Page 8 of Beast's Wife

She changed into a white dress this time, then made her way downstairs toward the dining room. Stepping inside, she was shocked to find Carver already sitting down. He was typinginto his cell phone, but when he saw her, he put it away.

“Evening,” he said.

At first, she couldn’t bring herself to move, but then, knowing how silly it was of her to behave that way, she took several steps toward him and took her usual seat.

He got to his feet and assisted her with her chair. It was these little gentlemanly acts that had her doubting his Beast tendencies. There was more to Carver than met the eye.

“Did you have an interesting day?” he asked.

She wasn’t sure if she should tell him about meeting Andy, the air hockey game, or any of that. Would it be wrong to tell him? Wrong to keep it a secret from him? Morgan hadn’t been good with lies and manipulations.

“I met Andy today,” she said. “He seems nice.”

“Andy is a good guy.”

“Yes, he is, and he is very loyal to you. Also, he is good at air hockey.”

“So he said. Out of three games, he won two.”

She nodded.

“He is not used to winning,” Carver said.

This made her lift her head to look at her husband. Had this been some kind of test? Did she pass?

“Is he playing you?” Morgan asked.

“Most of the time, yes, and no, he can never win when he is trying to defeat me,” Carver said.

He leaned back in his chair, just as she leaned forward about to ask him something, when one of the maids appeared, carrying their food. She’d been so distracted by talking to Carver, she hadn’t even heard her enter.

“Thank you,” she said.

The woman nodded.

Carver said the same, and moments later they were alone.

“Would you like to play with me sometime?” Morganasked.

“Play with you?”

“Air hockey?”

Carver nodded. “Air hockey is a start.”

She wasn’t stupid. She knew what her words could mean to someone. She hadn’t exactly been thinking them through, and now as she glanced at Carver, she wondered what it would be like to kiss him. To remember how his hands felt on her body. He was her husband, after all, and she was his wife. It made sense for them to enjoy that.

Memories of women screaming, begging, of blood being on their pants after being raped, she closed her eyes, squeezing them together.

“Morgan, are you all right?” Carver asked.

She opened her eyes and nodded her head. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just bad memories.”

“Tell me about them,” he said.

“I don’t think it’s right to,” she said.

He stared at her. “You’re my wife, Morgan. Whatever troubles you, I need to know.”