millionaire

  February 15, 2011

  I decided to go back to New York on Wednesday since Mitch had made it very clear that he couldn’t have me overnight in the house without great temptation and agony on his part—and I refused to stay in a hotel for the next month.

  I spent Tuesday at the mill, meeting with the project teams assigned to getting the parts division separated from the foundry. I also toured the offices of Hollander Homes, met the designers, saw prototype products using Mitch’s perfected alloy. Tuesday evening I went back to church with Mitch—

  “Activity night,” he explained on the way. “Youth activities, Relief Society, Scouts. I have interviews. Hope you brought something to do.”

  “I have a wedding to plan,” I said smartly, and he laughed. “Remember my reputation for fast.”

  “And rude and cruel.”

  “Which turns you on.”

  “It does. Tomorrow we can go get the agreement signed.” Rich people should always go into marriage with prenuptial agreements. I should’ve had one with Gordon, but that was one of the ways my father had screwed me in that deal. I never made the mistake of accepting a client without a contract, nor would I make a second trip down the aisle without one. I texted my attorney.

  Lawyer: PRENUP?! You’re MARRYING this one?!

  Me: Mitch Hollander.

  Lawyer: LOL OK

  It rather bothered me to sign one with Mitch, but that was stupid, so I shook it off.

  I sat in the church foyer on a nondescript floral sofa with my feet drawn up under me, and gleefully threw myself into the role of bridezilla, my thumbs texting as fast as they could go.

  “Hi again!” Shit. “Still at the Steelworks?”

  I looked askance at Sally, who had made herself at home next to me. “Yes,” I murmured.

  “Where do you live?”

  “Manhattan.”

  “And...when are you going back?”

  I wanted to laugh, but the key to being a good whore is being a good actress. “Tomorrow morning.”

  She relaxed and her smile softened. I waited politely for whatever she would say next, and was finally rewarded with, “I’m waiting for the bishop. I have an interview with him.”

  “Ah,” I said, and went back to my to-do list.

  “So, you look like you’re busy.”

  “I’m getting married,” I said absently. “Making plans.”

  “Oh, how wonderful!” she said, and sat back fully, apparently secure in her schemes.

  “Sally?”

  She and I both looked up to see a man I recognized as Prissy’s husband. “Yes, Steve?”

  “You scheduled an interview.”

  “But I thought...”

  “Mitch has a full schedule tonight. I’ll be doing it.”

  “Oh.” I watched her crestfallen expression and almost felt sorry for her. She had the look of a woman who had never gotten a single thing she wanted in her life, who was treading water and completely exhausted with no rescue in sight. “Never mind,” she muttered as she arose. “It wasn’t important.”

  “Sally,” he said gently, “if you need to talk, come talk with me. If it’s about...”

  “No,” she whispered, her head down. “It’s not.”

  No, I wasn’t going to break this woman over my knee. She was already broken, probably by choices she’d made (or had made for her) long ago.

  I wondered if Mitch knew that and hadn’t wanted to risk digging into her psyche, or if he’d been too occupied with trying to navigate her crush on him to think of it.

  She wandered off down the hall toward another large foyer. Adolescent shouts came from the gymnasium. From a different hall, the hall off which Mitch’s office sat, the happy squeals of toddlers could be heard.

  Steve ambled off and I was again alone, but not for long.

  I looked up when a very large shadow was cast on the floor in front of me. “I’m not very sociable,” Prissy said with an inscrutable yet calm expression. “But occasionally my curiosity overwhelms my antisocial tendencies.”

  I smirked and slipped over so she would have room to sit. “You didn’t buy my cover story.”

  “Not a word. I saw you and Mitch snuggling up Sunday a little too close for just business associates. I also saw that kiss out in the parking lot earlier tonight.”

  Oh, that had curled my toes. “You’re very observant.”

  �
�We—my husband and I—suspected he was seeing somebody, so we’ve been on the lookout for a new person to show up.”

  “Oh?”

  “His sudden radio silence on the weekends. If it was mill business, he would’ve said so, but he would’ve answered his phone no matter what. Also, I think he must have told Louise he was dating because she suddenly got off her Mitch-must-get-married-now soapbox.”

  Asked my Relief Society president...to write the words and wrap it up.

  “We knew there would be trouble with a single man as bishop—a young rich one—and we weren’t wrong. Louise has just been the most vocal about wanting him either to get married or ask to be released.”

  The idea of a ward full of smart women hounding Mitch to do something to make his life easier—while he stonewalled them all—amused me to no end.

  “Anyway, I’m Prissy.”

  “Cassie. I liked your lesson Sunday.”

  She looked surprised. “Oh.” She blinked, suddenly uneasy. “Um, thank you.”

  “You don’t get that very often, do you?”

  “No,” she said flatly. “Funny I get it from a nonmember.” Not funny ha-ha. I could do nothing but make vague noises of commiseration at brilliance gone undetected and unappreciated. “What are you?”

  “Technically, Episcopalian. In practice, self-absorbed.”

  She laughed. “You met Mitch at the Steelworks, I take it.” I nodded. “That’s wonderful. I hope you can get him away from here and on a very long vacation?”

  “That’s really up to him, but I’ll try.”

  “Good. Little advice,” she said as she maneuvered her considerable girth from the sofa and stood. “Don’t come back here until you and Mitch are signed, sealed, and delivered.”

  I stared at up her. “Mitch needs me to, uh...” I waved vaguely toward the hallway Sally had headed down. “Be a wall.”

  She pursed her lips. “Oh. I can see that, I guess. Stick with me, then. I usually sit toward the back, on the left side of the chapel. You’ll have to put up with my tax deductions.”

  “All right...” But she had already turned and was striding with that odd grace toward the other end of the building.