Page 3 of Her Shameful Wedding Night (Corporate Correction)

“Well,” the lightly drawling Midwestern voice said at the other end of the phone line, “I’m going to send you a link to access the part of the site that’s only for men who mean to be heads of household.”

Bradley didn’t want to keep parroting back the government official’s words like a neophyte out of his depth, so he kept himself from saying “Head of household?” Of course he meant to be the head of his household—the one who paid the bills and filed the taxes. He knew Zoe expected a standard division of labor, more or less, and that appealed to him, but he also had no intention of trying to return to the 1950s, so the term had taken him aback.

The couple had discussed cooking, cleaning, and even diapering, and Bradley felt a good deal of pride in how happy he had been able to make her by saying he meant to clean up when she cooked, if she would do the same, and that he planned to clean the toilets as necessary and to do half the diapering. She would work part-time for the present, which naturally put her in charge of the traditionally feminine realm, so he would take charge of the traditionally masculine one—he would serve ashead of householdeven if they had no plans to follow traditional gender roles in other respects.

Was this a New Modesty thing? As a legal opponent of the sponsor of Selecta, that strange corporate governmental program, which sponsored two large communities in a neighboring state, had little appeal for him. All Bradley knew about the New Modesty was that it represented an attempt at social engineering through traditional forms of education. He had heard rumors of other aspects, yes, but they seemed outlandish.

“You can take a look and let me know if you’re still interested,” the program officer said.

“Okay,” Bradley replied, and hung up, still frowning as he opened the mail from the state government with the registration link forMarriage Subsidy, Head of Householdpages.

“Welcome to our program for prospective husbands! As the future head of your household, you’re the one who will apply for and receive the funding we have to offer. You’re also the one who must decide whether the program is for you and your bride. As you’ll read about here, under the secret emergency powers act, the governor has invoked certain capacities of state authority that apply even in private homes. Should you qualify, and decide you wish to accept the marriage subsidy, your government will back you up in maintaining order in your home.”

Bradley’s frown deepened considerably. Any lawyer who had come through law school in the past ten years knew that they would probably have to deal with one or more of the secret laws passed at both the state and federal level in the wake of growing societal unrest. They had proliferated in the last couple of years, too, as energy shortages had become more common. Still, Oakville’s sleepy Midwestern state seemed to have taken the matter to an unexpected extreme.

“Reliable studies have demonstrated that a large percentage of couples—anywhere from 10% to 70%, depending on the study—would be happier with better defined roles in the household, and that the traditional roles of husband and wife promote both familial and community harmony. Less-well-known studies, due to the controversial nature of the topic, indicate that the foundation for this happiness lies in the bedroom.”

Now Bradley’s eyebrows rose so high he thought they might ascend to his hairline. Not only did the state want to come into the private home, now, but it seemed the government had awarded itself the power to venture into the bedroom as well.

“As a head of household, you will have the final say over what happens in your and your bride’s bedroom, but thanks to the state’s access to highly advanced biometric analysis, your program officer will have recommendations to make, based on your bride’s social media activity and, later, her medical examination. You may find these recommendations surprising, but your program officer will talk them through with you until you feel comfortable. So sign up today for the free qualification analysis!”

Bradley called Jake Davies back, even less sure that the program would work for him and Zoe, but at the same time even more intrigued than he had been before. As he and Zoe had courted, he had almost tried to force the issue of sex several times—not to force Zoe herself... absolutely not. But forcingthe issuewould have been different, if he had managed to do it. Bradley had had two serious girlfriends, as well as a few hookups. He had a right to consider himself experienced, he knew.

But none of them had been a virgin when he had met them, and something in Zoe’s innocent-yet-mischievous blue eyes, when he kissed her deeply and she snuggled against him, and something in her protesting murmur when his hand slipped between her thighs and healmostbegan to unbutton her jeans, made him stop. He could wait. Zoe wanted her wedding night to be special. He would be able to teach her the way he had always heard a virgin should be taught, tenderly, and they could speak about all the mysteries of their marriage bed then.

“You read the HoH section?” Davies asked.

“I did,” Bradley said, endeavoring to sound like he encountered secret government takeovers of private life on a daily basis. “Can you tell me a little more about what’s meant here by your recommendations surprising me?”

Davies had chuckled at the other end of the line. “I can’t really get into that until I’m sure you qualify, but I’ll just say that most prospective husbands—including relatively experienced ones like you—don’t know how much science has told us about young women’s needs. May I go ahead and run an analysis on your fiancée’s social media activity?”

Looking again at the website, Bradley thought those words had probably decided him—how much science has told us about young women’s needs.He felt that if he had known just a little more about Zoe Ralston’s needs, he might have felt more confident about taking their wonderful cuddling further—and about making sure they had a wedding night and a honeymoon to remember.

His office intercom crackled to life, and Bradley sighed, knowing it would tell him his investor, Randall Dosser, was on the line. Instead, the office manager’s voice said, “Bradley, Randall says he’s tied up and he doesn’t mind skipping today’s update. He’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Then, as he thanked the office manager, wondering how fortune could have given him half an hour of free time, he noticed that on the special page for heads of household a link had popped up—something Davies had told him about but, because his schedule would never permit Bradley to take advantage of the opportunity, he had forgotten.

Exam in progress. Click to watch.

Bradley clicked, and saw a live feed from the examination room, where on a relatively noise-free audio stream, he heard the middle-aged nurse say, “Go ahead and take off all your clothes, Zoe.”

Zoe’s sweet, heart-shaped face had the pink hue it got whenever Bradley kissed her.

“Really?” she asked. “I thought... I mean, I didn’t think...”

“Honey,” the nurse said, “this is an exam for the marriage subsidy. It’s going to be a little bit embarrassing, I know, but it’s aboutmarriage, so there are going to be some, you might call themgrownup thingsinvolved. If you want to follow your future husband’s instructions—remember, he’s the one who signed you up—you need to go ahead and get undressed.”

Zoe’s cheeks had gone beet red. She swallowed hard and very visibly. Bradley wanted to jump through the screen and hold her in his arms to reassure her, but he also found himself fascinated by her reaction, which despite her basic lack of worldly experience he supposed he wouldn’t have expected. It was a doctor’s exam, after all: everyone knew you had to get undressed for them. This one, he knew, would have some strange quirks, but Zoe hadn’t even really heard about any of those yet.

“Okay,” she said quietly. She looked around the little examination room, now—at the back of the door, in the corner. “Where’s the gown?”

The nurse smiled very patronizingly. “There’s no gown for this exam, honey. Get your clothes off so we can get started.”

“But—” Zoe protested.

“Honey, if you want to leave like the last girl did, that’s your right, but I can tell you that your fiancé signed the both of you up for this program, and that you’ve been prequalified, so I know for a fact that you belong here, even if you don’t know it.”

Zoe’s eyes went very wide. “What doesthatmean?”

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