Until Death Do Us Part: Haunted Romance Series Book 1

by Leigh, Cassie

  “You’ve never had an attack this bad before. How did this happen?” he asked.

  “I was upset,” she rasped out.

  She looked him in the eyes, silently willing him to understand. Grabbing his hand, she pressed it to her stomach.

  “Baby—I had to tell you…” Another spasm of coughing rocked Millie’s new body, stealing her words.

  “Shit, Claire—it’s going to be okay. I called an ambulance.”

  Millie was sick of hearing that name. Though she felt gratitude for this second chance, she didn’t want to lie. She opened her mouth to correct Noah, but more coughing replaced her words.

  As they waited, she couldn’t seem to stop the wave of coughing fits. More than anything, she wanted to marry Noah and carry his baby. Noah pulled her onto his lap, his steady presence anchoring her and sealing her decision. When the convulsion finally ended, the EMTs were there and took her away.

  strapped down on a stretcher was not how Millie imagined leaving the house for the first time in decades. Add to that the harrowing ambulance ride, nurses and EMTs with questions she couldn’t answer, the cloying stench of antiseptic, and needles—it went on and on. Making it to the relative calm of an exam room with Noah still at her side had been a boon.

  Vanilla walls and oppressive silence surrounded them. On the largest open wall hung a watercolor print of a mother in a flowy summer dress reading to a child in a hammock. Instead of inspiring tranquility as intended, the art served as a reminder of what was at stake. This body had to be stronger than her last, not only for herself but also for this baby, another innocent brought into a messy romance. Unlike the last, Noah would be a good father. Was Claire’s body strong enough to be a mother? Was she?

  Thank goodness for reality TV. If not for those labor and delivery programs, she might have passed out when the doctor wheeled in the ultrasound machine. Millie focused so intently on the ominous black screen that she nearly missed the doctor’s name. What truly frightened her was the white plastic wand. Dr. Beamus claimed it would help them see the baby, but it looked more like an alien torture device to her.

  Her doctor being a woman lessened the mortification, but that in itself was surprising. Certainly, she had heard of women nurses, but never a doctor. The young doctor’s mousey brown ponytail swayed as she looked back and forth between Millie and her machine.

  “How far along do you think you are?” asked Dr. Beamus.

  Millie blinked rapidly at the pretty doctor, searching for something to say that didn’t make her seem like a dimwit or a liar. “I have no idea. I only just found out.”

  That was the problem with taking over someone else’s body; Millie didn’t inherit her memories. For all she knew, Claire could have found out this morning or a month ago. There was just no way to tell.

  She looked up at Noah, hoping to find reassurance. His face was ashen, and his normally warm blue eyes were cold and blank. Somewhere in the rush to the hospital, he had rolled up his shirtsleeves, pulled his tie askew, and opened the top two buttons of his collared shirt. He held her hand, but his grip was limp and clammy. She squeezed his hand. He returned it, along with a weak smile that did not quite reach his eyes.

  It hurt to have him look at her that way—with such detachment—scalding her already raw emotions with burning unshed tears. She had only to open her mouth and spill her secret to change that look. The doubt that he would believe her and still marry her lingered like poison. She had come back for him, for their love. As she worked to undo the damage Claire had done, her purpose would have to be enough to carry her.

  Millie focused her attention on the ultrasound screen to avoid thinking about her feet in stirrups and the cold press of plastic—something else she had not counted on. She wanted to scream in panic and struggled against the impulse to scramble backward off the table. She bit down on her bottom lip and watched through a veil of tears as the gray and black static began to settle into a shape that pulsed with a rapid whoosh-whoosh noise.

  “Is our baby okay, doctor?” Millie’s voice shook with suppressed emotions and fear for the tiny unborn soul that Claire had left in her care. “What is that sound?”

  “That’s your baby’s strong and steady heartbeat.” Dr. Beamus smiled at her indulgently. “I would say you are about twelve weeks along. Congratulations.”

  “Twelve weeks?” Millie and Noah said in unison.

  Jerking back away from Millie as though she bit him, Noah’s face reddened, and his eyes grew dark as though a storm had rushed in. “How did you miss something like that?”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much, Mr. McDonough.” The doctor said, cutting off any further harsh words. “It happens more often than you think. If she was under enough stress to have caused the asthma attack she had today, she likely just missed the signs.”

  Noah rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the door as if he wanted to bolt. He took a step towards it, then turned and sat on the lone chair in the furthest corner of the room. There was no argument with the doctor, but his rigid posture and the distance he had put between them spoke volumes.

  It seemed unlikely to Millie as well that Claire hadn’t known, but it wasn’t a sentiment she could express. The baby was okay. That was the important thing. She had to trust that she and Noah would find their way too.

  The ultrasound over, the horrible wand was withdrawn. She wished fervently that Noah hadn’t seen her violated that way, but if he hadn’t been there holding her hand—detached as he was—the whole experience would have been so much worse to endure. The doctor turned off the machine and pulled off her gloves.

  “Here let me help you.” Dr. Beamus grabbed Millie’s arm and helped her sit up with a bright, generic smile plastered on her face. “I would suggest you get some rest, Ms. Jennings. You were fortunate this time.”

  “More than you know, ma’am.”

  The doctor gave Millie a confused look and then defaulted back to her smile. “You can get dressed now. Your breathing has stabilized, and you’re doing well enough that we don’t see any reason to keep you for observation. I’ll send the nurse in with your discharge paperwork.”

  Millie nodded distantly as she heard the door click closed. Her focus was on Noah, stewing in his corner. She opened her mouth to tell him who she was, to take advantage of this time alone with him, but the words refused to come. It made her want to weep.

  “I’m sorry.” That was all Mille could manage.

  Those two words broke the gathering storm behind his eyes. He stood in a rush, knocking the chair to the floor with a clatter that thundered through her battered nerves. She counted with her eyes closed against his outburst, waiting to see just how close the storm would come. When she opened them, he loomed an inch from her face. She leaned away out of reflex.

  “What exactly are you sorry for? For hiding this from me or using it to get what you want? Tell me, Claire, because that’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

  Millie flinched at the bitter accusation in his whispered shout and because he was right—just not for the reasons that he assumed. “I’m sorry because I didn’t know until today and for the things, I said last night. I came to the house to make you dinner and apologize to you. I love you, and I still want to marry you.”

  Her heartbeat thumped heavily in her throat, making it difficult to swallow past her own misplaced fears. He was not the man who lashed out at her in anger when he felt trapped. That was another life. When he took a step back from her, as if she had slapped him with her words, she let out the breath she had been holding.

  She was apologizing for someone else’s actions, but she had no other choice if she couldn’t tell him she was Millie, and God how she wanted to say the words. It was cruel that she could be this close and yet locked into silence by some unknown force. She would do her best to show him, but she prayed he would understand soon.

  “Were you going to tell me about the baby tonight?” He turned his back on her as if he couldn’t look at her while sh
e answered what he assumed would be a lie.

  “No. I didn’t want you to think that was the only reason I still wanted to marry you because it’s not.” They were Claire’s own words and the truth as far as she had planned.

  Noah’s head dropped forward, his eyes closed. She watched his hand at his side open and close into a tight fist as he seemed to shake off some thought he didn’t wish to share. As much as she hated that silence, she let it stretch. Sometimes it served a greater purpose, and she hoped this was one of those times. She needed him to put the pieces together and for the wedding to continue.

  “Get dressed so I can take you home.” Noah didn’t look at her; he just left her there alone.

  millie sat in the same car she had watched back down the driveway every day since Noah had first come to her house. She thought that was where he was taking her until he stopped them in front of an unfamiliar brick building. There were four white doors evenly spaced apart and a large square window beside each one. The unease that had bubbled in her stomach for most of the silent drive had reached a rolling boil that she could no longer ignore.

  Clutching Claire’s purse to her chest, Millie turned to face Noah. “I thought you were taking me home?”

  “Until after our wedding, this is your home.” He gaze remained fixed forward, his voice tightly controlled.

  Millie wanted to be relieved that he still planned to marry her, that he believed enough of what she said for that to be possible. She just wanted to be with him, not in some strange place, alone. It would be so much easier if the words would leave her lips.

  “I was wrong. That house will be our home. You’ve done so much to make it that way, and I should have been grateful.” Claire would never have said that Millie knew, but she had long wanted her to show him the appreciation he deserved.

  He turned to look her in the eyes, finally. They were still the flinty blue-gray of storm clouds rather than the clear skies she had known. She fought her own desire to reach out and touch him. Now that she finally could—now that she had held his hand—the need was consuming her. Her grip on the leather bag tightened painfully to keep her hands in compliance, even as she felt her own resolve weaken.

  Would he suffer all alone in the house, searching for her? Once again, she fought herself to say the words—to end both their misery. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air, but no words came out.

  “Do you need your inhaler again?”

  “No,” she said, forcing down the sob that caught in her throat.

  Millie knew she needed the time to learn what she could about Claire so that she might slip into the woman’s abandoned life, but the press of his lips last night had been so brief. Her new body leaned forward without her consent, not much but enough to be noticed.

  “Did you put in contacts to change your eyes?”

  Noah’s odd question struck her like a bucket of ice water.

  She blinked rapidly and shook her head in answer. “No, why do you ask?”

  He reached out, cupping her chin in his callused hands. Millie’s breath hitched at the unexpected contact, and she rubbed her cheek into it like a sated cat, causing heat to build in her new body. He tightened his grip. Not enough to hurt, just enough to hold her still. He gazed deep into her eyes, and for a heart-stopping moment, she wondered if he would kiss her. She wanted it desperately, but she wanted him to know he was kissing Millie. Until she found a way to show him, it just couldn’t be.

  “I must be imagining things.” Noah dropped his hands away and sat back. “You should go in. You need to get some rest like the doctor said.”

  Now that was a problem, she had Claire’s keys but had no idea which key to use. Millie’s only hope was that he would wonder why she needed take her time trying each one. She learned while filling out paperwork at the hospital that hers was door number two. She sighed heavily, wishing they could just go home. One glanced at Noah’s hard expression told her he was not leaving with her.

  Giving up, Millie climbed out of the car. As soon as the door clicked closed, he pulled away from the curb. Unable to make herself move, she watched his receding taillights until he turned the corner and was gone. He was probably anxious to get home to Millie, not knowing he had just left her behind.

  Standing there on the curb, Millie dug into Claire’s purse until she came up with a tiny black compact. Flipping the plastic case open, she ignored the blush and angled the mirror to see her own eyes. She recalled that Claire’s eyes had been a pale, frigid blue, fitting for the ice princess image Millie had, but the eyes looking back at her did not resemble that.

  They were Millie’s own eyes—a sort of hazel gray overlaid with gold, like the sun peeking through the clouds. The windows to her soul had altered to mark the changing of the guard. It was liberating to know that at least something physical was still hers, and standing here alone, it made all the difference.

  She couldn’t go on staring at herself all day. Whether she wanted to or not, she had to set the next steps of her new life in motion. Heartsore, she was too numb from the day’s events to process how she made it from the curb to the door or how many keys she fumbled through before the lock gave and she stumbled inside.

  It was a tidy apartment and very different from Noah’s oversized bachelor décor. A slim green sofa dominated the space. It reminded her of her mother’s formal sofa but without the curves. She decided that with a colorful mix of pillows, she would probably like it. Bare as it currently was of anything comfortable, only its color spoke to its owner’s personality. Most of the place was like that, she discovered: beautiful and artful but lacking anything cozy and relaxed to give it balance.

  Millie wandered from room to room, peeking in drawers and cabinets for information. Somehow, she had to live this life and show Noah she wasn’t Claire. Millie needed any clue to tell her how to do it: where she worked, the wedding, anything.

  The bedroom was where she found it. It was where Claire truly lived—at least that’s how it appeared. It was still as clean as the rest of the place, but layers of inviting pillows covered the bed, more than just the requisite pair. Unlike the vibrant colors in the public spaces, Claire had chosen a simple pallet of creams and white, monochromatically layered throughout. On the nightstand sat a binder overflowing with papers and a journal.

  Millie picked up the binder and ran her fingers over the gold embossed lettering on the white linen cover—Wedding Planner. Flipping through the pages, she was amazed at every meticulous detail, from the overinflated budget to the schedule of every part and piece for the next week. No detail was too small for Claire’s meticulous documentation.

  Millie was relieved. She never expected others to be as organized as she was herself, but in the present circumstance, it would alleviate much of the pressure. She was also shocked when she read over the budget. This wedding was costing them $50,000. Such a sum was outrageous and no doubt much of it had come out of Noah’s budget for the house.

  Just thinking of him made her heart ache. How was she going to get through to Noah? Tidy as Claire was, the woman’s life was a mess of manipulation. What would he believe? Millie sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at the binder in her lap.

  This was her life now, and things were going to change. Maybe then, he would see.

  five days of maddening silence had passed since Noah felt her trembling lips kiss him. Five days since Millie had stumbled out of the kitchen shaken and diminished because he begged her to try—God forgive him.

  He left the TV on for her every day, but no change. Noah was sorely tempted to open the attic door and enter her space. Fear that she was gone forever held him in check. He wasn’t ready to confront that possibility.

  Instead, he sat in the hallway slumped with his back against the door, waiting for her to emerge. He had functioned on a loop of work, crying in front of the attic door, sleeping on the floor in front of the attic door, and work again. His five o’clock shadow had moved on to a full-fledged beard.
He wouldn’t have eaten if Claire had not brought him something every evening.

  His life was undergoing a seismic shift. All he wanted was to wait here for Millie, but Claire had inserted herself at every opportunity. She had been like a different person since he found her on the kitchen floor—loving and less critical. Moreover, her sudden interest in the house was raising questions in his mind that made no sense.

  The day after he drove her home from the hospital, she went to the library and brought him copies of articles on the family that had built the house—Millie’s family. Unwilling to drive since the asthma attack, she took a cab to get there. It was so unlike her to go out of her way or to show any fear of something as ordinary as driving. Claire brazened her way through life, something he had initially liked about her, and now she seemed timid—like Millie.

  Noah sat with the file spread out on the floor next to him. Mildred Standish—that was the name in the obituary had been married, buried a child, and died all in the same year. Her gentle spirit had endured all of that, just as she claimed. She had missed her brother going off to fight in the Second World War and his premature death in a nearby town. Her parents had even died in this house. What must that have been like for her? To watch her parents and siblings carry on without her?

  Now he would betray Millie with Claire because of the baby. He just wanted to explain it to Millie before it happened. When the doctor told them the baby would be fine, the wonder and love that appeared to fill Claire while she gripped his hand was so contrary to what he had been prepared for. He loved Claire before—or thought he had, and made this innocent life with her. He had to try. He just didn’t want to.

  “Noah?” This new softer version of Claire’s voice drifted up the stairs.

  He heard the door click shut, and her light footfalls on the stairs. As the top of her head and her eyes came into view, he could almost swear he was looking at Millie. Their wheat blonde hair had been the same, but he recalled Claire’s eyes as a pale blue. Now they looked like they had been shot through with sunshine. Hadn’t Millie’s been like that?