Saved!

Lucien was still scowling as he walked downstairs for a late lunch a few hours later. He had hoped to spend time with his wife and maybe lose himself in her soft, lush body. But she had danced away, like a girl in love, and not stopped, although she had sensed his displeasure.

Damn the woman, he thought, and he sat down at the head of the table for a lonely lunch.

Beatrice marched in with an appetizing Irish stew and chunks of homemade bread. Lucien attacked the food, recognizing his wife's handiwork. Wolfing down the soft bread that was buttery in texture, he grunted in pleasure. His wife could cook like a professional, he thought as he attacked the dessert that appeared before him.

“But you don't remember her birthday,’ snapped Beatrice, entering the room, scowling. She had effectively interrupted his thoughts.

Lucien wiped his lips and scowled at her.

"What do you mean, old hag?" He growled, still irritated at the way his wife had waltzed out when he came home.

“Your WEMEN. Her bir