The Pearl Of Great Price

Chapter 13: Stings

The day of The Whore's coronation arrived. As Mary lay in bed, her mind thought over the day's events. How does one manage to show grace under fire? Family, friends, and faith that's the only way she will make it through this farce. Letting out a sigh, she stared at the ceiling.

Charles heard that sigh and flung a strong arm around her, cocooning his wife in his embrace. This day can't be easy on her nerves. With his rough morning voice, he encouraged, "Go ahead and tell me. It will bother you all day long if you don't."

Making herself comfortable, she said, "Fine. I really do not like that woman. She called me a bastard in front of the whole assembly. Now I have to play nice and act like her becoming Queen is wonderful. Yet my mother now sits alone in disgrace, having been divorced. Some days I feel fine and don't let it bother me. Then other days, like today, it stings," she declared to him. Her hands balled up the comforter.

Rolling onto her side, looking at him, she shook her head. "I'm a mess. Why do you put up with me? You could have any number of women with less baggage than I do."

He smiled to himself and opened his eyes, meeting her own. "You, My Love, are not a mess. You are human. As I told you, don't let this turn you into a bitter old hag. If that happens, I would have to set you aside because old hags are just dreadful and full of all kinds of ugliness. Sort of like The Whore."

He knew he had broken through to her when she laughed at his comment. So he continued talking. "And besides, I don't want any other woman. Their baggage can't compare to yours. Yours is deep with many compartments and made of high-quality materials. There's is shallow and not huge enough to hold my secrets. Plus, there is also a lack of authenticity."

His fingers danced over her face like a butterfly alighting on a flower. "You're not perfect, Mary. No one is. But you are always genuine. There's a difference. Those other women's trunks aren't as sturdy as yours. I happen to like your trunk. I'm fond of it." His hand reached around and smacked her bum for effect. She squealed.

At first, she thought he was talking about her actual luggage trunks, but then it hit her. "Is that your way of saying my bottom is fat?" Her eyes narrowed at him as she sat up.

Following her actions, he thought of how to get himself out of this. "No. I did not call you fat. There's not an ounce of fat on you. Although, you are more shapely than others."

Oh, she huffed out a breath and tossed the covers off. More shapely than others! A sturdy bottom! Of all the nerve!

He tried to catch her before she got up, but he didn't. Instead, he now sat on the bed watching her stomp around gathering pieces of clothing. There it is. The Tudor temper is on display, except her temper is... well, it's cute. It made him laugh.

Spinning around on her heels, she fixed him with a look. Pointing her finger, she made him understand, "I am upset with you, husband. In one setting, you have told me I have a sturdy posterior, along with being shapely. It makes me think you see me like Lady Bertha of Norfolk, one of those Howard women."

His eyes grew as large as melons. He's seen, Big Bertha. The thought of the woman made his face screw up in disgust, and a shudder ran through him. He may have also lost his appetite. "Mary, no! You are not a troll, not at all. I only meant your figure is perfect, and your bottom is too. I like... no... I love all the parts of you— inside and out."

Fully nude and not the least shameful, he walked over to his love. Taking the clothing from her hands, he set it aside. Then he grasped them and leaned in close. Nudging her adorable nose with his, he confessed, "You are a true beauty, not some horrible beast. I love you, despite the size of your craft stash."