Page 18 of His Loving Guidance
A Time to Heal
Chapter One
The sudden pause in conversation left Stephie fidgeting in her seat. She made eye contact with her husband for the briefest second before glancing away. They’d just finished talking about visiting her parents in a month, and now the silence loomed between them, awkward and thick. She circled a spoon in her coffee, watching as the cream she’d just added spiraled and dissolved in an instant. Around her, the steady hum of chatter and morning newspapers being ruffled filled the local diner.
Nerves tightened her stomach, and she looked up at Marcus, trying to read his mood. The question she longed to ask rested on the tip of her tongue. Would he finally give her back some of her freedoms? Yesterday marked one year since her cancer had gone into remission. A whole year of being healthy and getting her strength back. Her hair had grown down to her shoulders already, and she’d also gained back every pound she’d lost during chemo. Despite her improved health, his overprotectiveness persisted and threatened to drive her crazy.
She placed the spoon down and cleared her throat. “Marcus?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I want to drive to New York next Wednesday. There’s an art exhibit in the evening and some of my paintings will be on display. I can drive up in the morning and spend the night with Darla, then come back home on Thursday.”
His face darkened and a chill fell over the table. He might as well not even respond. She already knew his answer.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m sorry, Stephie, but no.”
“But—”
“I saidno.”
She huffed and reached for a pack of sugar. As she tore it over her coffee and clanged the spoon around in the cup, she mumbled under her breath. “This is bullshit. This is absolute bullshit.”
“Watch your mouth.” The firmness of his tone sent a shiver down her back, but anger soon followed in its wake, and her face heated as pent up frustrations rose to the surface.
She straightened in her chair and met his gaze. “Or what?” Her voice held a note of challenge that caused Marcus’s eyes to widen. “Let me guess? You’ll say you’re going to spank me, but then you won’t follow through with it? Or even better, you’ll take me over your knee and give me a few halfhearted slaps over my jeans and act like it was a proper spanking?”
“Don’t start this argument now, Stephie. You’re not going to New York by yourself. If it’s really that important to you, I’ll take off work and drive you myself.”
She rolled her eyes. “Never mind.” She didn’t want a babysitter.
Anger simmered inside her as they picked at their breakfast in silence. Why did it have to be this way? When would he start treating her the way he’d treated her before her illness? If a year of health wasn’t good enough, what was? Two years? Three years? She couldn’t continue, day after day, with his constant coddling. They’d taken a break from domestic discipline when she’d gotten sick and hadn’t returned to it until a few months after her remission. Except they hadn’t really returned to it. He still handled her like a delicate piece of China. It maddened her.
A real spanking—a real punishment over his knee that brought her to tears—wouldn’t break her. Allowing her to travel occasionally by herself, as she’d done many times prior to her diagnosis, wouldn’t invite catastrophe. No amount of reasoning and arguing, not to mention intentional misbehavior, seemed to change their current circumstances. Marcus had agreed to start up the domestic discipline part of their marriage again, but it felt weak and contrived. The few times he’d actually decided to punish her, he’d slapped her bottom a few times through her clothing, and that was that.
Tension sizzled between them on the drive home. As Stephie sat in the passenger seat fuming, she decided to spend the day in her studio. Hiding. She didn’t know what else to do. He’d stood by her through her illness and he’d been the perfect, most attentive husband during the most trying time of her life. Now that they’d made it through to the other side though, it felt like their marriage was disintegrating. His reluctance to take her in hand left her angry and resentful, and though she tried to be patient, she often lashed out at him with hurtful words and cold silences.
She hated what she was becoming. She hated the dark cloud hovering over their marriage, and she sensed a real storm brewing on the horizon. Surely they couldn’t continue this way forever. Distant. Struggling. Constantly at odds. It was hell.
But oh how she loved him. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she turned to gaze out the window, letting it fall in secret. Most of her tears fell in secret, usually in her studio as she threw herself into her paintings. The paintings were the only thing she had absolute control over. The freedom to create any image she wished, to disappear into a world of her own making without Marcus standing over her, suffocating her with his overprotection.
The tires crunched over gravel as Marcus turned onto the winding road leading to their home. Their large, three story brick house rested on a clearing in the woods about ten miles outside of town. The entire third floor was an open space that functioned as Stephie’s studio, with wide windows and skylights making the massive room feel endless.
“Home sweet home,” Marcus said, reaching to squeeze her thigh. He frowned at her when she flinched at his touch. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” God, she just wanted to get out of the car without a fight.
“You know what.” He arched an eyebrow at her, an action that used to feel like a warning.You’re this close to getting your bare bottom spanked bright red, young lady. But not now. Now it felt empty, because he wouldn’t follow through. His threats were empty, his discipline lacking.
“No really, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Smirking, she reached for the door handle. She knew her behavior was childish and her constant disrespect hurt Marcus, but she couldn’t stop herself sometimes. Panic rose in her chest as she entered the walkway, storming past the yellow and purple mums she’d planted yesterday without sparing a second to admire her favorite fall flowers. She rushed in the house and slammed the door behind her, ignoring Marcus’s shouts to stop. She felt completely out of control. And afraid. God, she was so afraid. She didn’t recognize herself or her husband anymore. They’d become different people. Strangers to each other and to themselves.
She paused to throw her purse on the kitchen counter and clicked her nails on the granite surface. The front door opened and slammed so hard the walls rattled. Her tummy flipped. Would Marcus head directly for his home office? Or would he storm into the kitchen to continue their argument? Even though he treated her like a fragile doll, he always liked to get the last word in. His coddling had some limits.
Heavy footsteps approached.
“Stop clicking your nails. You know how much I hate that noise.” Marcus loomed in the kitchen doorway.
A sarcastic retort ready for launch, Stephie opened her mouth, but soon shut it when she glimpsed the sadness lurking behind his livid expression. Her hand stilled on the counter. He remained in the doorway, his eyes on her. They were in the middle of a fucking staring contest. Or a glaring contest. Whatever. Childish stuff.
