Secret Husband

  Secret Husband

  By Normandie Alleman

  Secret Husband © 2017 Normandie Alleman

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Secret Husband

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  About Normandie Alleman

  Secret Husband

  PSYCHE’S NEW HUSBAND only appears to her at night and she’s not allowed to see him.

  At first she finds this strange, but before long she falls so deeply in love with him, she forgets all about the unusual conditions of her arranged marriage.

  But once she hears the rumor that her husband is actually a monster, she becomes obsessed with discovering the truth. Determined not to be deceived, she finally unmasks the man she loves, and risks destroying the one relationship that has brought her happiness.

  Chapter One

  SHE MADE A POINT TO sign her proper legal name, Psyche Armstead, on the document in front of her.

  Psyche was so unusual. She only used it for the stage and official papers. Her sisters had called her “Kiki” when she was a baby, and the nickname stuck.

  But what document was more official than a contract binding her in marriage to a complete stranger?

  Now that she was twenty-one, she was officially old enough for her parents to sell her away to pay off her father’s gambling debts, and possibly save his life. She didn’t particularly want to do it, but if she didn’t she feared what her father might do. Or what someone might do to him.

  And without him, what would become of her mother and sisters?

  By the middle of the twenty-second century, most kids lived at home with their parents until they were about thirty years-old on average. Offspring were once again viewed as chattel.

  When you were a mere mortal living among the gods, life was tough enough, and having parents who were screw-ups didn’t improve matters.

  Kiki looked down at the document and bit her lip as she considered everything she would be giving up for her family.

  She had a life most people would kill for. But she’d never intended to become a star.

  Her dream had been to become an artist. She loved nothing more than watching people go by and capturing their likenesses on her sketch pad. It’s what she’d done ever since she learned how to hold a pencil.

  But street art didn’t pay well enough, and soon after she left home she realized she’d have to get a “real job” to support herself if she wanted to keep creating. So, she got a job as a waitress working at a little café in North Hollywood, which was where a big producer of beaming video content discovered her. Before she knew it, she was under contract with his studio, and her channel became an instant success.

  Even though she’d never wanted to act, she had a talent for it, and it brought so much money to her family that she couldn’t turn it down.

  It had been three years now, and she was exhausted from the filming schedule.

  This marriage contract couldn’t have come at a better time.

  In two hours, her entire life would change, and she wasn’t sure if it would be for better or worse.

  Yes, she wanted to be done with the video business, but she worried she would just be trading one master for another.

  At least she’d be out of the spotlight.

  That had been part of the contract from the beginning. Her husband wanted her to stay off video feeds. No publicity whatsoever.

  Fine with her. The only condition she’d been able to work into the agreement was that she be allowed the space and materials to draw and paint.

  Her art was all that mattered to her, and if her parents could be compensated, and she’d be allowed to create, she believed it could be a good arrangement.

  Now, she dared to hope that her husband wouldn’t be too difficult to deal with.

  Most marriages these days were arranged in some form or other. Whether chosen by an artificially intelligent matchmaking program or the old-fashioned way by one’s parental unit, couples in the late twenty-second century trusted they would grow to love one another. Or not. Some considered love an ancient and outdated construct.

  Those who did find love were certainly lucky, but people viewed it as a bonus to marriage rather than a right.

  As long as her husband left her alone so she could create, Psyche told herself her own marriage would be quite adequate.

  “IS EVERYTHING SATISFACTORY, Miss Psyche?”

  The voice startled her, and she flinched. It was Pierce, the butler of her new home. More like castle.

  The forty thousand square foot dwelling perched high atop the Hollywood Hills, soaring upwards into the clouds. The sheer elevation of the place made her curious if her new husband had connections with the gods. Unfortunately, she knew next to nothing about him, and Pierce had been no help when she’d questioned him.

  “Call me Kiki, Pierce.”

  “Yes, Madame. Can I get you anything?”

  As modern as everything else was in the hillside estate, Pierce was a complete throwback. He wore a tuxedo and skulked around like a transplant from an Agatha Christie novel.

  “I’m all right. Maybe an espresso . . . No, that will make my nerves even more jangly.”

  “Some tea, perhaps, then?”

  She considered this. “Yes, tea would be nice, calming.”

  “Very good, Madame.” He gave a slight bow and stepped backwards out of the room.

  He wasn’t going to call her Kiki. She was starting to get that.

  Before he was out the door, she called, “Pierce, are you sure you can’t tell me anything more about my husband—not even his name or how old he is?”

  “I am forbidden, Madame. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

  “The inconvenience.” She laughed wryly. This couldn’t be a good sign. If Pierce’s employer was anything other than some diabolical creature, one would expect him to share that fact.

  Perhaps he was merely unattractive.

  That’s okay. I can shut my eyes. It’s not how he looks that matters. I just hope he’s tolerable.

  Obviously he was wealthy, so she wouldn’t starve. That was a positive.

  “Have you completed signing the contract, Madame?”

  “Yes, I have.” She pushed her chair back and when she stood up and walked away from the desk she considered telling Pierce that, for the moment, she was actually a mademoiselle, not yet a madame.

  She decided against it. “I would like to get dressed.”

  “Will you be requiring any assistance with that?”

  She was accustomed to a team of makeup artists, hairdressers, and stylists, but since today was to be an intimate affair between only her future husband and herself, she had chosen to do her hair in a simple braid and apply her makeup herself.”

  “I may want some help zipping up my dress, but I believe I can handle everything else on my own. T
hank you.”

  “All you need to do is call. If you need anything, I will be here right away.”

  “Thank you, Pierce. I do appreciate that.”

  As she dressed, a feeling of uneasiness began to surface. She wanted to downplay the gravity of the moment, but how could you minimize the significance of your entire life changing? As much as she’d like to deny it, her future rested in the hands of the man she just signed a marriage contract to.

  A man she’d never met.

  A man whose nature remained unknown.

  A man she’d never laid eyes on.

  Psyche took a deep breath before sinking into a luxurious bath. After she was finished, she dried herself off then applied a dab of the perfume that sat on the counter of her new bathroom. Just a touch behind her ears, and at the hollow of her neck. It must have been supplied by her mysterious husband-to-be.

  Finally a clue about him, she thought as she inhaled the scent—a wild combination of honeysuckle and jasmine, with a hint of something exotic she couldn’t quite discern. The dizzying aroma made her smile, and for a moment she allowed herself to fantasize that the man himself would make her feel that way.

  She threaded a strand of pearls through her braided hair and slipped on her dress. The creamy silk draped over her curves in a simplistic design. The sumptuous fabric felt slick under her fingertips as she smoothed it over her hips.

  Glancing over her shoulder in the mirror, she admired the view of the back with its small train that fell in a puddle to the floor and floated behind her for several feet. She had chosen a pair of gem-encrusted sandals, and her nails were painted blush pink. With her makeup, she’d gone for natural rather than the heavily made up version of herself that everyone saw in the CosmicTron advertisements for her channel. You couldn’t go outside without seeing them. They were everywhere.

  But that would soon stop. As soon as tomorrow that would all be shut down. Apparently, her new husband wasn’t in favor of her public persona. Not that she minded. In fact, she looked forward to her new freedom from celebrity.

  Gazing at her green eyes in the mirror she liked the way her simple blond hair was set off by the pale pink lipstick and the pearls. It gave her an air of serenity she did not feel.

  “It’s now or never,” she muttered to herself. Then called out, “Pierce!”

  Suddenly, the man servant was beamed into her dressing room at light speed.

  “At your service, Madame.”

  She flinched, wondering if she would ever get used to that man popping up out of nowhere. “Sorry. You scared me.”

  “My apologies. Would you like me to zip up your gown?”

  “Please.” She took a deep breath and pressed the back of her dress together with her hands to make it easier to fasten.

  Zip. She adjusted the dress around her bodice and gave herself one last glance in the mirror.

  “I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but you look stunning,” he said.

  She couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, Pierce. I’m crossing my fingers my husband will feel the same way.”

  “I’m sure he will, Madame. Let us go find him. He is waiting for you downstairs in the salon.”

  Chapter Two

  WHEN THEY GOT DOWNSTAIRS, Pierce passed right by the salon and took her into the dining room, where a massive table served as the focal point. Set with opulent bone china place settings resting atop golden chargers, gold-rimmed crystal goblets, and an elaborate white floral arrangement, the table was fit for a king. The walls, made entirely of glass overlooked a stunning view of the city, framing the twinkling lights of Hollywood below. The skyline reminded her of the first time she had flown into Los Angeles. The view made her catch her breath and gave her an idea of how high up their home was.

  “It’s a pleasure, finally being in your presence, my dear.”

  The voice made her jump. She’d thought she and Pierce were alone in the room, but it wasn’t Pierce speaking. She was looking right at him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, confused.

  Pierce said, “I will leave you two alone.” As if it were as normal as could be for an invisible person to be talking to her.

  “The two of us?” She turned and looked over her shoulder to ask what he meant by this, but he was already gone. Her eyes searched the walls for speakers where the voice might be coming from.

  “I apologize. I realize this is awkward,” the voice coming from nowhere continued.

  “I beg your pardon,” she began. “It sounds like someone is talking to me, but I cannot see you.” Am I losing my mind?

  “I am aware. And I apologize. This must seem very strange to you. If you would feel more comfortable I can turn on a holographic substitute for myself, but unfortunately, unless you want to have our first meal together in the dark this is how it must be.”

  “That’s awfully mysterious. But I guess a hologram would be better than feeling like I’m speaking to the invisible man.”

  A soft chuckle came from the direction of his voice. His laugh was warm and infectious, and she wanted to see the man it belonged to.

  Suddenly a fuzzy, yet intensely bright figure lit up the corner of the room. The brilliant lights morphed from indigo to violet-blue with red at its core. They made up the shape of a man but it proved impossible to make out anything other than the most basic human form.

  “I can’t see your facial features or what you look like,” Psyche remarked.

  “True,” he said, then after a pause, “is that what you value—what I look like?”

  The figure approached her and when he was about a foot away, he extended his hands to her. She reached out and allowed him to take her hands in his. When he did, she felt the warmth of his skin even though she could see the holographic image was transparent.

  “No, it’s not that how you look is so important. It’s just that I would like to get to know you, and memorizing her husband’s face seems like the first thing a wife should do when getting to know him.”

  “You make a fine point, wife. Unfortunately, things will be different for you and me. Considering the life you’ve led, I would have thought you’d be weary of people making judgments based upon your looks by now.”

  He was right. People were forever making snap decisions about her based upon her looks which was ridiculous. As if she were a blank canvas for other people to project their impulses, thoughts, and fantasies onto. In many ways she served as merely a vessel for communicating other’s contents on her channel. None of the real Psyche ever came through on her channel, yet people always thought they knew her. They thought whoever she was portraying was her.

  She felt the light pressure of his hand on the small of her back. Instantly she relaxed a bit. His touching her that way felt protective, slightly possessive, and she was surprised it didn’t bother her.

  “Why don’t we have a seat?” he asked.

  “Thank you,” she said and sat down in the chair he pulled out for her. The chair slid forward effortlessly, and she waited as he took a seat across the table from her.

  “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but can you eat?” She had not expected her husband to appear in this ethereal form, and now all her expectations and imaginings about this marriage seemed to fly out the window. She would’ve expected herself to be irritated, or even angry by the odd turn things had taken, but instead she was intrigued. There is something welcoming and charismatic about the creature whose aura sat across from her.

  “Oh, I definitely eat. All the ways in which we please the mortal flesh are my domain, Psyche, and I intend to acquaint you with all of them.”

  Butterflies fluttered in her abdomen. “I-I just wondered.”

  Just then Pierce brought out a tray with their dinner upon it. The food looked delicious—a succulent chicken with root vegetables in a savory-looking sauce. Her husband thanked him and Pierce took a small bow then made himself scarce.

  “So, will we have any sort of ceremony or . . . ?”

  �
��Yes, of the carnal variety.”

  She gulped. “You mean?”

  “I mean we will consummate our marriage this evening. The act and the signed documents will make our union official.” Her nipples hardened, and she wondered if he noticed. It was strange, not being able to see his eyes. She had no way to ascertain where his attention was focused. “You will be able to touch me. I am made of flesh my dear. It is only to your sight that I’m invisible.

  Her cheeks warmed. Of course he noticed. Psyche stammered, “I just . . . I’ve never been married before. I’m not sure what to expect.”

  “Nor have I. We shall walk this new journey together.”

  His voice caressed her like a swath of velvet skimming across her skin.

  She nodded, taking a bite of her dinner.

  “Did you see the art studio I had specially equipped for you?” he asked.

  Her heart beat faster. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Good. I wanted to be the one to show it to you, but Pierce was so excited about it, I honestly didn’t know if he’d be able to keep it a surprise.”

  They both laughed.

  “Well, I’m looking forward to seeing it then.”

  “I don’t mean to sound like a stalker, but I’m a big fan of yours.”

  “You mean from my channel?” she asked. For most women, if a man has been watching you and falling in love from afar, it’s creepy. For someone in the spotlight, it’s still somewhat creepy, but she knew there were millions of men out there who watched her. Fantasized about her. The whole thing felt surreal, and she was thrilled to be stepping out of that bizarre glass cage and into a more private life.

  That was something she and her new husband had in a common—a desire for privacy. She determined that by where they would be living. Not only was her new home spacious, but its location was quite remote.

  “From your channel, yes,” he said, and she wondered if she detected a touch of nerves on his part.

  “You have me at quite a disadvantage then, doubly so with me not being able to see you. What should I call you?”