[Author's note: this is a seven-chapter story involving consensual mind control between husband and wife.]
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A QUIET LIFE
For Harper James, moving to the city had been a disaster. She'd had an incident, right in the middle of the mall. She had been on her phone and there had been a gaggle of teenagers coming the other way through the crowd, surging around her, hemming her in. She'd frozen up and been rooted to the spot, clutching her phone with white knuckles, staring blindly at the screen as the panic welled up.
She had managed to move, heading towards the escalators, down to the car park underneath. She'd hunkered down between parked cars and burst into tears, which is how Peter had found her as he returned to his car. He had spoken to her so gently, offered her a ride home, dropped her off and taken her number just to check up on her afterwards.
She'd remembered his blue eyes. They appeared kindly, though he was tall and gangly in a way that she didn't usually go for. But for him, it all seemed to work, even the ragged blond hair that seemed to demand tidying.
Three years later they'd tied the knot in a little ceremony with close friends and family, had a cozy reception. Harper didn't want a big do. She didn't want to be surrounded with people. She was quite happy in a little house twenty minutes away from her parents in the town she'd grown up.
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Peter turned his phone on when the plane touched down. It was dark already and he'd been in the air twelve hours, flying home to a regional airport on the coast, facing another hour's drive to get home at last. The job had taken him away for three weeks, sifting through the wreckage of a systems integration project that he was supposed to have been magically able to fix. They were on the right track now, but he'd have to get on a plane again in a week or two. He wasn't relishing breaking that particular piece of news to Harper.
The phone came to life, and there she was, looking up from the screen background: soft grey eyes in a rounded face, smiling, her dark hair tucked behind her ears. There were straggling wisps across her face because it had been windy that day on the beach at the start of spring. It had been just the two of them braving the weather, which was how Harper liked it.
She liked the space back home, in the town she'd grown up in by the sea. They'd moved back soon after getting married, with Peter working from home a lot of the time or travelling to client sites to manage installations. Harper had taken a job in a clothing store, but her aspiration was to become a writer. He hadn't argued that. He couldn't refuse her anything.
A message pinged from Harper: landed?
Yes, he replied. She sent a love-heart back that made him smile. The plane had pulled up to the gate and suddenly everyone was standing up, packing the gangways. Harper would have hated it. Peter would always need to sit with her until the press of bodies had cleared, a buffer between the madness and his wife in the window seat.
He struggled through the airport, collected his luggage, joined the flow of people to the exit. Another hour driving loomed ahead and suddenly he felt very tired. Out in the concourse, the crowd dispersed and he wheeled his suitcase towards the automatic doors.
There was Harper, hanging back, grinning from ear to ear. She was in jeans, but she had a new, black top on that fit her curves snugly. She'd done her make-up carefully, bright lips, a little blusher, her hair falling neatly around her shoulders. She rushed up to him and suddenly her warm body was pressed against his, her arms tight around his waist. He kissed her passionately.
"Surprise," she murmured into his ear.
"What are you doing here?"
"Dad was coming this way, so I got a lift. I wanted to meet you off the plane."
Peter held his wife in his arms, pulling back to look at her.
"You look so good. You feel good," he told her. "I've missed you."
"Me too."
They kissed again, and then she entwined her fingers with his and allowed him to lead her outside into the night.
"I'm really surprised," Peter said. "I didn't expect you to be here, I mean, the airport. Uh, the crowds."
"It was okay. I felt okay. I'm building up."
"To what?"
Harper shrugged, nudging up against him as they navigated the rows of cars in the dark. "I thought I could come with you, maybe. I mean, obviously book our own accommodation. I'd pay my own flight."
"That's a big step."
"I know. But, if I wanna see the world it means getting on planes, right?"
They reached the car and Peter loaded his luggage. "Can you drive, babe?" he asked. "I'm cooked."
"Of course. It's door-to-door chauffeur service for my high-flying executive husband."
"You didn't have a sign with my name on it."
Harper flashed him a smile. "I'm sorry. I'm new."
"I might have to leave a bad review."
They got into the car, but Harper leaned across, her hand on his thigh, kissing him again. It was a longer kiss now they were in private. She squeezed his leg meaningfully. "Let me earn a good review then," she purred.
Peter reached out to pull her closer, but she backed away and started the car, defeating him. She patted his thigh. "Let's get you home."
They talked as they drove, catching up on the last couple of weeks: her family's dramas, the local gossip. Peter mostly let his wife talk, happy to listen to her voice and watch her face as she recalled the news. They were hand-in-hand. It was a few moments before he realised that his wife had stopped talking. She glanced across at him.
"What is it, Pete?"
That roused him from his reverie. "Nothing. I was, uh, I was just listening to you."
"Well, I've stopped and you're looking at me."
"I'm looking at you too."
"Why?"
"Why do you think?"
She squeezed his hand. "How many guesses do I get? I probably just need the one, don't I? You've got a one-track mind."
"Did you mean it, about coming along?"
She glanced at him again, her brow furrowing in a way that he found adorable. "Would you want me to? I mean, if you think it's unprofessional or something, or if I'd be getting in the way while you worked."
"No, I like the idea."
"Me too. I could take time away from the store, Margie would let me."
"What would you do all day though? I'm not usually in the most glamorous places."
