Page 1 of Wanted

Chapter One

Stella

Fuck my life.

Fuckity, fuck.

I know what they say about life being a gift and all that shit. Life is beautiful, but oh-so-complicated, and right now, mine is a shitshow.

I’ve been married for just over three months, to a man who swept me off my feet. We met when he stopped to buy some of the honey products I sell in a stall at the side of the road. From that moment, we became inseparable. Well, as inseparable as you can be when your man has to travel for work and spends at least four days out of the week on business trips.

Lionel was charming, loving, and romantic—the perfect gentleman. But nobody knows just how similar Cinderella’s story and mine are. In her story, the carriage turned into a pumpkin at midnight. In mine, Mr. Charming turned into someone else over the course of our honeymoon weekend.

The smiling and carefree boy I fell in love with became a jealous, controlling man with a clear agenda in mind, which is to knock me up.

And that brings me to the dilemma I’m in right now. After holding my breath for three days and waiting for the damn test to come back positive, I got up to find a red stain on my underwear.

Dammit.

How in the hell am I going to tell Lionel?

He has told me his workload is driving him crazy. An ambitious man, he dreams of being more than a regional sales representative for a wine company. He says that management sees potential in him and a promotion is just around the corner, and after saving for a while, we’ll be able to buy the old vineyard that brought him to Carrollton, my hometown. In the meantime, I must be patient and take care of the duties and tasks he demands of me.

After tying the knot, my husband insisted I take his name. After waiting for the appointment and filling out the paperwork, I officially became Mrs. Stella Annabel Kral, my maiden name Lambert, was left behind. As an only child, I would have liked to have kept my old last name or hyphenated it at least, but I decided to go with the flow to avoid another fight as hyphenating just wasn’t an option. Compromise also isn’t in Mr. Lionel Kral’s dictionary. That’s just one instance of his controlling nature. It should have acted as a red flag to what was in store for me.

The bad thing is this has become a habit in our household. For Lionel, it’s his way or the highway, so to avoid problems, I’ve had to yield more times than I would like.

Lionel has also notified me in the event of something happening to him, a prestigious lawyer in Louisville has the papers with his last wishes. That night I fell asleep disheartened. Crying my eyes out. Who can think of death just a few days after marriage? My husband. He told me he wanted to be cautious, with all the traveling he does, and he didn’t want me to worry, especially with a baby. And when it came down to taking care of our family, I had to agree with him.

I should stop overthinking it. I should get up and head to my mother’s house to take care of the bees. After the tragic accident that took my father’s life when I was eleven years old, I had to take over the family business. I was forced to grow up early because my mother could hardly function; she hardly ever opened her eyes or accepted to eat anything I placed in front of her. A couple of years later, my mother found solace in religion; the church helped to fill the void that was left behind after my father’s death.

Hopefully, I’ll have plenty of extra honey and royal jelly, which means I’ll be able to make some soaps and lip balms to sell at the recreation center and church. The extra money would come in handy, as I want to buy a book to prepare me to take my SATs.

Just as Lionel has his dreams, I also have mine.

I enjoy beekeeping, and I’m sure that with further education on how to grow an online business, other than the stuff I’ve learned through watching YouTube videos, I could expand my operation, and maybe open an online store and stop having to keep all my eggs in the same basket.

They say the future of retail is online, right?

Perhaps Lionel seeing how much I’ve achieved would allow me more freedom. I have to do something for myself, otherwise, the walls on this little house will close in on me.

The sharp stabbing pain I feel from the cramp reminds me that time doesn’t stop because I’ve decided to stay hidden like an ostrich, with my head buried in the sand.

Time runs its course, yet, the fucking clock does not stop for anyone or anything.

Grunting, as my back protests the pain, I reluctantly get out of bed, ready to hop into the shower. This commiserating pep talk must end right now.

Right as I’m stepping into the shower, I hear my doorbell chime along with my mother’s shrill voice calling out my name just beyond my front door. “Stella.” What’s she doing here? She hardly ever comes to our house. And even when she does, it’s never unannounced.

“Stella.” Her screeching pierces my ears. “Stella Annabel, where are you? Open the door.”

I slip on the thick robe hanging from a hook at the back of the bathroom door and run off to see what this emergency is about.

I throw open the door. “Good morning to you too, Mom! What brings you to this side of town so early?”

My mother looks at me and twists her mouth a little. She’s pale and sweaty, it seems as if she ran all the way here from her house. She even has on the apron she uses for cooking. She runs inside and starts to scan the living room as if she’s searching for something.

“Have you seen the news today?” Wow, this is weird. Usually, she doesn’t spend much time in front of the black box, as she calls it.

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