Broken Vows (Domestic Discipline Romance)
Read Broken Vows (Domestic Discipline Romance) Online
Authors: Mariella Starr
Tags: #Domestic Discipline, #Contemporary, #Marriage, #Romance, #Forever Love, #Single Woman, #Bachelor, #Adult, #Erotic, #Spanking, #Anal Play, #BDSM, #Marriage Reconciliation, #Reconcile, #Careers, #Together, #Foundation, #Survive, #Economy, #Recession, #Reality, #Family Life, #Recapture, #Guidance, #Suppressing, #Dominant Role, #Responsibilities, #Neglect, #Faith, #Move, #Country, #Restare Lives, #Secrets
Broken Vows
By
Mariella Starr
©2016 by Blushing Books® and Mariella Starr
All rights reserved.
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Blushing Books®,
a subsidiary of
ABCD Graphics and Design
977 Seminole Trail #233
Charlottesville, VA 22901
The trademark Blushing Books®
is registered in the US Patent and Trademark Office.
Starr, Mariella
Broken Vows
eBook ISBN: 978-1-68259-283-0
Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design
This book is intended for
adults only
. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
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Table of Contents:
Emmie Grayson sat at the top of the curving stairs and hugged her oldest friend. Her puppy, Fuzzy, was soft and he always made her feel better even if he was not pretty and new. Gamma had tried to throw him away, but Emmie would not let that happen to her
bestest
friend. She hid him and protected him.
Words floated upward from below because Mommy and Daddy were fighting. They were not fighting like her boy cousins, rolling on the floor and pretending to hurt each other, but it was still fighting.
Mommy called it
discussing,
but the words hurt. She could see it in Mommy's face. She could hear it in Daddy's voice. They were saying bad words, words that hurt.
They were angry at each other—again—and Emmie didn't like it. She wanted things to be like it was before when they said good words to make each other smile, and laugh, and hug, and kiss. They didn't say good words anymore.
Some of the words Emmie understood, and some of them she didn't. It didn't matter if she understood them though because she knew the bad words hurt, the words made Mommy and Daddy unhappy.
Daddy said things like money, layoff, credit cards, and mortgage. He shouted, "We can't keep doing this! Something has to give!"
Mommy's words were tearful. She said things like always working, never home, I'm doing the best I can, and credit cards. She cried when she said, "This is not my fault and don't blame my mother!"
Daddy threw his hands into the air.
Mommy turned her back on him.
Then Daddy said the really awful words, "Do you want a divorce?"
Emmie sucked in her breath. She knew
that
word.
That
word meant her Daddy would go away and he would never come back. Emmie listened closely and then Mommy said a word that broke something inside Emmie.
Mommy said, "Yes."
Emmie hugged Fuzzy and rocked as large tears streaked down her face. She had heard that word before and she knew what happened when grown-ups said it. It meant her Daddy was going to go away.
She ran into her baby brother's room and pulled a chair over to the crib. She climbed in next to her sleeping little brother and hugged him. Baby Adam didn't hear the hurting words because he was asleep. She wanted to be like her baby brother. He couldn't talk yet, because he was a baby. He didn't know and he didn't hurt inside. He didn't know the awful word that hurt so much.
Emmie did not want to hear the hurting words anymore. She wanted to go where it didn't hurt anymore. She wanted to go to a place that was not broken. She closed her eyes and hid in the silence.
Jenny Grayson woke to the morning cries of her son, Adam, through the baby monitor. She looked over the vast, empty expanse of the bed and felt her throat tighten with tears. Josh had spent the night on the couch in his office over the garage.
"He wants a divorce," she thought as her lips formed words, but she could not add voice to them. The ugly weight of the single word took away her voice and strength. She could not hold back the sob that caught and ached in her chest.
How had things gotten this bad?
All they did was argue about bills and the lack of money.
When had they stopped being the golden couple? They had been the couple all their friends envied. Living and working in Manhattan had been all about your image and their image had been golden. Whatever they touched, it worked and was rewarding and successful.
Josh and Jenny, their names had rolled off the tongue as a matched set. Josh was tall and handsome with a close-shaven beard and milk-chocolate brown eyes. His brilliance and award-winning architectural designs had taken him straight to the top. He had his choice of workplaces long before he finished his degree.
She had also been one of his choices. She was an artist who worked in textiles. The unknowing called it sewing or quilting, and some of her wall hangings were. However, then there were the pieces constructed with yarn and leather, and whatever else worked together to meld into her art.
The critics said her work encompassed ancient crafts brought into the new millennia. She had won the accolades of galleries and critics. She thought her future was secure.
When had their lives imploded? When had they turned the corner where they became unable to see each other, hear each other, and touch each other?
Josh said he would move into his office tonight after work. They could not afford for him to go anywhere else.
As Jenny passed the mirror in the bathroom, she winced at her reflection. She was losing weight again and her eyes were puffy from crying the night before. She needed an overhaul, at least a haircut. The dark brown mahogany mass Josh loved was almost to her waist again. When her hair got this long, it was easier to keep it in a French braid and out of the way. She needed a facial and a manicure too, but they were not happening anytime soon unless she did them herself. Unfortunately, she was too tired or too busy to make the effort, and it took money to have others do it for her. She had neither the energy nor the money.
Why should she bother when Josh was too busy to pay her attention anyway? His moving to his office would not make much of a difference to their current situation. He was always working. Besides his day job, he took in freelance side jobs, which kept him working most evenings late into the night.
After the second impatient cry from her son, Jenny trudged into the baby's room. She found Emmie in Adam's crib again. She had removed their five-year-old from the crib twice during the night scolding her, but she was back.
"Emmie, wake up, honey," she said gently shaking her daughter. "I told you, you can't sleep with Adam. Go get dressed for school. I'll be down in a minute to fix breakfast."
Emmie didn't answer her but padded down the hall to her room.
Jenny attended to her one-year-old son. She realized Adam was not wet, which meant Emmie had wet his bed in her sleep. She had been doing this lately, a recent regression along with sucking her thumb. She was clinging to Fuzzy, her favorite stuffed toy, again too. Fuzzy was Emmie's version of a security blanket.
She carried Adam to Emmie's room, stripped her daughter, got her into the tub and into clean clothes. It was all too much, without so much as a cup of coffee for a jolt of energy. She glanced down the hall to the connecting door of her husband's office. He was probably already gone. He went to work early and came home late. Even when he was here, he wasn't here for her.
She rushed both of her children to the kitchen for breakfast.
With one child in a highchair and the other in a booster seat, Jenny made breakfast amid her typical whirlwind of morning activity. The phone rang. It was her mother who Jenny put off as she was busy feeding the children. The phone rang again a short time later, and Jenny saw on the caller ID that it was her mother again. It was hard to get Denise Marsden off the phone when she wanted to talk, so Jenny ignored the second call letting it go to voicemail. She had enough to do without trying to listen to her mother's complaints at the same time. Adam knocked over his Sippy cup, which rolled off the table to splatter all over the floor. She made sure Emmie had her little backpack, double-checking to confirm her snack and lunch were inside. She hurried her daughter out the door and onto the bus for kindergarten.
* * *
"Jennifer, you are not listening to me," Denise Marsden whined. "I asked you what you thought of this comforter."
Jenny looked up from where she was leaning over the stroller. "It's not your taste, Mom. The color blocking is too modern. Why do you want a new comforter? You redid your bedroom last month."
Her mother made a face. "It isn't right. I decided to try something different."
Jenny closed her eyes. "How about paying for the one you have now, Mom? You said it was perfect. You insisted you had to have it then because it was on sale, so I put it on my charge card. You haven't paid for it yet, and now you want to discard it already?"
"That is an extremely ungrateful thing to say," Denise snapped. "After all I have done for you, you would deny me a comforter set?"
"You promised to pay for it, Mom. It wasn't a gift," Jenny said beginning to feel the anxiety she felt every time she was out with her mother. She was so weary of these endless arguments.
"That is not you talking. That is Josh talking." Denise exclaimed pointing her finger at her daughter. "I told you when you ran off, marrying him was a mistake. You never listen to me. I have never met a bigger tightwad."
"You weren't even aware we were getting married, we eloped," Jenny said wearily. "Mom, we have to pay our bills. I cannot keep putting things you want on our credit cards if you won't reimburse us. You promised to pay for it." Jenny bent back over the stroller mumbling under her breath, "As you have a million times before, but don't."
"I cannot believe what I am hearing. Your life is a mess because this is what you made of it. If your husband were a better provider, we would not be having this discussion. Your father never denied me anything," Denise sniped.
Jenny closed her eyes at the untrue statement. Her childhood home had often been a battlefield of arguments, but her mother had a selective memory. The real problem was that Stanley Marsden had left his estate deeply in debt and Denise Marsden no longer had the excessive resources she had relied on during her marriage. The trustees were enforcing the spending restrictions allowed by her father's will. They had put her mother on a quarterly allowance based on what remained of her husband's previously wealthy estate. She was still far from poor and she had retained her mansion in the country club district of Waterbury, Connecticut.
Jenny swallowed a retort as her cell phone rang. It was Emmie's kindergarten teacher.
"Ms. Shaker, is Emmie all right?" Jenny demanded, frightened.
"Mrs. Grayson," the teacher answered kindly. "I was going to ask you the same thing. Emmie hasn't spoken a word all day. When I speak to her, she looks at me, but won't respond. As I said, she has not spoken a single word all day."
* * *
Josh Grayson searched the company server and swore under his breath. He phoned his so-called partner on the Richfield Towers project, but Tristen Connors was not in his office. Of course, he was not there. Tristen was never anywhere he was supposed to be. Josh was sick of it. The deadline for their meeting was only two days away and he needed those reports.
Josh walked over to the company cafeteria where he saw Tristen sitting at a table with Christina Pugh, the daughter of the company president. Forgetting his need for coffee, he stormed over to the table.
"Hey, Josh," Tristen said with an easy smile. "You know Chris, don't you?"
"We have met," Josh said tightly. "Where are the seismic analyzes reports, Tristen? They were supposed to be on the server this morning."
Tristen's smile faded. He instantly became angry and went on the defensive. "They will be there in an hour or two. Besides, the seismic reports aren't necessary at this stage."
"I have worked with Turner and Whiting Contracting before. They are sharp and tough. When they ask a question, they expect an answer and we had better have it. Both of them are perfectionists," Josh warned.
"I will have the reports on the server by noon."
Josh took a deep breath. "You said that yesterday and the day before. Damn it, Tristen, I posted it in your calendar a week ago. I have a meeting with a doctor at eleven today. I can't miss it."
"That is not my problem," Tristen snapped. "Maybe you should leave your personal life out of your business life."
"Oh, that is rich, coming from you," Josh snapped back. "Considering you are…"
"Hey, just the man I need to talk to," said Gene Lincoln, a fellow co-worker, as he stepped into the heated conversation. He put his arm around Josh steering him toward the coffee station. "Cool it, man."
"The worthless son-of-a-bitch," Josh growled.
"We all know he is," Gene agreed, shoving an empty cup at his friend. "We also all know he's trying to sleep his way up the corporate ladder. However, he is not worth losing your job over. There is nothing out there to replace it, man. I know because I search the job postings every day. We don't have a choice and this pays better than flipping burgers. It is here or the unemployment line and we have already been there. Come on, walk it off, talk to me. How are Jenny and the kids? How is Emmie?"
Josh heaved a sigh. "It has been a month and she is still not talking. We have gone through a gamut of doctors, who say she is in perfect health. She is still learning and if anything, is testing higher on the intelligence tests. We know she is smart. She has been sounding out words and reading since she was four. Today will be the fourth psychologist and so far, everyone we have spoken to presents us with a different opinion. One said she was autistic. She is not autistic. She is affectionate, loves being held, and she interacts well with other children. She had an advanced vocabulary before she stopped speaking. The problem is we can't figure out why she stopped."
"What about the other opinions?" Gene asked.
"That's the problem, they don't tell you anything. They want to set up these long drawn out sessions with no goal in sight. The last one said it was involuntary muteness probably brought on by some kind of trauma. When she found out Jenny and I had separated, she thought it might be the cause. We don't argue in front of the children."
"You don't have to, kids know when something is wrong," Gene said. "When my wife and I split for a while, the kids were in worse shape than us."
"We are separated, but living in the same house," Josh admitted. "Everything is as normal as we can make it. Emmie spends most of her evenings sitting on my lap while I work at home."
Gene shook his head. "I'm telling you, man. Kids don't miss a thing. I hope you two get back together. I like your little family. Have you tried marriage counseling?"
"We can't afford it," Josh answered honestly. "You are in the same boat as me, Gene. We are not official employees here anymore. We are
contract
workers who don't qualify for benefits. The only health insurance I can afford is crap and we go deeper into debt every time we take Emmie to another specialist. Marriage counseling is way down on our list of priorities."
"It shouldn't be," Gene said. "Let me talk to my minister. He offers marriage counseling and it won't matter to him if you don't attend our church."
* * *
Josh logged onto his computer and searched the Pugh and Barkley Designs' server again, but the missing reports still were not there. He had done much of the preliminary work at home but did not have time to complete both his and Tristen's jobs. They were prepared to make a formal presentation to Tuner and Whiting. They would not make the deadline. It was that simple. He called and made an appointment to see David Pugh, the president of Pugh and Barkley. The Barkley part of the partnership had died the previous spring, after which Pugh sold the business to the billion-dollar international corporation of DQ&H.
When Josh entered Mr. Pugh's office, Tristen Connors was already there. Josh had not bothered talking to Tristen earlier in the day. It was too late.
"Come in, Josh," Mr. Pugh said. His tone was businesslike, but not overly friendly. "I assume you want to discuss the Tuner and Whiting presentation."
"Yes sir, I do. We are not ready for the presentation, you need to postpone it," Josh said bluntly.
Mr. Pugh looked over to Tristen. "I was under the impression from our meetings and progress reports that the Richfield Towers Project was on schedule."
"We were until about three weeks ago. I have been unable to get the assistance I needed in procuring the necessary reports. Let's not quibble here, Mr. Pugh. I have repeatedly asked for a change of personnel on this project and you have refused my requests."
