The Tame (ON HOLD)

Of truants and their orders

Breakfast was a silent affair, broken only by the sound of cutlery hitting on plates. Delectable piles of morning cuisines graced the rectangular, vinyl table. The view up on the main deck was sensational too, the young sun hanging loose on the eastern horizon.

But the food was more than adequate, and even as she munched the strawberry, Phina thought of charity funds and foster homes. It was a pity she couldn't consume the plethora of dishes assigned to her. Brendan was absent from the table, as had been his wont, the first two weeks of their marriage. Phina's orbs had been unable to view the presence that was Brendan Kincaid since the morn of their wedding. The only time she'd recalled seeing him was when he introduced her to the staff.

It irked Phina to no end that he avoided her as a nun avoided the warmth of a man's bed. Sighing, she plucked a velvet grape from its bunch and bit into its alcoholic flavour. The leftovers were to be shared between the maids, or if she'd heard correctly, thrown overboard.

Brendan was not charitable. He wasn't one to be normally found at social homes and charity funds. He never gave to the needy on his birthdays like other wealthy crowds did. And he didn't have an orphanage foundation in his name, as well as support a social welfare organisation.

What on God's green earth did he do with his billions then? Attend ebullient strip clubs and file wild lawsuits in attempts to strip companies of their bosses? Brendan's life was practically kept in the dark. Aside a few stunts he pulled on his fellow business magnates that managed to be reported by the press, his lifestyle was not seen by public eye. Either he paid dough to media houses to ensure their secrecy on his behalf, or he was just what he was. A phlegmatic nincompoop.

Phina grimaced. Catch that Mr. Kincaid! You're a nincompoop with underarm hairs for brains.

She guffawed, her soft hands flying to placate her lips. There! Brendan wasn't so dignified at all. Not in her mind's eye. She could very well call him all the insolent names she wanted. So far as she didn't voice her thoughts out loud.

Florence came to her, a bemused grin on her face. 'You look happy today ma'am,' she said, wriggling a blue napkin in her hands. She knew better than to add, even though your husband's not with you.'

Phina spoke Florence's unsaid words. 'Yeah I am. Even if he didn't breakfast with me, I'm quite content. No one can make me happy but myself.'

She spoke in sincerity. She wasn't going to go a-sorrowing because her newly-wed husband eluded her company. Phina was bound to make the most out of her loveless marriage. A Swiss bank account was a real deal, and she wasn't going to waste the money on herself.

She was certain that somewhere in Somalia, Syria, Burundi, Mali, Iraq, and the likes, an orphaned and needy child needed her undying pledge and help.

There was one thing she was sure of too - she was going to sustain her marriage no matter what. It was two weeks now, that she was Mrs. Kincaid. Yet, Brendan was yet to consummate their marriage - not that she was looking forward to it anyway. What was he playing at? To leave her untouched so he could claim her barren after three years and divorce her? She shook her head in confusion.

'You've barely touched your pudding.' Florence's drone interjected Phina's swimming thoughts.

Phina worried her bottom lip and gazed down at the brown soup. It was wheat cooked with honey and had a meadowy tang to it. It was actually mouth-whetting and she realised with a start that she was famished. The fruit salad had been unable to sustain her.

Phina picked a spoon and dug into the pudding, fearing that it had gone cold. It hadn't. Mmmm. Delicioso. The pudgy and sticky food stuck to her tongue floor before sliding down her throat, a blend of honey, cream and wheat. Florence was quite the chef.

'Wow', Phina said sincerely when the bowl was a vacant hole, 'the food was heaven. Who taught you how to cook?'

Florence beamed. 'My grandma. She worked magic with her hands and even had a note full of recipes.'

Phina grew interested in an instant. Cooking was one of her big time skills, though she'd let go after some years of staying with the Dame. 'I'm hoping you'd teach me more secrets to my compilation then,' she said and winked.

A horrified expression crossed over Florence's features. 'But you are not allowed to cook!'

'Who said so?', Phina asked, her eyes narrowed.

'Your mother-in-law. She said as the junior Mrs. Kincaid, you'll be expected to attend galas and other elite gatherings. Therefore it wouldn't befit to have your hands marred.'

Phina's heart boiled with indignation. 'I can very well do whatever I want without people questioning my motives! If I say I want to cook, I'll cook.'

'Alright then, ' Florence surrendered, her hands fetching plates unto a wide porcelain tray.' You can cook as many times as you want, but I'll have to vacate the premises before the month is out.'

Phina bristled. 'Why?'

'Boss's orders.'

'What?!'

'Yes, that is what Mr. Kincaid ordered. The moment you enter the kitchen, my job is lost.'

Phina rose from the chair, her movement abrupt. 'Where's he?'

'Who, please?'

Phina hissed. 'My husband.'

Florence gaped, her pupils dilating.
'But you can't see him. He won't allow it!'

For the first time in her youthful life, Phina swore. 'Damn the boss's orders.'

A/N: I really apologise for my independent author's note updates. And as a reform, I assure you guys that there'll be no more single author's posts. But please vote for The Tame on Twitter and if you don't know how, read my author's note before this chapter.
Thanks!!! :)