King's Wife

King’s Wife

Sayali D.

EDITINGLE INDIE HOUSE

Mumbai, India

www.editingleindiehouse.com

www.indiebookcafe.com

KING’S WIFE

Copyright © 2022. SAYALI D.

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9788195137763

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locals is entirely coincidental.

This book is not sold to subject to the condition that shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

For more information, please contact:

Contact: - contact@editingleindiehouse.com

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Editor: Sara Miller/In-House

Cover Designer : Portia Ekka Designs

First Edition: April 2022

Content

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Epilogue

DEDICATION

For Pops, who taught me to dream.

And Mom, who gave me the courage to follow my dreams!

CHAPTER 1

Mr. King will be with you in a minute. A tall woman with black, straight hair gave her a once over with a slightly displeased pout but hid it instantly, continuing with a forced smile. He’s sorry for the delay, but please, have a seat; someone will bring you coffee while you wait. She gestured to the seats in the lounge before returning to her own behind the reception desk, and started clacking up a storm on the computer, ignoring her presence.

Which delay was he apologizing for? Mia wondered, a little frustrated.

Her two-inch heels made no sound on the rich oriental carpet as she decided to look around the lounge, too nervous to sit down. The room was spacious, all modern chrome and glass. The walls were decorated with different kinds of abstract paintings and modern art. She wandered a bit, observing the art from various artists, but a Renaissance scene grabbed her attention for a bit, making her wonder about his taste in art. She lingered there a little, then moved on to a billboard touting the company’s accomplishments. The name pierced her like a startling scream.

Alien, yet familiar.

Right there, yet so far away.

Gymnosperms. Angiosperms.

She nervously repeated botany terms in her head to stay calm and sighed, tamping down her apprehension, Then, as her eyes rolled towards the heavens for courage, they were drawn to the well-lit crystal chandelier, bedazzling and smug, casting an otherworldly glow on the room.

‘Just as lavish as its owner’.

She was counting the crystal, but her admiring session came to a halt as someone entered and left a coffee cup on the table.

Walking over, she picked up her cup and stood in front of the full-length glass window, observing her reflection in it.

She didn’t look half bad, Mia thought, adjusting her black, square-rimmed glasses. She was in her best rose-colored dress, which wasn’t exactly va-va-voom stunning, but practical and pretty enough. Her flyaway hair was restrained in a sensible bun, and the minimal makeup she wore to cover up her freckles wasn’t smudged.

She looked calm and controlled, but it was everything she wasn't feeling today.

Conifers. Cycads.

She busied her mind again, going over the members of the tree family, a neat trick she’d come up with to settle her nerves before tests.

How long has it been? Two years and nine… no, almost ten months now.

Long enough that he was practically a stranger.

Ma’am, you can go in now. She whirled around to see a red, manicured nail pointing right to the hallway. Last door at the end, the receptionist said in a cold voice, then ignored her and returned back to the clackety-clack sound indicating she resumed her typing.

She tossed away her paper cup in a trash can and strode along the hallway. At the end of it, she came across an extravagantly designed door that ran from ceiling to floor. And those walls weren’t standard either; stretching at least double, if not triple the average height, making the plaque that read CEO appear more daunting than a dare off a bridge.

She tapped on the solid door, the noise ringing out, sounding larger than life, echoing down the hallway. 

Maidenhair. Hardwoods.

Come in.

Even though she heard his voice after nearly three years, she couldn’t mistake the deep baritone. Panic gripped her.

Relax. Focus. Breathe.

She tried to take big deep breaths, telling herself this wasn’t the time or place to second guess herself.

As she took a fortifying deep breath, the door flung open, and she came face to face with him.

Damian King.

He was now a stranger, this man. His features were sharp, face angular.

Mia! His eyes gleamed. Please, come in.

She was taken aback by how much he had changed. The college playboy had finally grown into his features of prominent masculinity. A sharp jaw that rivaled Henry Cavill's was shaded with light stubble. But those golden eyes of strict clarity held her in a trance with a calculating gleam she hadn’t seen before.

She stuck her hand out for a shake, and at the same time, he moved forward to hug her. Their awkward hug-shake lasted for a brief moment, but she could hear the smile in Damian’s voice as he said, Hey, hold on.

She was pulled against his solid chest, and in that small moment it gave her a sense of false security. She didn’t want to hug this strange man, nor wanted her brain turning fuzzy as the earthy cologne tingled her olfactory buds, stirring a dormant desire deep within.

However, before she could voice her objection, he led her into his office, draping her arm with his.

A consummate gentleman.

The door closed behind them as she stepped into the spacious office, a totally different world away from hers.

Gingkos. Ferns.

She had to be in charge of her emotions and needed to ignore the fluttering of her heart. This was a business transaction, a long-overdue one, brought forth for a speedy conclusion.

He led her to the seating area, and she settled on a couch, tucking her dress underneath. Her eyes traveled around, taking in the surroundings. The first thing she noted was a spacious office with enormous glass windows overlooking the stunning downtown view. The oak desk occupying the center had a slightly displaced leather swivel chair behind it. The seating area consisted of the couch that she currently occupied and a couple of armchairs, where he was standing, propping his elbows on the back of the chair and looking at her with a small smile. She averted her gaze, glancing at the rug between her feet, not knowing where else to look. She couldn't afford to fall under his spell again.

I’ll call for coffee, Damian spoke and turned his sly smile into a smirk before striding to his desk. She took that time to look at him. Really look at him. His suit looked expensive, probably custom-made. His brown hair stood out at odd angles like he had been running his fingers through it. He looked fit, though, scrawny even. Not the athletic, exuberant boy he had once been as a teen, but a man who moved with purpose and elegance. His face was somber and not as soft as in his youth. Definitely not the same mischievous boy she had hung out with as a kid.

Those tawny/golden eyes that used to be filled with such warmth and life were now sharp and focused, directed at her like she was prey. Realizing she got caught staring, she looked away.

You look lovely, Mia. So much prettier than I remember. He said, looking as if he was deep in thought.

Did he remember? Did he think about her over the past three years? Did he know the uncountable number of times she had thought of him? How many days and unending nights she spent remembering his words, expressions, and nuances? How many hours, minutes, and seconds she waited around like a fool for him to call?

He didn’t seem beholden to the past, nor was the least bit discomfited by her reappearance in his life. Maybe she wasn’t any more important than the couch she was sitting on.

He had always been suave and glib. No reason for him to change now.

Thanks, the small reply fell from her lips. She didn’t think his compliment was sincere, but a flush of pleasure tingled inside her. She had dressed to impress after all.

This time, he gave her a sincere smile and picked up the phone to order. I already had coffee. She replied, clearing her throat, stopping him in the middle.

Can I get you anything else, then? She shook her head no, so he returned to her, settling in the armchair across from the couch. Again, she felt his expectant gaze boring into her with the intensity of a laser, trying to expose what was hidden inside her mind.

Now would probably be a good time to say everything she came to say. She’d gone over the lines she memorized and gathered her courage, trying to remember if there was anything to recall. But, then, her carefully thought-out speech had suddenly flown out of her head, and she looked around, trying to compose herself.

Fronds on the fern next to the couch. The Latin name, Dryopteris intermedia. Commonly known as the Intermediate or Fancy Wood Fern.

She had to say something to fill the awkward silence as she fiddled with the strap of her purse.

Eudicots. Monocotyledons. Magnoliids.

You’re doing well, was all she managed in the end, though quite lamely. Then the unfortunate, ‘I’m glad’, came out as practiced.

The past rippled unseen in the space between them, the sudden marriage, his immediate departure to Johannesburg, where he had stayed away for a long time. She hadn’t expected him to leave, but she always knew he would come back. However, she never had thought it would take years. And one day, she would have to track him down and, of all places, in his office.

I was expecting something beyond the pleasantries. But I’m glad you aren’t chucking things at my head. He straightened and leaned forward with elbows on his knees, giving her the opening she needed.

So, tell me, Mrs. King, what brings you here?

CHAPTER 2

I want a divorce. She blurted out, and it was the last thing he expected her to say. Mia West might look cute and harmless as a kitten, but she went straight for the jugular.

Damian usually liked people who were direct, but she had robbed him of his own words. His finger scratched his brow, assessing the woman sitting in front of him. Her sharp gaze focused on him while biting her lip in rumination.

He leaned back in his armchair, trying to read her thoughts. And she also met his gaze squarely, unflinchingly, while trying to not let him affect her.

It was getting hard for him to believe that this was the same woman he had married. Her clothes screamed efficiency, and the skewed glasses on her slightly wrinkled pert nose gave her the look of a librarian that was about to shush you. She didn’t look at all hopping mad, though, because God knew she had enough reasons to be upset with him.

The entire duration of their sham of a marriage, he hadn’t spoken two words to her. Blind grief and impotent anger drove him all the way to South Africa and kept him there for nearly three years. He had too much to prove, to himself and to his parents.

Moving to Joburg had seemed so imperative then. He needed to go away, and he thought of his aunt and uncle in Johannesburg. However, when he’d left, he hadn’t planned to be away for so long.

He remembered that period of his life; the darkness cloying at him, the lethargy and helplessness he had felt. His guilt and remorse cornered him, suppressing all other human emotions. As a result, he hardly recognized the person he’d become. He had never been a bitter or negative person and certainly wasn’t so vulnerable to break down and sob like a baby in front of his Aunt Maria.

He changed with time, and so had the woman sitting in front of him. He had fought his demons but still did not know how to deal with Mia. His wife was an innocent casualty in the madness that drove him into desperation for so long. Safe to say, he wasn’t going to win any Husband of the Year trophies any time soon.

Mia raised an eyebrow in question as she opened her mouth to say something over his lack of response, but thought better of it and closed it again.

He had a sinking feeling in his stomach, a premonition that he was going to screw this up. Already he was on the backfoot here, even though she was in his office, without knowing he practically lived here.

He hadn’t been back in the States for even a month. And all this time went into setting up a subsidiary of his company in a different country, even if it was the one he had grown up in. Setting up a business in a new country, building a client base, operations, procurement, and hiring competent staff was hard work.

Also, the truth was, he had been dragging his feet about meeting her, convincing himself that he would get around to it soon. Damian was still unsure of what there was left for him to say.

He rested his arms across the back of the chair and let out a heavy sigh, feeling blindsided by her declaration that she wanted a divorce.

I meant to contact you sooner. His voice sounded defensive even to his own ears, and she looked down at her clenched hands but said nothing.

Mia didn’t look angry, just… underwhelmed. One more person in his life that he had disappointed.

Her lips pressed in a thin line as she readjusted her dress around her knees before meeting his gaze. Ok. 

That's it? She didn’t want to say anything more? But at least she hadn’t scoffed her disbelief, he thought, understanding this conversation was only going to get on a more personal level if they proceed further with discussion.

How did you find out that I was back? He asked, trying to stall as long as possible.

There was an article in the local paper at Rockwall. I got your office address from Google. Mia said with confidence.

Damian bit back a curse. Damn those nosy, small-town reporters.

He knew that he cut a sorry figure, someone who had to be tracked down, not someone in control of the situation. Someone he didn’t want to be anymore or wasn’t anymore.

Biting back a sigh, he reined his anger; he knew soon enough another irate woman would be showing up at his doorstep, ready to unleash her pent-up ire.

However, this one didn’t look mad at all, at least not yet. Instead, she was looking at him like he was something unpleasant stuck on the bottom of her sensible pumps that she’d rather scrape off.

There wasn’t any trace of the little girl in pigtails who used to follow him around, hanging onto his every word. This woman meant business, dressed impeccably, wore sensible heels and her nails were short but clean. She wanted to intimidate him, and the thought was intriguing.

The only trace of her nervousness was her foot twirling around in the air.

Not so much in control of her emotions after all?

The urge to ruffle her feathers was too great.

So, he said, trying to hide his smirk, do you still count the steps on the staircase when you walk up or down?

She looked at him in bafflement, fighting disbelief at his abrupt change of topic, but he still caught the nervous gulp. What? Of course not. That was ages ago!

Still a lousy liar. And do you talk to yourself when you think no one’s looking?

She pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes. I don’t, and none of these questions are relevant.

Well, as a husband, it’s only polite to inquire about one’s wife-

This inquiry is almost three years too late, she cut in, her sharp, piercing eyes shooting daggers at him.

Especially since you are still my wife, he continued, smiling. She instantly clenched her jaw, fixing him with a deadly stare. He pictured steam coming out of her ears and wanted to laugh, but that would really get her goat.

She continued to glare at him and scoffed. Since you’re so interested in asking, I should point out that I am working towards getting my Ph.D., and I also teach undergrads at my university. So, I don’t do, umm, any of what you mentioned just now, not anymore!

Well then, I’m glad, and thank you for carefully climbing up the ten stairs to my office to come and see me.

***

Nine stairs! There were nine stairs!

Mia bit back the retort as she felt her nostrils flare. He was clearly baiting her, so at least someone had to be an adult in this conversation.

I-I’ve no idea why we’re discussing stairs. Nine stairs, not ten, you miserable cad.

She looked up to meet his gaze. The point is, now that you’re back, let’s go ahead and get the divorce as we originally planned.

Did we? His features were inscrutable, but his tawny/golden eyes were gazing at her intently.

Did we, what? She couldn’t believe his audacity.

Agree to a divorce? He looked confused.

For the love of-

Yes, we did. Before the marriage and before you left. She explained with forbearance, as one would to an especially slow learner. And, couldn’t resist, adding, Not everyone is blessed with a short memory.

He leaned forward with his elbows on his lap and raised an arrogant brow at her, provoking her. Perhaps I’ve changed my mind since then. He whispered, making her heart beat at a marathon speed. 

Deep breaths. A few more long, deep breaths.

She gave him a strained smile. Why delay the inevitable? Why would we even want to stay married? We weren’t together before the marriage. We hardly know each other-

Nothing’s stopping us from knowing each other now, is there? He leaned back again, his eyes searching for some kind of emotion on her face, but she wouldn’t allow him to read her like an open book this time. It’s not too late, is it?

Yes, it is. She drew back, then took a card from her purse, scribbled her number on it, and dropped it on the side table. Please ask your lawyers to draw up the divorce papers, and once they’re ready, tell them to contact me. I’ll sign them immediately.

Abruptly, he grabbed her outstretched hand and held it, not letting go. She looked at him with surprise.

Just like that? Damian’s voice seemed desperate, but his face still looked stoic, confusing her botanist mind.

She tried to tug her hand away from his grip. It was gentle, but strong. She sighed. Why was he being so difficult?

We have nothing left to say to one another, she said dejectedly, hoping he would leave her alone if she answered him without a fight.

I’m a fairly good conversationalist. He mused, letting go of her hand, and she bounded up to her feet. She felt as if her skin was on fire from where he gripped it, and strangely, there wasn’t a mark when she checked her hand. He stood up as well, buttoning his jacket. It was a nice dark brown suit that emphasized his lean body and hugged his strong shoulders.

Mia noticed his light blue shirt was paired with a matching tie and looked up to see a strong jawline covered in a well-kept stubble. His sharp eyes were currently watching her every move.

Best not to stare.

She headed towards the door but stopped when he asked, What’s your major?

She turned around. It was a polite enough inquiry so she could at least reply. Botany. Plant Sciences. At Dallas University.

Hmm, not music, then? His eyes crinkled with laughter.

Mia couldn’t help but smile. She hadn’t really done well at the guitar lessons he had given her at her insistence. She even remembered throwing a tantrum when she had gotten the chords wrong. Her young mind refused to admit being bad at anything. But then he made up a silly song to cheer her up.

Her chest heaved a sigh. So many memories, but best left alone.

What can I say? I chose to use my talents for good, not evil. She replied, giving him a slightly teasing smile.

But the smile on her face disappeared upon seeing him approach, his eyes ruminating on the past as well. If he hadn’t left so abruptly, maybe they would be friends now. Divorced certainly, but friends nevertheless. Not strangers who had nothing to say to one another.

He stood so close she could feel the heat of his body, his cologne filling her nose, almost overpowering her senses, but she refused to be cowed down and met his gaze evenly. Mia’s hands were rigid masts at her side as he reached out and grabbed one, encasing it within his. She looked at their ringless hands and wondered why she didn’t want to pull away. The warmth from his hand was languorously spreading up towards her chest.

What a curious reaction to a simple touch.

Have dinner with me. We’ll catch up.

She disengaged her hand from his. Why?

He frowned. Stubborn, aren’t you?

No, but I’m busy, and so are you. I only booked an hour of your time. She booked this time yesterday, and his secretary begrudgingly allotted it.

Hour’s not up yet. He steadily gazed at her face, holding her captive.

Yes, but I have a class to teach. Give my time to someone else on your calendar. She hoped that the statement came out cool and not snarky.

He sighed, exasperated. I’m just asking for a meal together. I won’t make any jokes or tease you if that’s what you’re worried about.

She snorted in disbelief and looked away, her gaze focusing on his square, stubbled jaw, marveling at its arrogant tilt. She wasn’t a little girl anymore who he had relished teasing and hung onto his every word. Nothing he could say now would make her behave like the lovestruck pre-teen she was in the past.

Should they have met in a more informal setting? Sure. But how exactly does one meet up with a recalcitrant husband? And she had already said what she came to say.

He was three years too late, if he had anything to speak of about their marriage. It was better to let bygones be bygones.

She looked into his eyes and shook her head. His shoulders slumped, and it almost wavered her decision, but she gave him a small smile to temper her refusal. Trust me, it’s better this way.

She waved a casual goodbye, turned, and walked out of his office with her head high and confidence in each step.

She heard him say something like, ‘Will you at least think about it?’ but she had already closed the door behind her.

CHAPTER 3

The screen door squeaked when Mia pushed it open. Then, with a glass of Merlot in hand, she moved from her tiny deck to her favorite place in the world, her little garden.

Every plant and seedling had been lovingly nurtured by her. Meticulous rows of tubular onions and tomatoes on vines were planted adjacent to each other, along with a few other plants and herbs that she used for cooking. Her garden also had a lone oak tree, and a substantial part of it spread out of her garden; perks of having an apartment on the ground floor. Her apartment may be small, but she loved it.

She sipped the wine before kicking off her shoe and trailed her toe in the mud. Nothing in the world calmed her more than this little slice of heaven.

No one could disturb her here—not a husband gone AWOL, not mountains of student debt or her familial responsibilities.

Okay, one thing could.

Come on! I’m starving! Can you please hang out in your garden later? Violet, with her mop of curly, red hair, poked her head out from the screen door.

She gave her fiery best friend a wry grin and followed her inside. Since college, they had been tight, sharing this very same apartment, but Violet recently moved out to live on the other side of the town with her architect boyfriend. So that room was vacant now, and Mia still hadn’t decided whether she should lease it out or turn it into a study slash guest room.

The girls didn’t hang out as often as they used to but still were close. Violet was the one who pushed her to meet Damian. Her exact words were, ‘Grab the bull by its proverbial horns, and stop being so passive, dammit!’.

At dinner, Mia watched in amusement as a voraciously hungry Violet dug into her meal of buttermilk biscuits and chicken marsala. After eating some of it, she pushed away her own plate, but Violet was still sopping the sauce with her biscuits. Mia picked up her wine, not caring that it was her third glass. She was enjoying the pleasant buzz it afforded after the meeting with her husband.

Oh man, your food! Violet messily licked the sauce off her fingers. Had I been a man, I would’ve married you.

Poor Steve would’ve been so heartbroken. Steve was Violet’s boyfriend; they had been dating since college. Her friend acknowledged with a wry grin as she got up to place her plate in the sink and wiped her hands on the washcloth before turning towards her.

So, speaking of Steve, I believe I have some news. Violet’s tone dipped low. Our first date’s anniversary is coming up, and, based on Steve’s secretive behavior, I think he’s going to, well… she danced a little jig, pop the question!

The kitchen exploded with loud squeals from both of them.

That’s so wonderful! I’m so happy for you! You’re my favorite person, and I love you!

Right back at you, girl! They hugged each other, raised the wine glasses, and sipped.

So, Mia leaned in, feeling exuberant and carefree. Violet was surely going to be happy for her as well. "I’ve news for you, too. Which means we both have two good news today! Or should it be too good news?"

Violet laughed. Professor, you’re wasted!

Probably, she giggled. Well, I deserve a celebratory drink. I did it today, Violet! I finally met with Damian!

Stunned silence met her declaration, which was broken by Mia’s loud hiccup.

Yep, she was drunk.

Oh my God! That’s great! You did it? You met him? In his office?

When Mia nodded, Violet let out a low whistle. Wow, I’m proud of you! Oh my God! Finally!

Ye-ep. another hiccup.

So, tell me, how does he look? Balding? Fat? Violet made hand gestures with her question, and they burst into peals of laughter. Life wasn’t so sucky anymore. In fact, she thought, the whole marriage thing was quite funny, actually.

At twenty-one, she got married and hadn’t seen her husband for three years. Hi-la-ri-ous!

Oh no, he’s quite handsome. She had been agonizing over the meeting for a couple of weeks, and now that it was finally over, she felt relieved. She removed her eyeglasses and placed them on the dining table. Feeling battle-weary, she rubbed two fingers on her eyes and set her arm on the table, laying her head on it. The face of a teenage Damian, laughing and watching her with mischief on his face, swam into her vision as she closed her eyes.

She had been so crazy about him a lifetime ago.

She frowned as the face of an older Damian, furious, driven, and unsmiling, took over the vision from her past fantasies. He had the same features, the same aristocratic nose, the same tawny golden eyes, but something had changed.

Ahh, well, Violet started putting a halt to her wool gathering. So? How was it?

Oh, not bad at all. I asked him for a divorce. The side effects from the meeting and the warmth from the wine started kicking in. The past came crashing down on her, and she felt lost and alone again. Tears sprang into her eyes, taking her by surprise. Her eyes were still squeezed shut, but two fat tears escaped out of the corner of her eyes.

Unfortunately, Violet noticed them. Shit! Are you crying?

She gave an exaggerated sigh, not able to voice her thoughts.

Aww, come on! You don’t need to waste any of your tears on the douchebag who married you and then left you hanging for almost three years! He doesn’t deserve your tears.

Yes, of course. I’m not crying. She hurriedly wiped her eyes and put on her glasses as her friend’s concerned face swam into focus. Violet gave her a disbelieving snort.

Well, you better hope that I never meet him in person. Violet twisted the washcloth in her hand for dramatic effect.

Mia chuckled at her friend’s sass. Well, I don’t think he wants to hash this out any longer than I do.

Violet snorted