The Secretive Wife (More Than a Wife Series Book 2) Read online

  I gave the screen one more glance before looking above my computer at the framed posters of each one of my books to hit number one on the New York Times Best Sellers list. Peter would get an actual copy of The New York Times Book Review, blow it up, and frame it. Until our recent move, they had been hidden under our bed. Now all five were proudly displayed on the wall. Soon, I knew there would be six, if my latest climbed one more spot as my publisher, LH Ink, predicted it would.

  For now, I had to protect the life Peter and I had made. I didn’t want the fame or baggage that came with it. But sometimes the secrets that we kept felt heavier than the consequences we might reap if they were ever discovered. The frightening part was never knowing what those consequences might be. Which was a good incentive to stay quiet.

  Chapter One

  I have some news, I texted, just in case Peter was with his brother, dad, or even at the office.

  Did you take the test?

  I didn’t need to see him or hear his voice to know the hope and excitement that went into those words. I ran my hand across my smooth abdomen. I was afraid it would forever remain flat. It’s why I hadn’t taken the pregnancy test yet even though my period was two days late. I’d been late before, and disappointed.

  Not yet.

  My phone buzzed. I turned down the music before answering. “Hey, there.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What are you sorry for?”

  “I realized you wouldn’t text me with that kind of news and I remembered you always look on Monday.” For some reason I couldn’t look on Sunday when The New York Times Book Review came out. I felt like it would jinx it somehow, or perhaps I was proving to myself that I was more than Autumn Moone.

  “How did Black Day Dawning fare?” the most considerate husband asked.

  “Are you alone?”

  He chuckled. “I’m in my truck waiting for James, but even if I wasn’t, I’ve heard more about your book at work the last few weeks than I do at home. Sam and Avery still can’t get over it.”

  I smiled thinking about my sisters-in-law, who might love Hunter Black more than me, and who always got advanced copies from my other self. “She made it to number two.”

  “Congratulations, baby, next week it will be number one.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “You sound down, are you okay?”

  I sighed audibly. “Just deadlines looming and . . . I’m nervous.”

  “Delanie, no matter what the test says, it doesn’t change what we have together.”

  “I know, but I know how much you want that second line to appear.” I did too.

  “I want you, plain and simple. Though you are neither.”

  “Are you saying I’m complicated?”

  “I’m saying you’re worth figuring out.”

  “Nice way to spin that.”

  He laughed. “I’m getting pretty good at this husband thing.”

  “You do okay,” I teased. “Why don’t you come home for lunch and we can work on our husband and wife skills together?” That I was not teasing about.

  “Mmm. I wish I could, but James and I have to finish the Finley job this week. They’re hosting a large party for their company this weekend at their home and we’re behind schedule because of the rain last week. But how about I take you to dinner tonight to celebrate? Pick any place.”

  “Even sushi?” I could picture his scrunched face.

  “Even sushi.” He was doing his best to hold back his disgust. One of my favorites was his least favorite.

  “I’ll think about it and let you know,” I partially acquiesced for his benefit.

  “Honestly, pick anywhere.” Bravery threaded his statement.

  I laughed at my sweet but masochistic husband. “Okay, I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  “Peter, thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Always being unselfish.”

  “You’re wrong; I’m very selfish when it comes to you. Love you.”

  He hung up, leaving me breathless. Four years together and he could still get to me. And I do believe Hunter Black had a new line to use on Laine. That was if I could ever get them together for good. Hunter’s mother was a bit of a pain. She may or may not resemble a certain someone who wished I’d never married her son. My blood pressure rose thinking about dear Sarah, who swore up and down I was a drug dealer with possible ties to the mob.

  She was partially right. I dealt with the most addictive emotion there was—love—and I had mobs of fans who ruled my life. If only Sarah knew the truth. Avery and Sam had convinced her to start reading my books, and though she said they were a little too spicy, she enjoyed them. I think she more than enjoyed them—she read the first five books in three weeks. And I’d noticed her being more affectionate to my father-in-law the last few Sundays during dinner. That was the power of a good romance novel. Now if only they could get her to like me, or at least not scowl at me or make underhanded comments. True, sometimes I provoked her. I could only take so much.

  Maybe I laid on the PDA a little too thick around her and I made sure that I wore sleeveless shirts and dresses so the tattoo that was visible to the world was proudly displayed. If only she knew about the tattoo for Peter’s eyes only. If she wasn’t careful I might let slip where it was. And my diamond nose stud might get an upgrade. I wasn’t sure which she hated more, the nose ring or the tattoo. Probably me in general. To her, I would always be the woman who seduced her baby boy and ripped him away from his true calling. It was one thing Sarah and I agreed on. Peter could tell her until he was blue in the face that was false, but it would be a waste of his breath. Except I wanted to believe Peter when he told me I was his calling. Most of the time I did.

  I took a deep, cleansing breath. I wasn’t writing any evil mother scenes today and needed to get Sarah out of my head. This seventh and final installment of the Hunter Black saga was proving to be difficult. I wanted the series to wrap up in a satisfying yet true-to-the-characters way. Hunter and Laine deserved their happy ending, but it had to be fluid and believable. They were facing what seemed like insurmountable opposition. Not only did Hunter’s mother despise Laine, but now she blamed Laine for the death of Hunter’s father in the last book, and Hunter was torn about it.

  Laine was innocent, even a martyr in the situation, but she was keeping the truth hidden to protect Hunter and his family’s reputation. When he was alive, Hunter’s father had two sides to him. The world’s best father, husband, revered landowner and mayor was the side he portrayed quite cleverly. Then there was his dark side littered with shady business deals, drugs, and a woman or two who wasn’t his wife. Laine, or should I say off-duty Officer Laine Cavanaugh, caught him with one of those women on a dark road. She recognized the Jaguar and thought Mr. Black was in some sort of trouble. He was, but it was the kind that ruined not only you, but everyone you loved. The woman he was with fled the scene and left Laine to deal with an inebriated Mr. Black.

  Against her better judgment, she decided to take Mr. Black back to her place and sober him up while shaking some sense into him. Mr. Black began confessing all his sins in Laine’s car. Forged documents, infidelity, blackmail, and coercion—enough information that an officer of the law should investigate. But Laine’s main concern was for Hunter, her best friend and the man she’d loved since she was sixteen. She knew even then she could never have the man born into privilege. Her life had been anything but privileged. Ghosts from her past still haunted her, though she had done her best to leave behind the poverty and terror of her youth.

  Laine began to question if Mr. Black’s privilege and wealth were only a façade. She knew all too well the damage one rich man who thought he was above the law could do. She still bore the physical and mental scars from one such man. In her anger, she went on a tirade directed toward Mr. Black. He didn’t appreciate the lecture Laine gave him about what this would do to Hunter if he ever found out that his hero had fallen well b
elow the pedestal Hunter placed him on. In anger, Mr. Black grabbed Laine’s steering wheel, causing them to veer into the other lane of oncoming traffic. Laine wrenched back control before they hit another vehicle, but in her attempt to spare more lives, she hit the median and her car flipped. Mr. Black didn’t survive, and Laine inherited more scars.

  The sixth book ended with Laine in the hospital, Hunter by her side holding her hand. She was barely conscious enough to hear Hunter confess how much he loved her.

  Fans of Hunter and Laine were going crazy online over that final scene. Fan boards had blown up wondering what would happen in the last book. Would Laine tell Hunter about his father? For now, she was letting Mr. Black’s secrets die with him as much as she could. She couldn’t stand the thought of breaking Hunter’s heart, but it was breaking his heart in other ways. Gossip ran wild in their Montana town about what really happened the night of the accident. The release of Mr. Black’s toxicology report caused even more rumors to swirl around an innocent Laine. Mrs. Black was doing her best to paint Laine as a liar and going as far as saying she was a cold-blooded killer. Hunter was caught in the middle of it all. But Laine felt if he had any doubts about who she was, then there was no future for them.

  It was all so dramatic, but my readers ate it right up. At least most of them. The more popular the series had become, the more detractors I had gained. Some days I dealt with that better than others. Peter had begged me to stop reading reviews. Joan my agent/lawyer, and Fiona my assistant, even tried filtering them for me and only sending good ones, or those that had actual constructive criticism rather than those wishing me a painful death, questioning my moral compass, or if I had even graduated from high school. I had a Master of Fine Arts degree, thank you very much. People took fiction way too seriously, and sometimes I took the bad reviews too personally. As much as any critic or reviewer thought they knew who Autumn Moone was, they had no idea. This I could tell you—she was a living, breathing person with feelings, feelings she felt so deeply at times it scared her.

  There was the rumor that Autumn Moone wasn’t a real person, only a marketing scheme by my publisher. An actual website had been created and dedicated to proving that each book in the series was written by a different author. They pointed to discrepancies in writing styles between the books and how the voices of the characters changed. That site gave me a lot to laugh about. I wondered if it ever occurred to them that not only had my characters evolved like they should have, but that my skills as a writer had grown. Or at least I’d hoped they had.

  I sighed. I supposed I should get back to work. The first draft of Black Confessions was due in October and we were already into August.

  But first, I needed my Sam fix for the day. I typed thesidelinedwife.com into my browser. Sam was probably one of the most hilarious people I knew, besides Peter’s grandma, Mimsy, who thought throwing holy water was a sport. No one appreciated her favorite pastime, per se, but I had to say I hoped I would be that spirited at her age. Like her, I didn’t mind making people cringe from time to time. She was another person I thought might appreciate me if it wasn’t for her daughter, my mother-in-law.

  Oh, well. I knew Sam did and it meant the world to me, even if I couldn’t properly articulate it. Keeping such big secrets meant keeping emotions guarded. Even Peter, at times, had to guess at my feelings, though I tried to be open with him. When he said I was complicated, he wasn’t exaggerating. I had to unlearn years of emotional neglect from my parents. Toss in a couple of heart-shattering experiences, and now being in a family where I felt like I didn’t belong, plus my secret life, and it created the perfect storm that I hid from in my protective shell. Peter had to coax me out of it more often than I wished upon him. I hated feeling like I didn’t belong. I had felt that way most of my life. And more than anything, I feared having to give up those who belonged to me.

  I shook my insecurities out of my head and focused on Sam, who had inspired me to be better by the way she bravely shared her own insecurities with the world. She had no idea how her heart-wrenching and poignant blog posts had helped me. Today’s post was no different. It started with a question.

  What do you get the man who has everything for his wedding to his pregnant twenty-year-old nanny? I’m asking for a friend.

  Some of the posted answers were off-the-chart crude, even for me, but some were hilarious:

  A vasectomy.

  A good lawyer.

  A prenup.

  She and her followers had me belly laughing in my seat. I already knew that her ex-husband, Neil, was apparently hell-bent to be the classic midlife crisis. Sam, Avery, and I had discussed at length this latest development yesterday at Sunday dinner after everyone else left the table. Sam had been suspicious Neil was cheating on Roxie, the woman he cheated on Sam with and had a baby with last year. Honestly, we all saw this coming when he hired Kimmy to be his nanny several months ago. Not only was she young, but she was eager, and I do mean eager. She screamed I’m looking to be your next mistake. The entire situation was a mistake and knee jerk reaction, in my opinion. Neil couldn’t stand the thought of Sam marrying Reed and moving on. So, in a stomach-churning move, considering he was close to fifty and the girl was barely out of her teens, he sealed his creep status by proposing to Kimmy and pushed his son Cody even further away. My poor nephew was vowing to never see his father again.

  More drama than in my books. The saying truth is stranger than fiction was alive and well in the lives of the Decker family. You had Sam, who was engaged to a man she once babysat and to her mother’s dismay wasn’t married yet and a grandma who told scintillating—bordering on titillating—stories about the assisted living home where she stayed. And if that wasn’t enough, they were all related to one of the most famous women in America. Now, no one would believe that.

  Chapter Two

  Please, please, I begged the white stick of torture—a more accurate description than pregnancy test—resting on our bathroom counter. I’d lost track of how many of them I had urinated on. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, counting the seconds in my head. I had one hundred more to go. Two minutes mixed with a drop of hope and a healthy dose of bargaining, just in case Peter was right about God.

  If you are really there, I promise to give up swearing for at least a month. Okay, the entire pregnancy. I meant business.

  I promise to try to not be snarky to Father Alan when I attend RCIA classes. Unbeknownst to my husband, I was secretly attending Rites of Christian Initiation for Adults. I didn’t want to get his hopes up that I would convert to his faith or have any faith at all, but for him, I wanted to at least try to see what it was all about. Many Wednesday nights saw me driving two towns away to annoy and perhaps amuse my second favorite priest. I had a feeling Father Alan kind of enjoyed my cynicism. He said I kept him on his toes and he hadn’t heard such colorful language in a long time.

  Please do it for Peter. Even if I don’t believe, he does. How many prayers does he have to offer up? Please.

  One hundred eighteen, one hundred nineteen . . .

  I opened one eye to peek, zeroing in on the stark white test against the dark granite. The other eye opened, brimming with tears. Negative. Again.

  In the worst timing ever, I heard the door from the garage leading into our mudroom close and the voice I loved more than any sound. He was early.

  “Hey, baby, I’m home.”

  I wiped my eyes and quickly disposed of the damn test. Swearing was back on. I took some deep breaths to compose myself. I began twisting my long red hair like that’s what my real reason for being in the bathroom was, hoping he wouldn’t notice the red blotches my creamy skin broke out in when I was upset.

  Peter was quick to find me. He slid open the wood-framed etched glass bathroom door all smiles until he caught my reflection in the mirror above my sink. His eyes darted toward my blotched, bare shoulders and chest.

  I faked a smile. “Hi. You’re home early.”

  His eyes narrowed
while he approached me in his dirt-stained Decker and Sons Landscaping T-shirt and khaki shorts. “You okay?”

  I nodded through the mirror, afraid to meet his actual eyes. The concern they reflected was going to be my undoing.

  He pressed a kiss to my neck. “What’s wrong?”

  I let my hair fall out of the twist. “I’m fine.”

  He met my eyes again in the mirror. “You only say that when you’re not.”

  I stared into those green eyes that yearned to understand me. They always promised a safe landing. My own eyes betrayed me with a sheen of moisture. “I took the test.”

  He spun me around and drew me to him.

  I buried my head in his chest while he stroked my hair. I soaked in not only his comfort but the smell I had come to associate with him. It was a combination of perspiration, his spicy cologne, and a touch of sod and dirt. For some it might be considered a little gamey, but I couldn’t get enough of it. Of him.

  I stifled my tears the best I could while clinging to him.

  He kissed the top of my head. “We have to quit doing this to ourselves.”

  I leaned away to meet his warm eyes, still in the comfort of his arms. “You don’t want to have a baby?”