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

by Jennifer Peel

  Hunter and Laine both screamed in my head that the only thing I better write was their story. Believe me, I wanted to. But I needed an undisturbed place with only me and my music. I looked over to Joan, who was telling off a lawyer regarding a production contract for another one of her clients. She was like that during all waking hours. I think she even fought with people in her sleep. I was pretty sure I heard her say in the middle of the night, “We are past mediation. I’ll see you in court!” Or perhaps she was still awake. She drank caffeine like she breathed air. She was still on me about filing a lawsuit against the Nancy Drew Club. I wasn’t sure that was a can of worms that needed to be opened. My mother-in-law would be an accomplice, and no matter how angry Peter was at his mom, I was pretty sure he didn’t want me to embroil her in a legal battle. Besides, that would mean I would have to talk to Sarah again, which I wasn’t ever planning on doing.

  And I would say she was getting her just desserts. Sarah dear was at odds with everyone in her life now, including Mimsy. Though Mimsy should be thanking her lucky stars. We now knew that swindler, Giovanni, was actually named Jerry Brown. His little TV interview bit him in the butt. Someone he had stolen money from recognized him and tipped off the police. Avery couldn’t tell me a lot over text that morning, but it appeared that he’d been playing this angle for some time and had bilked thousands from vulnerable widows. “Giovanni” was currently on the run as of the previous night. He’d caught wind the game was up and fled. Mimsy was still in denial about it all. Peter feared she was losing her faculties. I wondered if she had only been lonely. The kind of lonely only a partner could fill. I felt sorry for her, even if she’d added to the hell in my life.

  Joan finally realized we had arrived and ended her call with a snappy, “Have that new contract to me by the end of day, and this time get someone who passed the second grade to write it.”

  I shook my head at her and smiled. “Way to be a motivator.”

  She threw her phone in her bag. “Whatever it takes to get the job done.”

  Our driver opened Joan’s door since she was curbside and we both exited into the warm beginning of a September day. Fall wasn’t quite in the air, but the trees growing amid the sidewalks spoke of how it wouldn’t be long. The green leaves weren’t quite as vibrant as they had been in the spring. They looked tired and almost glad their job would be over for a season. I could relate. I needed a nap myself. But there was no time.

  Fiona popped out of the studio door. “Oh good, you’re here. We’re all waiting for you.” Her voice had a nasal quality with a hint of Bronx.

  It was always fun to see Fiona. She never failed to have a new hair color or tattoo. Today her pixie hair was a deep red bordering on purple, and she had shaved one side. It went perfect with her frilly black skirt and Converses. I would have to ask her later where the new tattoo was.

  We walked in to find several people waiting for us. The expected were there, Chad, Shaylee, and Lucas, which didn’t surprise me at all. Nor did the longing look he gave Joan. However, she basically gave him the finger with her eyes. That only made her more desirable by the seductive smile he flashed her. There was also a group from the magazine. I wasn’t expecting them. I had been told that they let Simon have reign—that’s how good he was. But everyone seemed to want to get a piece of me. To see my flesh and blood. Then there was Simon himself. He was not what I imagined. He didn’t seem to take himself too seriously. He was dressed in faded blue jeans and a white T-shirt that matched his almost completely white studio. Even the wood floors were white. His blonde hair was mussed, and he walked around barefoot.

  Everyone around him seemed to revere him. They parted in reverence as he approached me. All eyes followed until he landed right in front of me. He didn’t introduce himself before he started walking around me, touching my hair. He stood back and gazed at me from different angles. His piercing blue eyes seemed to be x-raying me. I suddenly felt like I was having that dream again where I was naked in front of everyone.

  Simon didn’t mind getting up close and personal. He was in my face before I knew it, making direct eye contact. “Autumn Moone.” He paused. “You don’t like to be called that do you?” He was perceptive. I would give him that.

  I shook my head.

  “Delanie then. You are a woman with secrets. Let’s see if we can discover a few with my lens, shall we?”

  I swallowed hard, afraid of what he might see.

  Before I could answer or run away, he walked off. In his place was a swarm of women in black smocks leading me to a dressing room. My entourage of Fiona and Joan followed. Chad gave me an evil grin as we walked by. He knew I wasn’t enjoying this and delighted himself with my discomfort.

  A woman from the magazine was calling out that she wanted to come and had ideas for the cover. Simon ignored her request.

  One of the smocked lanky model creatures handed me a black silk robe without so much as introducing herself. “Change out of your clothes and put this on.” She pointed to a curtain I could stand behind.

  I stood defiant. I wasn’t used to being bossed around.

  The stern woman cracked a smile. “It’s only to do your hair and makeup. We don’t bite, I promise.”

  That I wasn’t so sure about, but I took the robe and marched toward the curtain.

  “Give them hell, kid,” Joan whispered as I passed her. Fiona gave me an appreciative nod. I didn’t mind that the curtain meant nothing to them. They both came with and while I undressed, Fiona ticked off items on her tablet.

  “The hotel in Atlanta wants to know if you require anything special they will need to have on hand?”

  “Like what?” I stepped out of my dress after Joan unzipped it for me.

  “A certain food or flowers?”

  “No. If I need something, I’ll get it myself.”

  Joan scoffed. “Right. Because it will be so easy for you to stroll on over to the local grocery store while you’re there.”

  Ugh. I hadn’t thought about that. “Regardless, Peter and I are pretty simple. We eat cereal for dinner at least two times a week.”

  Both women laughed.

  “Are you sure Peter wants to come?” Fiona asked.

  I looked up, only in my bra and underwear, puzzled by her question. “Why wouldn’t he?”

  Fiona and Joan looked at each other as if they had already had this discussion.

  “He’s getting a lot of scrutiny in the press. This can’t be easy for him, and it might make him more of target if he’s with you,” Joan said.

  I hastily threw on my robe, needing some comfort, and not because of the lack of clothing. “It’s been difficult, but it should get better, right? They’ll see we’re a regular couple.” Even saying it, I knew it wasn’t true. We never had been. I think we wanted to be, but we knew our relationship was much more than opposites attracting.

  “I hope so, kid,” Joan tried to placate me. “But you’re not a regular couple anymore.” That, at least, gave me hope that we came off as one. Maybe.

  “Who cares what people think?” Fiona ran her fingers through her purplish hair. “So, you married a priest. You’re not the first. Or the last.” She marked off an item on her list. “No food requests. Is it all right if some of the flights are business class instead of first?”

  I waved her off. “We’re happy flying coach.”

  “These do-gooders.” Joan rolled her eyes. “Don’t book me anything less than business.”

  Fiona looked up uneasy. “Lucas . . . thinks . . . um . . . Delanie should pay for your expenses since technically you work for her, not us.”

  That made sense to me. Joan was only coming to the Atlanta portion with me anyway. It’s not like I was her only client and she could follow me around the country, though I always appreciated when I came into town she treated me that way. I saw her more as a friend and confidant than someone I paid. And she was only going to Atlanta because they’d asked her to be on a panel about entertainment law and what authors
should know. It was a good opportunity for her. Not that she wouldn’t be highly sought after now.

  The searing fire in Joan’s violet eyes said she didn’t agree with my or Lucas’s assessment of the situation. “Is that right? Excuse me, I need to give your boss a little reminder about our deal.” She spun so violently on her stilettos I was surprised she didn’t leave a hole in the wood floor.

  I wondered what deal she was talking about.

  Fiona’s cheeks matched her hair, but she gave me a devious grin. “Hmm. He was right.”

  I reached for her. “Who was right?”

  Fiona bit her lip. “Lucas,” she whispered. “He’s been calling her all morning, but she won’t answer. He thought this might do the trick.”

  My eyes widened. “She’s going to do more than talk to him.”

  She wagged her eyebrows. “I think that’s what he hopes for.”

  The curtain was unceremoniously removed without warning, interrupting us. “We’re ready for you,” Smock One said. I gave them my own names since no one was polite enough to introduce themselves.

  I tied the robe around me quickly before I was ushered to a chair you would see in a salon. A million lights shone down on it. From there I was poked, prodded, tweezed, teased, slathered, powdered, you name it. By the time they were done, I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror. I hardly ever wore makeup, so to see myself in a smoky eye and teased hair was unnerving. It got even more so when Simon walked in and behind him trailed more Smock Things carrying what looked like brown tulle and an ivory sheet.

  I didn’t hide my grimace. I never wanted to see tulle again. In fact, I might have had tulle-induced PTSD.

  Simon didn’t give any credence to my obvious distaste.

  Smock Four held up the pile of tulle, and to my surprise it was a dress. A tiered, puffy mess of a skirt with an off the shoulder top. It had a medieval feel to it, except it was more revealing than was thought proper for that period. Regardless, it was nothing I would choose to wear.

  “We’ll do some shots of you in the dress first and then the sheet.”

  Hold up. “Sheet?” I didn’t sign up for that kind of photoshoot. I joked about doing them, hence the reason I was here. And sure, I’d done some risqué things a long time ago, but those days were behind me and I wasn’t wrapping myself up in a sheet for anyone but my husband.

  He shrugged his shoulders as if it was no big deal. “Yes, a sheet. Trust me.”

  I was going to pass.

  Or so I thought.

  ~*~

  “The Secret Life of Autumn Moone.”

  “Perfect.”

  “There is a haunting quality to her. Too bad it’s too late to get her on our October cover.”

  “We are getting some head shots of her, right?”

  “The sheet is so symbolic of her uncovering herself. Simon is a genius.”

  “Keep staring at her like that and I will throw bleach in your eyes.” If you hadn’t guessed, that was Joan.

  Everyone around me was discussing me like I wasn’t there lying on the floor against a stark white backdrop, lights zeroed in on me, in a sheet, no less. I had a nude body suit on that covered everything but my shoulders and legs. I refused to do the shoot unless I was dressed underneath. I didn’t care how tasteful Simon promised he would be. Or how much I thought the body was a beautiful thing and you should never be ashamed of it. But it was my body and my rules.

  Simon had taken too many shots of me in the ballgown against several hand painted backgrounds and seemed pleased, but now something was frustrating him. I think it was me. “Everyone out!” he shouted. “You are inhibiting my work by disrupting Delanie’s vulnerabilities with your chatter.”

  I couldn’t get much more vulnerable than being on the ground in a sheet.

  It was odd how everyone scattered, even his assistants. Everyone but Joan and Fiona that is. They stood firm.

  Simon did not appreciate their stubbornness. “I said out.”

  I sat up, defiant. “They stay, or I go.” There was no way I was being left alone with him. I didn’t know him, and the fact the guy wanted me naked under a sheet didn’t give me any reason to trust him.

  Simon’s blue eyes glared at me. “You are risking what we could create here if they stay.”

  “If you are as good as everyone says you are, you’ll make it work.” This was nonnegotiable to me.

  The corners of his lips ticked up. “This is why you are an amazing subject. You are an enigma. You talk a tough game, but you are probably the most vulnerable specimen I’ve had the pleasure to shoot.”

  I rankled at being called a subject and specimen. Growing up that’s all I had been, and I resented it.

  Simon’s smile grew as he drew closer. His camera was off the tripod and in his hands, ready to make use of it. “Yes. I’ve hit a nerve. This is good. What makes you so vulnerable?” He lifted his camera and took a few shots while my eyes were narrowed at him.

  “What makes you think you know me?”

  He didn’t lower his camera, he only switched angles. “Your body language is screaming it from the way you place your hand on your neck to how you’re holding on to that sheet for dear life.”

  I was about to say I was in a sheet what did he expect, but he wasn’t done.

  “I know from the way you carry yourself you are physically comfortable in your body. I would say you even celebrate it.”

  He was right. I dropped my hand from my neck and inadvertently curled my legs.

  “Very good. I like that. It speaks exactly to what I’m saying.”

  “Just take your pictures,” I growled before catching a glimpse of Joan and Fiona who, for once, seemed to have nothing to say. They stood there, mesmerized by us.

  “I will. You keep pretending it doesn’t bother you. This is fantastic. I see now what makes you such a beautiful storyteller. All the good ones carry pain.” He took shot after shot without giving me any direction. When I was in the dress, he had told me how to hold my head, what to do with my hands, when to smile, when not to. Now he wanted me, and I didn’t like it at all. I almost got up and left, but I think that’s exactly what he wanted, and I refused to give in.

  I’m not sure how many shots he took, but when he was done he sank to the ground as if he had given his all. He lowered his camera with a satisfied smile. “You are a magnificent creature.” His eyes penetrated mine. “Do you want to know how to overcome your vulnerabilities?”

  I nodded without thinking.

  He leaned in and whispered, “Tell someone your secrets.” His voice begged that it would be him.

  That honor belonged to one man only, and I wasn’t even sure I could tell him

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  After the photoshoot, I wanted to lock myself in a room and regurgitate all my feelings into my manuscript. It was as if Simon had unleashed all my vulnerabilities and they were taunting me, almost daring me to get rid of them, but they knew how I clung to them, almost needed them now. They knew how afraid I was to be completely vulnerable, even around Peter. How I feared he might react to some of my choices. They knew my secrets. They knew about her.

  To add to the assault, I had an email from Father Alan. I had sent him a note yesterday to tell him I wouldn’t be attending RCIA classes anymore for obvious reasons. I was already afraid that someone else from the class would blab that I had been taking them if they realized who I was, and it would circulate in this digital age. I was hoping, though, that the few people there including the mentor I had been assigned to would keep it private and remember this was a personal journey. I wanted to know for sure before I got Peter’s hopes up like that. In that vein, I was hoping for a simple response from Father Alan like it was nice to get to know you and good luck. But no, it added to the complexities of the emotions coursing through me.

  My hands shook as I read his message.

  I’m certainly sad you won’t be attending class anymore. Though I would like you to know we can make acc
ommodations if you would be interested. And I would still be happy to answer any questions you may have by email. Perhaps it is time to let your husband join you in this endeavor. From all that you have said about him, I think he would be understanding even if the outcome is not what he had hoped for. For, as he knows, faith is a journey that can only be known to one’s self, but it is not a path that need be walked alone. Why not walk it with the man you have chosen as your partner? Open up to him about your doubts and fears; it will only draw you closer together.

  Was that true?

  I didn’t have time to answer that or even hope for how much I wanted it to be true.

  We were all on our way to a late lunch where we were going to discuss marketing campaigns for my series as well as the conference in Atlanta, which LH Ink had already been heavily involved with. Now that I was available, they wanted to use me to their fullest advantage.

  Fiona was throwing things at me and checking more things off her list as she went.

  “Shaylee wants you to approve the copy for the press release regarding the conference. I emailed it to you.”

  I nodded, halfheartedly paying attention.

  “Also, the designer has some questions about the changes you want made on the Black Confessions cover. Would you like to call him or email him?”

  My brain took a second to comprehend what she was saying. “Um . . . I’ll call him.”

  Fiona tipped her head. “Are you okay? Ever since we left Simon’s, you seem out of it.”