The Replacement Wife

by Tiffany L. Warren

  “Are you all enjoying yourselves?” Quentin asked. “Give it up for the band! As some of you may know, I dabble a little bit musically.”

  Quentin paused while everyone chuckled. Then he said, “Well, lately, I’ve been writing again. For some reason . . . I’ve been inspired.”

  Montana watched as three staff members pushed Quentin’s white baby grand piano into the ballroom. Was Quentin going to play?

  Quentin said, “I wrote a song I’d like to share. I was saving it for another, more private occasion, but one thing you learn by losing someone is to seize the moment.”

  Quentin set the microphone down and left the stage. He squeezed Montana’s hand as he walked by, making her wonder what was going to happen next.

  Quentin spoke into the microphone set up near his piano. “Y’all pray for me again. I’m a little rusty.”

  “It’s all right, baby!” Ms. Levy said from her table.

  The room was completely silent when Quentin started to play. The way his fingers flowed over the keys, he didn’t seem out of practice at all. Then he started to sing.

  Time stopped, when you walked through my door.

  It’s like the Lord answered my prayer with an angel.

  You make me feel like a man again, ready to live,

  And if it isn’t love, then I don’t know what it is.

  Caught me by surprise feeling you.

  But I can’t fight it anymore, and I don’t know if I want to.

  If this isn’t real, let me believe, ’cause only God could orchestrate this picture-perfect dream.

  I found you, you found me. Neither one of us was ready, for what God had in store.

  I found you, you found me, let’s just go with it.

  What are we waiting for?

  Heaven sent you to me, when I didn’t believe in love anymore.

  Didn’t know what my heart was for.

  Heaven sent you to me, when I didn’t believe in love anymore.

  Didn’t know what my heart was for.

  Heaven sent you to me.

  Montana could hardly catch her breath when the song finished. Of course, it was about her. She could tell by the way Quentin stared at her over the top of his piano. Obviously, he was ready to go public with his feelings. He’d just serenaded her in front of all his friends.

  Montana wanted to cut and run, as she couldn’t stand being the center of attention, and it seemed that everyone was looking her way. She didn’t run, though. She tried to smile and not look too awkward.

  Then Quentin got up from the piano and started walking toward her. Montana trembled with nervousness. She didn’t know what Quentin was about to do, but it was clear that it would be something—the look of resolve on his face was unmistakable.

  Quentin walked faster as he neared Montana, and then to hers and everyone else’s surprise, Quentin lifted her from the floor and spun her around with a hug. When he set her down on the floor again and smiled down at her, Montana was sure her face was every shade of red known to man.

  “Did you like your song?” he whispered.

  All Montana could do was nod. Quentin gave her a huge smile and hugged her again.

  Montana hugged him back amid a room full of applause. It seemed that just about everyone was thrilled about her and Quentin, so she allowed herself to share in that joy. There was nothing Chloe could do or say that could make her feel any differently about Quentin than she felt in this moment. She loved him and he loved her too. Now all of Atlanta knew their secret.

  CHAPTER 53

  Montana awoke just before daybreak. She had a full day ahead of her and runs to make for Reese’s small wedding. She had to pick up his reserved tuxedo from the tailor and get the corsage from the florist. Some of what she did extended beyond her nanny duties, but she didn’t mind. She loved the children dearly and would do anything for them.

  She jumped out of her bed and started a pot of tea. Montana liked to pray and meditate before she started her day, and she’d been especially diligent following everything that had transpired with Quentin.

  After she finished her cup of tea and Scripture meditation, she felt ready to face the day and any pitfalls that might be before her.

  Right before she got ready to take her shower, Montana’s doorbell rang. Immediately, her hands went to her hair, which was standing up in multiple directions, having yet to be tamed with her arsenal of styling products and brushes.

  It had to be Quentin. No one else would be up this early, knocking on her door.

  “Who’s there?” Montana asked.

  “It’s me. You wanna go running?”

  “I can’t, Quentin,” Montana said, through the door. “I have to run errands for Reese.”

  “I know. I’ll help you do them if you go running with me first.”

  Montana smiled. She couldn’t resist him. “Okay, give me a minute.”

  Montana took about ten minutes to shower, brush her teeth and hair, and throw on her workout clothing. Every time she tied her running shoes, it made her smile. Buying her the running shoes was the first romantic thing Quentin had done, and he hadn’t even known he was being romantic.

  She opened the door, and Quentin waited for her. He looked as gorgeous as ever. The sun kept playing with the light brown in his eyes, and it made them look like jewels.

  “Come on,” Quentin said. “I need to go hard today. I have to work out some stress.”

  “What’s wrong?” Montana asked.

  Quentin touched her fingertips and pulled her down the steps. “Oh, it’s the good kind of stress. Either I sneak in your cottage at night to cuddle with you, or I run.”

  Montana laughed and took off down the path. “Well, you better get running, sir.”

  After her initial dash, Montana slowed to a jog so that she could warm up properly. Quentin had taught her how to pace herself so that she’d be able to run the entire distance. Twice she’d done the entire two miles without a break. She was getting into the best shape of her life.

  Once she was done warming up, Montana fell into her pace. She counted her footfalls, in sets of twos. It helped her to concentrate.

  About halfway through the path, when she was just starting to feel the burn, Quentin yelled out, “Hey, Montana. I need a break.”

  Montana stopped in her tracks and turned around. Quentin never needed a break, but he was leaning against a tree and breathing hard. She ran to him. Something was wrong.

  “Quentin, are you okay?” Montana asked as she approached.

  He nodded. “I just wanted to stop for a minute. Look at you. You’re going harder than me.”

  “You’re not the only one with pent-up energy.”

  Quentin rested the back of his head on the tree and laughed. “We’re both anxious.”

  “Yeah.”

  Quentin rose up from the tree and brushed his lips across Montana’s. It was a sweet, unassuming kiss. Not the kind of kiss that started something they weren’t ready to finish.

  “Are we running or kissing?” Montana asked.

  “I’m okay with either,” Quentin said. “Right now, I’m resting.”

  “Okay, I’ll rest too.” Montana leaned on the tree next to Quentin.

  “Montana, do you think I’m doing the right thing letting Reese marry this girl?”

  “He says he loves her, and they have a baby on the way, so I think you’re fine.”

  “They’re so young, though. It scares me. What if he can’t handle being a husband or a father?”

  “He has no choice about the father part, and you may have to help with the husband part,” Montana said. “But I think he has a good example.”

  “I want to be a good example for him.”

  “You are. You’re a great example for all your children.”

  Quentin sighed. “I haven’t always been. The last five years, I’ve been incredibly selfish. God helped me see that.”

  “It was only five years. Not their whole lives. Your relationships will recover.”


  “That’s why I love you, Montana. You are so positive. You’ve got a light inside of you. I don’t want anything to hurt that light. I want it to just shine brighter.”

  “I love you too, Quentin.”

  Quentin turned to face Montana. His facial expression was now intense. It made her heart flutter. When he reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out a box, Montana thought she might faint.

  Quentin took Montana’s left hand and kissed each finger before dropping to one knee. “Montana. You don’t know what you’ve done in my life. You’ve made me feel like a man again. You make me want to live again. I wasn’t living before, I was slowly dying. You’ve introduced me to God again. Your love brought me back to life. You’ve . . . you’ve resurrected me.”

  Montana swallowed back the lump that formed in her throat. “Quentin, I don’t know what to say to that.”

  “Say that you’ll let me return the favor. Let me love away all the mistakes I’ve made. Let me give you a life that you maybe thought you’d never have, but that you definitely deserve.”

  “I don’t care about the money, Quentin.”

  “I know, but you’ll have it anyway, and you’ll have all of my love too. All of my heart.”

  He opened the box, and a sunbeam illuminated the most beautiful princess-cut diamond that Montana had ever seen. Her hand trembled as he placed the engagement ring on her finger.

  “Will you marry me?”

  “Yes. Yes, I will!”

  Quentin hugged her at the waist and then jumped to his feet. “You’ve made me happier than I ever thought I could be. I need you, Montana.”

  Those three words solidified it for Montana. She needed Quentin too. She needed to feel safe, loved, and cherished. Quentin was the man she’d been waiting for.

  “I need you too, Quentin. I can’t believe God has blessed me with my very own prince.”

  Montana sealed her declaration with a kiss of her own. A kiss full of possibility and hope for the future. There was more than passion in her kiss; there was a promise. There was a vow of love. Love that would cover anything and everything life would hurl at them. Love that would resurrect them both, as one flesh, as new creations.

  God had put them together, and there was nothing or no one that would tear them apart.

  A READING GROUP GUIDE

  THE REPLACEMENT WIFE

  Tiffany L. Warren

  About This Guide

  The questions that follow are included to enhance your

  group’s reading of this book.

  Discussion Questions

  1. What was your initial take on Quentin and Chloe’s relationship? Was Quentin leading Chloe on, or was she living in her own fantasy?

  2. Why do you think Quentin started Transitions? Was his purpose fulfilled?

  3. If you were Montana, would you have done things differently with Quentin? Was she a man stealer, in your opinion?

  4. Discuss Job 13:15. Have you ever had a “though He slay me, yet will I trust Him” experience? How was your faith restored?

  5. Do you believe a person can have more than one soul mate?

  6. Do you think this is the last Quentin will see of Chloe?

  Don’t miss Tiffany L. Warren’s

  Don’t Tell a Soul

  Available now at your local bookstore!

  CHAPTER 1

  PAM

  Isn’t it weird how the very best things can happen to you at the very worst times? I just got off the phone with an editor at Gideon Publishing. Her name is Carmen, and she wants to give me a book deal. It’s for my second book, a fictional version of the story of Jesus and the woman at the well. I never sold the first one that I wrote, which is probably a good thing, because there is too much of my own life in its pages.

  My second book, called The Chance Meeting, took me only a year to write, but it took another year for me to get replies back from my query letters. Now, finally, eight years into my publishing journey I’m being offered the opportunity of a lifetime.

  It is the best thing that could happen in my life, but I hate that it’s happening when Troy is at absolute rock bottom with his music thing. He’s lost nearly every penny of the three and a half million dollars he earned after discovering a powerhouse vocalist named Lisa with an incredible voice.

  “Hey, babe. Logan is coming over in a few. Are you gonna cook something?”

  Troy’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I gaze directly into my husband’s ruggedly handsome face. That very appealing face, those incredibly sexy light brown eyes, and his undeniable swagger caused me to postpone every single last one of my dreams while he pursued his music career.

  Not anymore. I feel God moving me in a different direction, one that doesn’t include feeding his friends. I’ve got to write a proposal for my next book. Carmen wants to offer me a two-book deal, but I’ve not given any thought to another project.

  “I think you should cook something or order out,” I say.

  He blinks, as if blinking will help him hear me better. “Come on, Pam. This is important. He’s going to collaborate with me on some music. He’s really well connected, and I think he can help get Aria’s project off the ground.”

  I roll my eyes. I should’ve stopped myself from doing that, because it makes me seem like an unsupportive wife. But I’ve been hearing that singing harlot’s name for the past eight years.

  Aria is Troy’s big project. He’s spent almost a decade trying to blow up with this girl. She’s in my home so much, she might as well be my sister-wife, except I can’t ever see that chick lifting one of those acrylic-nailed fingers to do a dish or a load of laundry.

  “Pam?”

  I shake my head and the negative thoughts about Aria. “No, Troy. I can’t do it tonight. I’ve got something really important to do, and then I have to go to a Sister to Sister meeting.”

  “What can you possibly have to do that’s more important than handling my business? Your job is to take care of home. Me and the kids, Pam. You been chilling for the past eight years, so the least you could do is be hospitable when I have guests.”

  I know he did not just reduce everything I’ve done in the past eight years to “chilling.” I didn’t know raising three children was chilling. I didn’t know that the upkeep of a five-thousand-square-foot house was chilling. If I was chilling, then what was he doing in all the years before he made the three million dollars? Sounds like if I am in chill mode—which I am not—then it’s my turn.

  Besides, Troy knows dang well that if something doesn’t give in the next six months, then I definitely am going to have to go back into the corporate workforce. He hasn’t even asked me about my writing career—not since he bought me a journal when I was pregnant with our son, TJ. I’m starting to wonder if he even meant anything he said about supporting my dreams.

  I close my eyes and sigh. “What do you want me to make, Troy?”

  “I can make some wings and salad, Mom. Do you want me to?”

  That is my surprisingly capable fourteen-year-old Gretchen. She’s been obsessed with cooking since the age of ten, and she can probably cook a better meal than I can. A month ago, I let her handle Easter dinner, with me supervising, of course, and she really did a wonderful job.

  “I’ll give you an extra ten in your allowance if you do, honey. I sure appreciate you,” I say and give Gretchen a kiss on the cheek. Then I give Troy a dry peck. “Gotta go.”

  “Your Sister to Sister meeting is not until seven. It’s only five o’clock. What are you doing between now and then?” Troy asks.

  I was wondering when he’d ask what I had to do. I almost thought he wouldn’t. Troy barely notices anything that doesn’t impact him directly.

  “A publisher offered me a book deal, but I have to come up with a proposal for my second book.”

  Troy’s eyes widen, and he hugs me tightly. “That is great, Pam! When were you going to tell me?”

  When you stopped making requests. “I wanted to make sur
e I’d be able to come up with a second book proposal.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. All that gossiping y’all do at those women’s meetings, you ought to have plenty of story ideas.”

  “I’m not going to write about my friends.”

  Troy shakes his head. “I don’t know why not. They would if they had the opportunity. How much money is the publisher offering you?”

  “Um, she said seven thousand dollars for two books.”

  Troy frowns and scratches the back of his head. “Is that all? I thought publishers were handing out six-figure deals and whatnot. That’s what we talked about when you were sending out all those letters.”

  “I did some research, and what they offered me is pretty standard for a brand-new author.”

  “So when do you get the money?”

  “I-I’m not sure.”

  “You’re not sure? Pam, if you don’t know the right questions to ask these people, you need to put me on the phone.”

  “I’m sure I have to sign a contract first.”

  “Well, we could sure use those thousands, Pam. We’re getting low on funds, just so you know.”

  I lift an eyebrow and fold my arms across my chest. “How low?”

  “We’ve got about two hundred thousand left, but it won’t last long if we don’t get some additional funds up in here.”

  See, this is exactly what I’m talking about with him. I’m sick of Troy living from one gig to the next. We’ve got about two hundred thousand dollars left out of the three and a half million. That’s barely enough to get us through another one of Troy’s ventures.

  First, there was the Aria record project. He finished that one and sold about twenty-two copies. Okay, it was more like ten thousand. But he spent more money marketing and creating that record than he earned in profits.