Page 237 of Storm over the Caribbean
I could think of a few.
“Mrs Ambrose?”
“Yes, Dicky Darling?”
“I will get you for this.”
“True.” Smirking, she patted her pregnant belly. “But not for the next few months, correct?”
I paused, considering. For quite a while.
Tarnation!
“… Correct.”
Her smirk made me want to rain down punishment on this disobedient littleifritof a wife. May Mammon curse whoever thought it was a good idea for pregnancies to be nine months long!
Except you wouldn’t even touch her afterwards, would you?
Silence!
Her smirk widening, my “darling wife” patted her baby bump. “So, I have plenty of time to prepare my defences. Oh, and…?”
“Yes?” The word I squeezed out was little more than a growl from between clenched teeth.
The smile she sent me was so sweet. So innocent.
“It worked, right? I managed to surprise you?”
Deep breaths. Deep, calming breaths.
“I will get you for this. I will get you for this and punish youseverely.”
Her smile not waning an iota, she hugged my arm to her side. “I look forward to it.”
Then, before I could do a thing—such as tackling her to the ground and tying her up—she marched off towards the stage. I leapt forward, trying to grab her arm—only to experience the most horrifying feeling in the world. Being late.
“Attention, please, everybody.” With a broad smile on her face, my dear wife appeared behind the lectern up on the podium. “Thank you for coming. I would like to welcome you all to the first event organised by theRikkard Ambrose Foundation for Women’s Suffrage and Equal Rights.”
Wait a moment…was naming this feminism fiasco after me the only thing she did? Where did the money for this abomination of an event come from?
Don’t you already know?
“We have all gathered here for one common cause,” my wife’s voice rang out, “one just goal that is very close to my husband’s heart, and that unites us in our fight for a better world of justice and equality. Now, I’m sure you’re all expecting me to give a long-winded speech, but I am a woman of few words, and not particularly good at speeches. So…”
Why was I suddenly overcome by a horrible sense of foreboding? What could possibly be worse than having to pay for all of this?
Stepping back from the podium, my darling wife beamed.
“…I’ll leave that task to someone much more qualified. Please, Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, give me your applause to welcome Rikkard Ambrose!”
Ah, yes. That would do it.
She pointed at me. The littleifrithad the audacity topointat me. My hands clenched into fists, begging to smash something. Preferably that infernal banner and podium. However, given that everyone present was now looking at me, I decided against that oh-so-tempting course of action.
“Ambrose!” called out a young female who looked like she could tackle a bull to the ground. Looked like she wanted to try, too.
“Ambrose!” a few other ladies joined in. “Am-brose! Am-brose!”
