Chapter 2: Welcome Home, Honey
Sherman returned from a town meeting exhausted. He wanted Constance to rub his weary shoulders and speak in quiet, soothing tones, sending him off to calm and dreamless sleep. Her gentle nature is truly something to behold, he thought, opening the door in search of her sweet face. That is when he saw it.
He had received ‘the look’ from a few prior girlfriends and it was frightening enough then, but none of them held a candle to Constance. While the eyes and anger of others had shot daggers into his quick retreat, not one had filled him with dread like ‘the look’ staring back at him now.
Constance was not a woman who angered easily. She was long on patience, empathetic to a fault, and knew fact from fiction almost without exception. Everything she breathed, touched, and attempted, was with single-minded, passionate devotion. It was one of many qualities that drew him to her, but he hadn’t considered her passionate focus in this context.
She had only a few faults, the worst of which were jealous tantrums. She had good reason, but Sherman was ill-prepared for jealousy, coupled with murderous intent, in the eyes of his lovely bride. Standing here now, frozen in his tracks, he realized, if looks could kill, I’d be a dead man served up cold on a cement slab, and the colonel would still put a bullet in my brain. Thank God he was with me!
Sherman summoned all his courage, slapped on a bright smile, and handed her a bouquet of flowers that she did not try to grasp. The bouquet fell to the floor and Constance didn’t blink. Neither did her expression soften in the slightest. She just stood there, glaring hatefully, with stems and petals strewn about her tiny feet.
“Honey, I’m sorry. I had to attend the meeting at town hall. This was about farming and water for the crops. They might dredge the lake and I had let them know our fields are drying up. I didn’t know it would last all night,” he explained. Seeing no change in her countenance, he finished, “What was I supposed to do?” He stood defiantly, waiting for response.
With her arms still folded across her chest, Constance kicked the flowers from her slippers, never taking her eyes from him, and slipped stiffly into a chair, “Lie to me,” she spat acidly, with rage building in the timber of her voice, “This is how much respect you have for me? You think I’m so unintelligent that you’re going to just stand there and lie to me now,” she quizzed him, with her fury building dangerously close to combustion.
Anyone with eyes could see she was a lit keg of TNT with precious little fuse left. Sherman began to approach and then thought better of it. She’s a volcano about to erupt. Even I can see this one coming on. Then suddenly, his lips turned up slightly as he recalled the first time he’d bedded her and she had been a much more accommodating volcano. He wiped off the grin but it was too late.
“You dare to laugh at me? You think this is funny? I paced the floor all night wondering if my husband is alive, dead, or with the town whore, and you’re smiling? How dare you,” she screamed, “So it’s hilarious that you worried your wife sick”?
Constance shoved her chair back standing ramrod straight and crossed the room. Fisting the first heavy object that came into her hands, she sent a prized Louis XVI sevres hurtling toward him, nearly clipping his ear, as it whizzed past his head and shattered against the wall along with his hard won calm.
© February 23, 2017 – 07:36 PM – All Rights Reserved
Tagged: Lust, Love, Romance, Jealousy, Tantrums, WiP