After my official wedding night, four—nearly five—months into my marriage, I fell in love all over again. Not only had I had my fill the night before, but in the morning, and now once more before opening the shop.

Pressing her against our front door while pinning her hands up above her head with my left as I stroked her face with my right, I wondered if all wives were as...enthusiastic.

Even when she laughed, a thing she wasn't known for while working for us, I felt enchanted and whisked away.

She broke the kiss and I devoured her chin then her throat.

"You have work," she breathed out. "My job isn't far. I'll be back for lunch—"

I caught her lips with my mine again, growling, "I can't wait that long."

When I let her go, she ran her fingers through my hair, moaning as I sucked on her throat.

"Darling, really, I'll be late. And I don't think I should enter my job with the smell of your aftershave on me. What will people think?"

I picked her up. "You're a married woman."

"Exactly." She used both hands to push me back and pecked my lips before seeking her escape.

Even when she was gone, I stared at the door, confused by her meaning. I was forced to hunch over as I fought to calm myself. Lunchtime was mere hours away. I could wait. Besides, it would be something to look forward to.

Once I regained control of my body yet again, I redid my hair and made sure I looked presentable as I started on preparing my goods. My menu wasn't yet diverse but that was all right. I'd have to simply go further into the streets to make a sale.

The store had few visitors. My strategy was simple, open for the morning, go out to sell before lunch then come back to the shop in the afternoon. If it worked, I could perhaps attract a steady stream of sales.

This was the first time I'd made half the rent. With a fire in my gut, and a perpetual smile, I made my pastries and set off as planned. I sold everything. The grin I wore made my face ache.

I was putting my till in the draw when the door opened. Just a bit more and I could buy my wife a proper ring.

Nothing could ruin my mood, I'd thought, until I looked up to find someone I was less than thrilled to see ever again.

Throat tight, I coughed. "Constable.... How...how can I help you?"

He sauntered in holding his baton, a scowl firmly in place. "Is Mrs. Chamberlain here?"

The fact that he knew us by name dragged my spirits down. "She's...she's at work, sir."

"Work? You make her work?"

Well, when he said it like that....

"I shall be needing to know when she'll be back." He propped his thumbs in his pockets.

My mind raced as I tried to think about what attracted the attention of the authorities. Yesterday's incident with my cousin came to mind but I was...reserved. Sure. We shared some heated words, but I swung no punches, which was quite the challenge for me.

"Well, um, she doesn't get off until the evening time," I affirmed. "Perhaps you can tell me what the matter is."

The bell on the door rang and yet another unwanted guest walked in.

Angelique met up on the constable's back then leaned away.

"Excuse me," she said, hands raised in an effort not to touch the man. "Do you mind?"

Upon seeing her, one image came to mind. My adorable wife coming in to find this woman here, misunderstanding, and running me through when we sat down to dinner later on today.

This was bad.

Angelique's clothes looked better than my entire shop. I did not care. I went back to cleaning the counter while keeping an eye on the constable. The man turned to leave and would have probably done so if not for two words.

"Poor Mason. Look what you've been reduced to."

Like a puppet led by a string, the man turned around to face us.

His blue eyes trained on me, hers as well. With him here, I couldn't tell her off as much as I wanted to.

I needed to be rid of them both.

"Do—do you know one another?" The constable asked.

Angelique leaned away to regard him. Whatever she found, she cleared her throat.

The third time the bells on the door struck one another, a sweet word made me close my eyes.

"Darling."

All speech left the new Mrs. Chamberlain as she saw the constable. Then she spotted Angelique and I couldn't tell which one she'd murder me for the most.

She was good enough to inch around them and join me on my side of the counter.

"Constable," she said, "to—to what do we owe this pleasure?"

But then her head rotated towards me so slowly I half expected it to continue into a full rotation. She was livid.

I swallowed hard and prayed what started out to be one of my best days didn't end with me in a grave.

"Mrs. Chamberlain," the constable said, leaning forward. He examined her face then her neck and stood to his full height, a firm expression in place. "Now, ma'am, I won't throw sugar on it. I'll be direct. We've received a complaint this morning."

Her gasp was genuine. Beyond the constable, Angelique watched on with sick fascination. She was having an absolutely ball.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

The constable sounded gentler, more sympathetic, when he approached my wife.

"One of the older neighbors, I can't say who, said she heard fighting. A terrible row between the two of you. It was a ruckus that went on for quite some time." He leaned to the left again and shook his head. "I can see the bruise on your neck all right. There's no need to protect him, ma'am. You say the word and we'll give you justice." He cast a hateful glance to me but told her, "By now you should have had your baby. If he's manhandled you in any way and caused—"

"Oh! Oh, no. Constable, no. This is a misunderstanding. My husband's ever so gentle."

He turned to her, utterly unconvinced. "It was a very reliable source. Not only did you fight in the dead of night, but this morning. But there's nothing to fear. I'll accompany you to the station for a report and we can see to this...man."

Her face turned beet red and I, feeling quite pleased with myself, turned to face the wall behind us but whispered to her, "I told you, you were too loud."

"Shut. Up."

My rise to my full height was slow and deliberate. I was more than curious how she would get us out of this one.

When I remember Angelique and focused on her, the expression wasn't one I recognized.

She wore a blush as well. I thought to ask what she'd come for but she fixed her grand hat, turned to the door, and walked out.

There was a finality to the way she left. Something about her action told me I'd probably never see her again.

I turned in time to see my wife explain, "And that's what happened."

Shaking his head, the constable cast a disgusted glance my way then sighed. "You really are a piece of work."

"What?" I took a step back.

My wife clutched my arm and insisted, "Many people are frightened of spiders. I'm terrified of them. So it was just his joke, you see, saying one was crawling on me. By then, I was in hysterics and couldn't calm. And then this morning, to see a real one coincidentally.... Well...."

The constable shook his head at me but turned to her and scrutinized the red bruise on her throat. Perhaps he was making sure it was not made by a hand.

Eventually, he calmed once she offered him a free treat.

I opened my mouth to protest but she elbowed me in the gut and I shut up.

Five minutes later, pleased and munching, the constable was gone.

We stood side by side staring at the door.

A grin crept on my face. I nudged her with the intent to gloat but she was hot to the touch.

"It isn't funny."

"Oh, but it certainly is," I insisted.

A kiss on the cheek had her pushing me back despite the laugh. She allowed one on the mouth but paused and pointed. "What's that?"

On the counter, not too far away, a book rested. It was probably from Angelique.

It looked brand new and I thought to pick it up. I regretted nothing more than letting my wife do the honors.

The word "Cinderella" stared back at us.

"Did you write this?" she asked.

Had I? Now it was my turn to blush.

I was thrilled, deep down, beyond thrilled. That was what Angelique came for? To see the famous writer.

But when I turned to take the book and examine my hard work, my wife lowered it, a haunted expression on her face.

She looked shaken when she put the book down. "I—I should be getting back to work."

I thought to grab her and pull her close, to remind her what we had planned for lunch but she was too upset and I was too surprised.

Once she was gone, I examined the book. The author name stunned me. It wasn't mine.

That was the first reason I was shocked. I felt cheated. Utterly and totally violated. But when I willed myself to open that book and read the story I'd woven, I reached the description of the stepsisters and lost all feeling in my body.

He'd changed it. That....

That day was the most successful I'd ever been financially. I forced my smiles for the customers but felt dead inside once it was all over and I marched upstairs for my dinner.

A good meal I didn't deserve awaited me. The Mrs. moved back and forth getting everything ready and I watched on, struggling to find something to say.

She always had a knack for knowing when I was around so I waited for her acknowledgement.

When she looked at me, she smiled brightly enough, but no joy met her eyes.

"Aren't you hungry?"

I sat down for a lack of something better to do. She didn't join me for ages. By then the food was cold.

She lowered herself into her chair and picked at her meal. It was nothing like the days leading up to now. Usually, we chat and she'd even laugh at my terrible jokes. A time or two she'd ask about work. Today...nothing.

Since we'd married, she hardly ever wore the upstanding lady façade. It was on full display now.

"I'm sorry," I said. What else could I say? I'd written about her life without asking. And worst yet, although I was too embarrassed about how flatteringly I'd described the character based on her, there was no way to convince her that I hadn't written her as evil...and ugly.

She offered me no response for sometime then sat up and asked, "Were you paid well for it?"

I hesitated then confessed to what had happened. Momentarily, I turned mad and everything spilled out of me. How I'd tried other places far away with no success. How I'd gone to the frog and been foolish enough to let him see my works. All of it.

Every word that left my lips dripped with sincerity but she only nodded and stood.

I got to my feet as well. "You do believe me, don't you? I know it was wrong but why would I ever write you that way? Why would I ever do that? Think about all we've been through. Do you honestly believe I'd do that? It was because I wrote you so flatteringly why he changed it."

And then she turned to me and asked the one thing I could not defend. "Did you describe my mother as evil, or was that his decision, too?"

My mouth refused to open. I had to force the words out. "The things she's done—"

"They were to me. And I understood them. And yes they were unforgivable but that wasn't your anger to broadcast. That was mine!" Tears welled in her eyes, but she kept them at bay. "And I don't talk to her now, and haven't in years but I do love her and how am I supposed to explain this if we ever find ourselves on speaking terms again?"

Head hung, I waited for her to walk away before I fell back into my chair.

That night, although she went into my bedroom to sleep as she usually did, I sat at the table for ages, staring at the off white tablecloth.

What I wanted to do was march down to that printing press even in the dead of night and do something drastic. Something that involved a brick through a window.

Instead, I considered something else. I slept in her room that night and the next day, I did not open my shop. Instead, I went to that frog with a new resolve.

I walked in without knocking, an action that had him on his feet.

"Get away. Don't you come near me. That is a common rumor and whatever I wrote was my own choice and you can't say I stole it or copied it from anyone. Anyway, you've got no proof!"

I opened my satchel and reached in.

"Is that pistol?" he cried.

He deserved a cannon but instead, I slapped down yet another manuscript. I kept my hand on it and told him, "I'll give you this one, it's got your villain and what you'd asked for, if you agree not to change the roles of the man or the woman."

The frog relaxed from his guarded stance and stood bold finally. "I can't make any promises. Besides, you can't make any demands on me."

"Or I'll break your knees."

He grunted in response and I turned to march out, unsure that I'd done the right thing or something incredibly stupid.

I was forgiven by my wife in a matter of days—not that I deserved it. Months passed and while the business should have been my focus, I, instead, lived every day in fear.

The moment I saw the new book, I thumbed through it and let out a slow sigh of relief. He'd made changes but honored my original request. Seeing someone else's name on my work hurt, but I clutched the book close, more than thankful.

When dinner time came, I took the steps two by two.

More than anything, I loved seeing that big belly whenever she was around. Today, I helped her sit down while I shared the food, purposely leaving the book on the table.

She hadn't touched it even when I returned.

Her eyes met mine and I said, "Go on. This one's for you. I wrote one about me this time. Me and you. I hope you like it."

She traced the title and cocked her head. "...And the Beast?"

End

"For My Next Trick..." is a spinoff from the book "Perception". Why not give it a try? Or, if you're looking for another Romance, try "The Hunchback's Reluctant Bride."

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