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finger on, that makes me gravitate to him. Something familiar.
    “Why are you, then?”
    If I had an answer, I’d tell him. “I don’t know.”
    He smiles, and it’s a beautiful thing. “Aren’t you afraid of upsetting your husband?”
    I shake my head. “I’m afraid of him finding out I’m talking to you.”
    The amusement disappears from his face. “You’re afraid of him?” His voice is soft.
    “Yes, I mean no. I’m not. He’s my husband.”
    He raises an eyebrow and nods.
    I divert my eyes, tearing them away from his face and studying the tattoos on his arms. I almost don’t notice it, since it’s hidden beneath colorful ink, but a jagged scar runs from his elbow to his wrist. He sees me looking and twists his arm, shielding the scar from sight.
    “You’re Chosen,” he starts.
    “I don’t feel Chosen,” I confess for the first time.
    “You don’t?” The words leave Kiev’s mouth in surprise. He blinks, apparently unhappy with his lack of control.
    “No, not at all.” The honesty feels good. “It feels like a mistake.”
    Kiev chuckles. “All of this is a mistake.”
    “You mean being Chosen?”
    “I mean the whole fucking thing.”
    I bite my lip and nod. So many questions run through my mind. The biggest one is why am I so attracted to him ? It’s wrong and I know it.
    “Why are you here?” I blurt without thinking, saying anything that comes to mind so he won’t turn around and leave. He might be a stranger, but his presence brings me comfort.
    “Because I want to be,” he replies slowly.
    “Oh, I just wondered, since Father Weston’s other kids aren’t here.”
    Something dark crosses Kiev’s face. “Daddy dearest wants to keep an eye on me,” he says in a low voice and I’m not sure I heard him right. Why would Father Weston need to keep an eye on him?
    “The others,” I start.
    “They’re better off—” Kiev cuts himself short. “They’re busy with schooling”.
    I nod. “Right, they are.” Father Weston’s youngest child is six. A little girl named Josie. Being a child of the Father is almost as good as being Chosen.
    Almost.
    Kiev reaches out and takes my thick braid in his fingers. I shiver and take in a sharp breath, watching his fingers run over my smooth hair.
    “No fancy curls like the others?”
    “I don’t want to be like the others.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. I immediately wish I could suck them back in. Kiev stiffens, dropping my hair against my chest.
    “You don’t?” he asks and I shake my head. “Let’s keep that just between you and I.” He leans close and his warm breath on my skin makes me hot. I divert my eyes from him, unable to stand the intensity in which he looks at me, and study the tattoos on his forearms.
    “Why?” I whisper.
    “So many questions,” he says with a shake of his head.
    “Is that bad?” I force myself to look back at him, and my heart skips a beat.
    His expression is unreadable. I shuffle my feet and grab the end of my braid again.
    “You should get back to the other wives.”
    I nod and turn away, flustered. How can someone intimidate me at the same time he comforts me?

Chapter Six
    Kiev
     
    Having a perpetual boner around wife number five seems to be my lot in life.
    I stride toward the kitchen, then at the last second I veer to the right and head out onto the expansive back deck of our mini McMansion.
    No way am I going to get in the middle of the Stepford wives’ henhouse.
    Jesus.
    I suck in a cleansing lungful of air and scan the property. The rural farmland of Tea, South Dakota greets my vision.
    This piece of heaven on earth was handpicked by Weston for The Community. Instead of having gently sloping pastoral farmlands characteristic of the area, pioneers took the time to plant pine trees and the hardwood species that flourish in the Midwest in strategic locations for wind buffer and shade.
    A huge oak anchors the center of the yard, a tire swing gently undulating under the