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

by Jennifer Peel

  “Good news first it is,” Joan declared over the phone before whispering, “Is Peter there?”

  “He’s still at work, why?”

  “We’ll get there.”

  I closed the lid to my laptop, now worried the bad news was more nefarious than Joan’s tone had led me to believe. I was thinking along the lines of a decline in book sales, or I’d slipped to number two on the best sellers’ lists.

  “What’s going on?” My heart began to race.

  “Fine, if you want to be that way, but the good news is more like excellent news.”

  “Joan, please.”

  She let out a heavy sigh. “First, I have to ask you, did you attend Beaumont in San Diego?”

  No. No. No. No. Please no. “For three years.” I swallowed hard. “Why?”

  “There is a man claiming—”

  Dammit, Blair. Why would he? He wanted to keep her more of a secret than me. If it had been up to him, she wouldn’t have even existed. I threw my laptop to the side of me on the couch and held my stomach.

  “—that you exchanged sex for grades.”

  I shook my head, not sure I’d heard her right, but overwhelmingly relieved. I’d done my best to keep San Diego off the radar. I transferred colleges after she was born and finished my senior year in Phoenix, where I graduated. “Who is this guy?” I finally had the wherewithal to ask.

  Joan tapped on her keyboard. “Uh . . . Tyler Pen.”

  I spat out a laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “You know him?”

  “I suppose you could say that. He started out as a TA in one of my political science classes, but he ended up as a—”

  “Lover?”

  “Absolutely not.” The thought made my already queasy stomach churn more violently. “He was a scumbag, and me and another student journalist were sure he was fixing grades in exchange for sexual favors.”

  “Well, he’s given a list of all the favors you gave him. You were obviously very limber.” She cackled.

  “What? Where are you reading this?”

  “First, I have to ask you if it’s true. Lucas is about ready to wet himself over this, which I wouldn’t mind seeing.”

  I fell back against the couch cushion, hurt and stunned. “I can’t believe you have to ask.”

  “Kid, it’s not personal. I know it’s not true, but as your attorney, I need to ask you and you need to respond.”

  “No!” I shouted. “I went out with him twice to see if I could get him to talk. And talk he did. I discovered he wasn’t the only TA fixing grades for sex. There was a ring of them. When we exposed what they were doing, they were all expelled from the school. You can look it up. It made the local news there.”

  “Del, calm down. I’ll do some research and try and shut this guy down. But for now, LH Ink is going to have to address the press about this. These are serious accusations that could undermine you and them.”

  I had no words. It was the first time I thought about taking Peter and running away to a third world country where we could truly get lost. We could work in an orphanage or anywhere that didn’t have access to the world wide web of destruction and deceit.

  Things had been better for Peter this week, but I was afraid of what this news was going to do to his psyche. And there was no keeping it from him. He was of the mindset that we needed to be on the offensive, not the defensive, so he regularly checked what was being said about us. We’d been able to laugh about some of the stories, like that man who called himself Hunter Black and had sworn up and down he was the real Autumn Moone. He was now trying to publish the next book before me, like the impostor could. The synopsis was hilarious; it made Hunter and Laine out to be zombies. Yeah, that’s where I was going.

  There were even sweet stories, like my fourth-grade teacher who had kept a copy of a short story I had written about my favorite park growing up and how it magically transformed each night into what a child of the park’s choosing needed, whether it be a birthday party or a family to love them. The park would pick a special child every day. Mrs. Trout was one of my favorite teachers and had encouraged me to be a writer. She said I had a gift.

  It was more like a curse now. Were people really that desperate to have their fifteen minutes? And what happened to journalistic integrity? Did no one check sources and facts anymore?

  “Are you still with me, kid?”

  “Yeah.” I yawned.

  “You sound exhausted.”

  “I am. I’ve been working all hours trying to get the first draft done and getting ready for this conference and tour.”

  “It sounds deeper than that. Is everything okay with you and lover boy?”

  “This hasn’t been easy on him and we are having to adjust, but we’re okay.”

  “Good because here’s the good news: you are about to be a wealthy woman.”

  “I’m already wealthy.”

  “Fine. Wealthier. And before you can say you don’t care about the money, read the contract. You’d be a fool to pass this up. I mean, think of the kids.”

  “You mean you?”

  She laughed. “Now that you say it, yes, me. If there were a hall of fame for contracts, this would be the crown jewel of them all. You’re going to be thanking me and then paying me.”

  “I’ll keep an open mind, but I want to look over it with Peter, so we probably won’t be able to until we are on the plane.”

  “Perfect mid-flight reading. You will be crying tears of joy in the sky.”

  I felt like crying now, but if I cried over every headline, it would never stop. “I’ll let you know if we have any questions or suggestions.”

  “Suggestions? I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. Meanwhile, I’ll be over here taking care of your little sex for grades scandal. You’re welcome, by the way.”

  “Thank you, Joan.”

  “Get some sleep kid—you sound like hell.”

  How could I sleep knowing there were creeps out there like Tyler Pen making up lies? And worse, knowing there were more damaging truths to be discovered. I knew I had to tell Peter about her, but I just needed some time. Time for him to settle into our new life.

  I picked my laptop back up and stared at the screen. My life and Laine’s life were paralleling each other. Her heart was in the right place. If only Hunter could see that. Would Peter? He would, right? I held my stomach, sick thinking otherwise.

  It didn’t feel much better when Peter arrived home that night not only haggard, but troubled. He took a moment to stare at me before only saying, “Hi.”

  I set my laptop down, too tired to get up. “I suppose you saw the new interview.” I’d watched it too. I couldn’t help myself, and neither could half the country, by how many news sites it was on, prominently displayed, I might add. Unfortunately, the guy sounded credible. If I hadn’t known the truth I might have believed him. Sadly, the school was declining to comment, citing confidentiality. Again, there was evidence to dispute his claims if only they’d done a little searching. That’s what Google was for.

  I’d thought about calling Peter before he got home, but I was hoping he hadn’t seen it yet and I didn’t want to make work tougher than it had already been since he was trying to get as much done before he left with me for three weeks. But there was no doubt that he had seen it by the question in his eyes.

  Peter ran his hands through his hair. “Delanie, is it . . .”

  My eyes widened.

  He deliberately changed course. “I mean . . . Are you okay?”

  The answer to that question from here on out was going to be no. I felt as if I’d been electrocuted I was so shocked. “You were going to ask me if it was true.”

  He shoved his hands in his dirty jean pockets, keeping eye contact with me. “I’m sorry. I hardly know what’s up or down anymore. And you—”

  “And I what?”

  “You’ve been private about your past.”

  “So that means I was selling my body to get good gra
des?” I was doing my best to keep my voice steady, though I couldn’t believe I had to say that to him.

  He scrubbed his hand over his face. “No. That’s not what I meant.”

  “What did you mean?”

  “I don’t know.” He threw himself in the chair next to the couch. His elbows rested on his knees and his hands ran repeatedly over his face.

  I mustered the energy to stand up. I never thought I would think this around him, but I needed to be alone. First, though, I was going to set the record straight. “That man was lying about me. You should Google his name and read the real story.” I walked off, hurt and in total disbelief.

  “Delanie.” I heard his work boots stomp across the floor.

  “I’m going for a walk alone,” I called out. I pushed the boxes and boxes of delivered diapers out of the way so I could get to the door—they’d been piling up since I hadn’t dared go to the women’s shelter. Krista, one of the directors, was supposed to meet Peter at the office tomorrow to pick them up. Once I finally got the front door opened, I set off the stupid alarm. I slammed the door and left Peter to deal with it.

  When my cold feet landed on our stone porch, I realized I hadn’t really thought this through. The evenings were now turning cooler and I was barefoot and still in one of Peter’s T-shirts and some yoga pants. I hadn’t even had time to shower today. I was exhausted. In defeat, I took a seat on the cold, hard steps and leaned my head against the wrought iron rail. For a moment, I let the sound of the alarm drown out my senses, but it was gone all too fast. There I was, left alone in the silence of dusk to deal with the screaming in my head and the pangs of a pierced heart.

  I was soon reminded that I was never alone. One of our neighbors, who was dressed prim and proper in a taupe pantsuit out walking her Shih Tzu, stopped and waved enthusiastically. “Hi, Autumn.” I cringed, but she obviously didn’t notice. “Nice night, huh? I love this time of year. Makes me want to bake an apple pie. Do you like pie? I would be happy to bring you one.”

  I sat up straight and ran my fingers through my rat’s nest hair and remembered to play my part to prevent anymore lies being told about me to the media. “That’s nice of you to offer, but we’ll be out of town for a while.”

  That didn’t deter her. “Well, you just tell me when you’re back and I’ll pop one over for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Toodles.” She waved after her dog peed on our lawn.

  My head fell back against the railing as soon as she pranced out of sight. I rubbed my arms to stave off the chill. I had never felt so alone. The loneliness of my childhood had nothing on this. I knew Cat and Ron never loved me, so their rejection wasn’t as acute as Peter’s doubts about me.

  I breathed in the cool air. It was helping with the nausea caused by my churning stomach.

  Before long the door opened, and I felt a jacket draped over my shoulders. Peter landed next to me, but not too close. For a few moments, I didn’t bother to look at him. He knew me well enough not to say anything. Or at least I used to think he did. When I finally glanced at him, I noticed he wore a furtive expression.

  He reached out and tucked some of my unruly curls behind my ear. “Delanie, what can I say other than I’m sorry?”

  I pulled his jean jacket tight around me, unable to utter a word. Everything I thought I knew about us, about life, was being stolen from me. Autumn Moone had become a thief in the night.

  We sat there staring at each other for what seemed like minutes. His green eyes that had always been a comfort to me now peered back at me consumed by an intense battle. Love still existed in them, but it now had fierce competition. Part of me wanted to heed the call to fight, but I was exhausted. I was already tired of trying to convince people of who I was or wasn’t. More than anything, I was hurt that he didn’t already know or had forgotten so easily.

  Peter scooted closer to me. “I found the article you wrote for your school’s newspaper exposing the sex for grades scandal. I didn’t know I had married an investigative journalist.” He gave a tentative smile, testing the waters.

  I didn’t return it or respond.

  He inched even closer, this time resting his warm hand on my cool cheek. “Baby.” His thumb ran over my skin. “Please say something.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “Tell me something else I don’t know about you.”

  I closed my eyes. My heart was aching to tell him about her, but my head was happy to remind me of our vulnerable situation. I hastily stood up and headed back inside. “Not tonight.”

  Chapter Thirty

  The next morning before Peter left for work he came and sat next to me on the couch. I had been up for hours already, unable to sleep even though sheer exhaustion wove through every fiber of my being. My mind had taken charge and was refusing my body the rest it so desperately craved. It was bent on torturing me with not only a lack of sleep, but every fear I had about where I truly belonged in this world. It almost had me convinced I belonged with no one and nowhere. Then Peter wrapped his arms around me.

  “I missed waking up to you.”

  My head fell on his shoulder.

  “Baby, I’m sorry about last night. I’ve decided to stay offline.”

  I had already scoured the web this morning. Retractions about yesterday’s story were being run with pathetic excuses like after further investigation, we discovered Mr. Pen’s claims to be false, in fact, blah, blah, blah. Why didn’t they further investigate before they ran the story? LH Ink had posted a scathing retort on their site and Autumn Moone’s site calling out shoddy journalism practices. I noted a hint of Joan’s voice in it.

  I closed my eyes, too tired to say anything, though I thought it was a good idea for him to say goodbye to Google.

  “Maybe it will be good, getting away for a while,” he threw out there when I didn’t respond.

  “You know this isn’t going to be like a vacation. Prying eyes and questions will be everywhere.”

  He rubbed my bare arm. “I know, but we’ll be together, and I’ll get to see my wife in action. How’s your address coming?”

  “It’s coming.”

  Peter tipped my chin up. “You don’t sound well. Are you coming down with something?”

  “Just tired.”

  “You’ve been working too hard.”

  “We both have.”

  His hand ran through my hair. “I’m trying to do what I can for James before I leave. I’m sorry if I’ve neglected you in the process, but for the next three weeks all my focus is going to be on you.”

  I gave him a tired smile.

  “There’s the smile I love.” He skimmed my lips. “Baby, please forgive me for being an idiot.”

  I nodded and for that I was rewarded with a longer, meaningful kiss. No parting of lips, but I could feel the love he tried to convey as he pressed his lips against mine and held them steady.

  “It’s going to be all right,” he whispered against my mouth. I think more for his benefit than mine. He had no idea, though, how much I wanted to believe him, and perhaps for a foolish second, I did.

  In between bouts of nodding off while typing, I managed to get some of my thoughts about the importance of romance novels organized for the address I was supposed to deliver in five days. My bullet points so far:

  It has been widely accepted that romance novels are the ultimate form of escapism, but beyond that, they provide the reader a palatable way to deal with complex issues like divorce, abuse, sexism, forgiveness, etc.

  It could also be argued that they are a form of therapy, as people often explore their own emotions and choices while reading a character’s journey through similar circumstances.

  Romance novels also offer hope that even when it might seem impossible, things can work out.

  While I managed to get that done, Joan sent me a clip of the infamous Tyler Pen running from his house to his car with a towel over his head trying to avoid reporters. Served him right. I got a
much-needed laugh out of it. I was quoted as saying, “I will let the truth speak for itself.” And by me, I meant Joan.

  I even got a shower in but ended up right back on the couch glued to my laptop until Peter came home. Like him, I too was ready to get away, even though I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. But I hoped maybe the time together in new cities sharing this adventure would do us some good. Perhaps we could see the other side of this monster called fame, and hopefully the other side was a big, fat, giant, fuzzy teddy bear. I wasn’t holding my breath, but I had to hope things would get better from here.

  Peter walked in earlier than he had been as of late. I expected to smell dinner per this being our normal takeout night, but Peter came in empty handed. I didn’t mention it because I wasn’t all that hungry; the stress had killed my appetite, and Peter was staring at me with a dazed expression. Not only that, but he opened his mouth to speak several times, but nothing came out.

  I looked over my laptop. “How was your day?”

  He blinked several times. “Fine.”

  “My kind of fine, or fine, fine?”

  “It was fine.” His tone bordered on curt.

  “Okay.” I was confused by his lack of enthusiasm, food, and kisses. Not to mention his tone. “Did something happen today?”

  His feet shifted. “The women’s shelter director came in and got the donations.”

  “Krista? She’s great, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah.” He exhaled loudly. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  Something was off. I wondered if he’d already fallen off the wagon and was searching the web for stories about us. I was about to chase after him, but my phone rang. It was Fiona, so I had to answer it. I had been waiting to hear back from her about whether Peter and I should rent a car when we got to Atlanta tomorrow or if LH Ink was taking care of that. There had been some confusion. Either way, we were getting a car. Neither Peter nor I liked the thought of being in Georgia for eight days without a way to get ourselves around. We were hoping we could sneak in some sightseeing here and there.