The Widower (18+) | [Complete]

Two

"He looked like what?" Crystal asked me.

"That's what I'm saying. He was hot." I busied myself with packing my clothes into a suitcase. My uniform of black, high-waisted pencil skirts to hug my best features, and light-colored blouses to make up for the lack of blessings on my upper half. "Handsome face, perfect hair, amazing ass . . ." I shivered at the memory.

"So, what's the prob—hold on," she said over the sound of her youngest screaming. As she handled her toddler situation, I leaned in closer to my broken mirror and brushed my short waves behind my ear for a better look. My freckles were still noticeable as my brown skin had yet to warm to its summer shade. "So, what's the problem?" she finished.

"He still wears his ring."

"Oh, no . . ." she responded. "Oh, God, that's so sad. I feel awful for those kids."

"Tell me about it. Remember how hard it was for me when Mom passed? Even before I lost Dad . . ." The painful feeling ached in my chest again. "I was so lost."

"You turned out alright though," she complimented me.

"Because I had you, your parents, and all the therapy money could buy," I reminded her. As much as I pretended to hate my hometown, not all of it was tainted. Crystal, her parents, and even her kids, were all reminders that my life had been filled with as much happiness as sorrow. Every child who lost a parent should have that same feeling of security while they learn to wade through the painful chaos of grief.

"You really want it, huh?" Crystal said, pulling me from my thoughts. "You want to help those kids."

I tried to deny it but couldn't. "I do, I really do," I told her. "I know it's not an ideal position, but helping kids like me is the reason I became a teacher. I'd like to help their father, too, but honestly . . . I don't know if it's his grief or if he's just an asshole. If that's the way he always acts, I'm afraid he'll do nothing but fuck it up for me."

"Fuck it up, or fuck you?"

"Don't even go there. Those days are over for me," I said, unsure of how truthful it was. "I've learned to get my rocks off in other ways."

"There's no shame in a little kink, Aub."

We laughed together, but I started to get another call. Private Number graced the top of my screen. "Oh shit, I think this is him!"

"Already!? Oh, fuck, fuck. Answer it!"

"Love you! Bye!" I ended the call with her and answered the other. "Hello?"

"Ms. Nielson?" a charming accent asked.

"Mildred?"

"Yes! Hello, darlin'. Mr. Montgomery has agreed to have you on!"

The air left my lungs and didn't come back. "Oh, wow. Are you serious?"

"Yes! This is such great news. I'm real chuffed for you!" Real what? "We'll send a car to pick you up tomorrow mornin', have you meet the children and discuss arrangements with Mr. Montgomery. I can't wait!"

Neither could I.

. . .

The next morning, I was a nervous wreck. A Rolls Royce came to pick me up—an odd sight to see in a neighborhood like mine. A few hours later, I was on a yacht headed up the river back to the castle they called a house.

Once inside, Mildred was the first to greet me. "Ms. Nielson. Welcome!" She hugged me. The surprisingly warm gesture didn't feel out of place. "Come. He's waiting for you."