The morning after.

The light of the early morning sun filters through your curtains, filling your bedroom with a soft green light. Maisie’s hair splayed out, the smile on her face, the warmth in her eyes as you lay on top of her, slowly thrusting into her.

This is your life. As crazy as everything has been recently, this is your life. Right here, Maisie, you, the intimacy and connection you have built over ten years together. You try to think of a better way to word it, but you can’t. This is your life.

“Oh, Babe, yes.” Maisie moans softly as she feels you reach your pinnacle. You pull her to you, kiss her hard as you cum. Slow, not the most exciting sex, but the intensity. . . you have to take a few breaths to bring down the throbbing of your elevated pulse inside your head.

You open your eyes as you feel Maisie’s fingers brush against your face. God she’s beautiful. She’s been so stressed, so distant. It had only been for a few days, but you had been worried. Seeing her smile at you, feeling the warmth of your connection made the stress and worry dissipate. You slide your arm fully under her as you lie down beside her, holding her as she keeps eye contact with you, keeps smiling at you.

“Thanks Babe.” She says, delicately touching your face again.

“My pleasure.” You reply.

You kiss her shoulder, the top of her breast, her collarbone, her neck. She giggles then gives a slight growl as you kiss the spot just below her jaw. She grabs your face and pulls you into another kiss.

“You trying to get me going again?” She asks when she breaks the kiss.

You just smile. Nothing, I mean nothing in the entire world feels as good as knowing exactly how to rile up your wife.

In response your stomach growls, bringing reality back into the moment. “Are you hungry?” You ask.

“Oooh, are you offering?” she asks, biting her lip a little.

“I think I am.” You reply with a smile.

Maisie grins from ear to ear, pulls the covers tight to her chin and nods.

As you throw on some clothes, she has pulled the covers entirely over her head and started singing.

“This pillow is mine.” You chuckle and shake your head.

“This mattress is mine.” She continues as you claim you can’t hear her.

“These satin sheets, the blankets neat, mine, mine, mine, mine, mine!”

You walk out of the room before she can continue her **** of that dumb song from your childhood. You smile to yourself as you make her breakfast. One egg fried medium, toast with grape jelly and a piece of ham and a cup of coffee, dark with sugar. You don’t have to ask, you know exactly what she wants. Maisie loves fancy dinners, exotic new experiences, but never for breakfast. Her breakfast is the same, almost every day. You plate the egg, start spreading the jelly on the toast. Everything is right. It should be, you’ve had years to perfect an egg fried medium and toast. If you weren’t an expert at this point it would be weird.

“Breakfast!” you call as you enter your bedroom.

Maisie peeks out from the covers. “Can you get me a shirt?”

“Pfft, and ruin the view?” You tease.

She pulls down the covers, flashes you a nipple. “You’d think you’d get tired of seeing these.”

You won’t let that stand. You set her tray of food down on the nightstand, lean down and give her nipple a kiss. “How could I get tired of these.”

“Stop it.” She scolds, but with a smile. “I need to eat my breakfast before it gets cold.”

“I don’t know, I think this might be more important.” You say, cupping her breast as you lick and kiss her more.

“My wonderful, perfect husband made that food for me.” She says, lifting your chin.

“Well,” you say with a shrug. “Can’t argue with that.” You open the dresser drawer, toss her one of your white t-shirts then grab her breakfast off the nightstand, hand her the tray.

You sit for a minute, watch Maisie eat her breakfast before you get up and start getting dressed.

“Oooh, breakfast and a show.” She teases. “I might have to eat here more often.”

You turn sideways, look at her and smile as you place your hands behind your head, stretch slightly as you push out your hips. “I’m more than just a pretty face.” You say with a smile.

“You are?” She asks.

“Yes.” You say, shifting gears. As much as you would love to spend the day in here with Maisie, there’s stuff that needs to be dealt with. “I’m also your wake-up call.” You say, buttoning up your shirt as you walk over to the bed.

“Oh no!” Maisie cries, “betrayed by my own husband.”

You can’t resist playing along a bit longer. “I’ve been planning this day from the very beginning.” You say, doing your best to look nefarious.

“You mean, all of it was a lie.” She says, clutching her chest.

“All of it, just to get you in this very spot, comfortable, happy, complacent.” You crawl onto the bed, move the tray aside.

“And now you’ll take it all away? **** me to get out of bed? How could you be so cruel?” She sniffles, pretend to wipe tears from her eyes.

You give her a kiss on the lips. “We really do need to get moving, Em.”

“I know.” She pouts. You can’t help but smile. As much as Maisie is the ruthless negotiator, the relentless competitor that the poker and business world know, she’s also this Maisie. You are glad for it too, that she can leave that side of herself and relax, find joy in small, silly things like breakfast in bed and these little dramas you act out.

“Thanks babe.” Maisie says, her face serious. “Really, I needed last night.”

“You coming?” You ask as you get off the bed, take the tray of dishes from the room.

“Do I really have to?” She asks.

You head out to the kitchen, set the tray in the sink and head back to the bedroom. “I mean, we do have things to do today.” You answer.

She grabs your arm. “Just a few more minutes.”

“Claire left for school over an hour ago, Em.” You don’t want to push her, but the two of you have a busy day ahead.

“Please, just hold me for a bit?” her eyes look sad, you’ll be pushing it closer than you like, but it’s Maisie. You strip off your pants and shirt, climb under the covers in just your boxers. She turns away from you and you spoon into her back, holding her tight.

“Sadly we can’t lay here all day.” You say after a minute of silence.

“Just a bit longer.” She pleads.

“Come on, Em, we don’t want to be late for the Interview.” You gently stroke her arm as you say it.

“What interview?” She asks.

Shit. Your command from last night. You told her to forget anything causing her too much stress. If she forgot that you were supposed to meet with the police to discuss the cabin incident, then she was really stressed over it.

“Come on, Em, no more hiding. I’ll be there with you, we have a plan, it will work out.”

Maisie nods as you get out of the bed. She moves to the edge of the bed, looks at the floor. She hesitates. You understand, the wording of your command, when she gets out of bed it will all come back. Right now she has a general idea only, she’s forgotten the details, along with anything too stressful.

Maisie takes a big breath, pushes it out fast, then stands up. As she does you see her grimace. The warmth in her eyes is gone, the corners of her mouth tense. You approach her but don’t touch her.

“Are you okay?” You ask.

She shakes her head.

“Is it okay to touch you?” You follow up.

She nods as a tear slips from the corner of her eye. You step to her and take her in your arms. The Maisie you’ve known most of the last ten years is tough, ruthless when she’s after something, unshakeable, in charge. Other times she is light, fun, even a bit silly. But right now she seems so small, so fragile, she’s hanging off of you, crying into your chest.

You hold her there, kiss the top of her head, let her get the sharpness of her feelings out. Before long she sniffles, wipes her eyes and looks up to you.

“Really babe, thank you for last night.” She says. “I really needed that.”

“Anything, Em. I mean it. Whatever you need me to do.” You answer, stroking her hair.

“Can you switch me already?” She asks, wanting you to activate the command set she will be using today when she faces off with the police.

“Sure.” You answer. “Maisie, hardball.”

Her posture straightens; a smirk plays across her lips. “Thanks, babe.”

You watch as Maisie moves around the room, purposeful and decisive. She picks out a stylish dress, one that “disarms and distracts with class and innocence” according to Maisie. You dress in complimentary colors, slacks and a simple patterned shirt. An outfit that says you are just there, you aren’t important. The plan is for you to play as little of a role as possible. Maisie is the one with contacts and clout, she’s the one with curse-granted poise and focus. You are just there to support her, follow her lead.

Shen the two of you are dressed, she touches your face again, kisses your cheek, then uses a handkerchief to wipe the lipstick residue off. You reflexively reach up to wipe the spot but Maisie stops you. “Don’t touch it, Babe, leave a tiny bit behind.”

You smile, you have played this game before. When Maisie is assertive and smarter than them, the men are going to want to categorize her as a crazy bitch. She balances that by having her appear submissively loving to her husband. You just have to give off a vibe of “You can’t handle her, so I don’t even need to get involved.” It’s crude and layered in sexism, but it is also effective. As Maisie says, they made the game, so they can’t complain when she uses it against them.

While you are in the elevator, Maisie sends a text. Probably the most important part of this whole plan. You can’t predict how police officers will respond to what you are going to tell them, but those higher up? The more power people have, the less they care about the letter of the law and the more they have to be concerned with their public image. And that’s the leverage you have. The truth isn’t on your side. You set up a trap and killed two men. They deserved it, but that isn’t something the legal system cares about. In your experience the legal system spends most of its time protecting the guilty from retribution. Taking someone out because the world is a much better and safer place with them out of it isn’t something the police or the courts have any respect for.

You leave the elevator, say some polite words to the doorman and you are on your way. The ride is silent, Maisie is focused, the way she looks around, the way she holds herself, you know this version of your wife. She’s pouring over details in her head, working through different contingency plans. The pre-set commands you activated heighten her focus, memory, her ability to plan multiple steps ahead of other people. It’s probably best if you leave her alone, let her work. So that’s what you do.

Arriving at the New Jersey State Police station sets off a tightness in your chest. Not that you are worried about Maisie’s plan, you know better. You aren’t worried about Maisie pulling it off, the “blessing” of her family curse takes care of that. But you are a part of this, you have to be. The way Maisie talks to you, trying hard not to talk down to you, trying hard to coach you without revealing just how nervous she is that you will screw something up. She can adapt to changes on the fly, she can handle whatever strategies they have to try and trap the two of you. You are the weak point. If something is going to go wrong in there, it most likely will be you. The thought of screwing up, ruining Maisie’s plan, of letting her down, that is what makes you sweat. And you are sweating.

“Babe, don’t stress it, you’ll do great.” Maisie whispers to you as the two of you are led back to the interview room.