Three Single Wives: The devilishly twisty, breathlessly addictive must-read thriller

by Gina LaManna

  “Is he still teaching those ridiculous classes?” Todd sat next, his legs spread wide, one arm sprawled over his wife’s chair as if he owned the world. “The ones at that decrepit studio? Can’t believe anyone buys into his nonsense.”

  Eliza gritted her teeth. Todd’s habit of cutting his wife off every time she spoke had always grated on her. As her marriage progressed and the years ticked by, Eliza was finding it more and more difficult to keep her tongue in check.

  “Roman loves his work.” Eliza measured her words, feeling Jocelyn’s eyes fix on her. “It’s what initially drew us together, actually, but you’ve heard that story.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You met in one of those hippie classes,” Todd muttered. “A theater degree. I still can’t believe I paid fifty grand a year for my son to chase women and dance around onstage.”

  “Todd.” Jocelyn’s fingers trembled. “Eliza and I would like to enjoy our dinner without your colorful commentary.”

  Eliza looked down at her fork, studied it like it was a piece of art. She’d never been under the illusion that Roman’s parents’ relationship was perfect, but recently she’d been seeing more and more cracks appear.

  “Eliza knows I didn’t mean anything by it.” Todd eased back in his chair, daring his daughter-in-law to make a peep. “I’ve got nothing against the…” He hesitated and glanced at his wife. “I mean, those kinds of people. Hell, I just didn’t think I’d ever see my son wearing tights.”

  “I apologize, Eliza.” Jocelyn’s fingers twisted her linen napkin before she seemed to realize her nervous tic was on full display. She spread the cloth in her lap, smoothed it before turning a pleasant expression back to the table. “Where were we?”

  “Actually, I think we can probably order.” Eliza gestured to the hovering server. “We can chat once the food has arrived. I’m sure everyone’s hungry.”

  Jocelyn shot her a look that was torn in two—part relief, part something else. Almost as if she had been hankering for an argument. But the server arrived then, the Tate family ordered, and topical conversation ensued, pushing aside all threat of a full-on dinner disaster.

  Eliza waited until halfway through dinner to engage the next steps of her plan. It was a delicate thing, and she couldn’t rush it. Before she’d picked up the phone and dialed Jocelyn Tate to invite her to dinner, she’d thought long and hard about whether she wanted to do this. Whether she could do this.

  Once her decision was made, Eliza set to finessing the details with the same level of painstaking accuracy that she put into her work. Eventually, the plan rolled into motion when Todd spotted one of his friends at a nearby table.

  “It’s Nathan!” Todd pushed his chair back and heaved himself to his feet. “I haven’t seen the bastard in over a year. Traveling with his wife on a big European tour if I remember right. You ladies mind if I catch up with him? Don’t wait on me to finish eating.”

  Todd didn’t pretend to wait for a response before tossing his napkin on the chair and pushing his near-empty plate toward the center of the table. Jocelyn had barely touched her Niçoise salad while Eliza had made a valiant effort to nibble at the edges of her ahi tuna, but neither of the expensive platters was even halfway finished. Eliza’s stomach churned, and she, too, pushed her plate away.

  “Mrs. Tate,” she began, then stopped when her mother-in-law put down her fork and stared intently back at Eliza.

  “Yes?” Jocelyn pressed. “What do you need?”

  “It’s not…” Eliza swallowed, glancing at the napkin in her lap.

  “It’s not like that.”

  Jocelyn lifted one petite shoulder in a shrug. “I’m not silly enough to believe you invited us here because you enjoy our company.”

  Eliza’s lips parted in surprise. This was not going the way she’d intended. Usually, Eliza was the overprepared one in a room. She excelled at planning; she was known for obtaining fantastic results during work negotiations, even when the tables were turned against her. That wasn’t the case this evening.

  “That’s not true,” Eliza said weakly. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy your company.”

  “It’s quite all right,” Jocelyn said. “I believe you enjoy my company fine enough, but my husband can be quite intolerable.”

  Eliza’s surprise morphed into shock.

  Jocelyn sighed, then peered over her shoulder. Todd and Nathan had moved onto the ruddy, red-faced, too-loud-laughter portion of their discussion. “You’d better speak quickly if you’d like to discuss business before my husband returns.”

  Eliza tipped her chin upward and fought back the pink blush of embarrassment. “I did come here to ask a favor of you and your husband. And I’m afraid it’s quite a large favor.”

  “I didn’t imagine you’d call for something trivial.”

  “It’s money. I’ve recently quit my job, and I’m branching out to start my own public relations company. I need more funding than what Roman and I have in our bank account.”

  A shrewd look twinkled in Jocelyn’s eye, as if she knew something wasn’t right. “Does Roman know you’re meeting with us?”

  “Mrs. Tate, I really don’t want to bring my marriage into my business. As I stated earlier, the reason I asked you here on my own terms is because I don’t want Roman’s name dragged into our arrangement.”

  “It might be your business, but he’s also your husband.”

  “And it’s my personal promise that I’ll pay you back,” Eliza insisted. “I always make good on my promises.”

  “Yes, your vows mean something to you.” Jocelyn again frowned at her lap. “I only wish I could say the same about my son.”

  “You warned me,” Eliza blurted.

  Even before the words came out of her mouth, she wished she could take them back. There’d been an unspoken agreement between Eliza and Jocelyn that they’d never speak of the moment in question ever again. The moment on her wedding day when, dressed in a beautiful white gown—paid for by the Tates, of course—Eliza had been warned by Jocelyn Tate that she was making a mistake.

  The wedding had been in Vegas, much to the Tate family’s dismay. For their only son, they’d envisioned a grand country-club wedding. A big to-do with a guest list ten pages long and a bill to match. Eliza’s family had wanted the same for their daughter—or they would have if Eliza had taken the time to tell them she was getting married.

  Everyone had assumed the whirlwind romance was due to an unfortunate accidental pregnancy. That Roman had knocked up Eliza, forcing the two to marry in a shotgun ceremony. However, when no baby came nine months later, a year later, ten years later, people stopped speculating and chalked up the union to a bizarre blip of fate.

  Despite the clandestine nature of their elopement, Roman had decided to invite his parents along, never expecting they’d come. However, they had arrived toting a beautiful wedding dress in hand, a bouquet, a cake. Eliza had felt like a real bride. Until Jocelyn Tate approached as the wedding bells began to chime in the sticky-hot chapel and handed over a set of keys without speaking.

  Eliza looked at them, confused.

  “It’s not too late,” Mrs. Tate said. “I’ve only met you a handful of times, but I feel as if I know you. I know you’ll be faithful. You’re a hard worker. You will provide the lifestyle that Roman is looking for. That’s probably why he’s asked you to marry him.”

  “That’s not true,” Eliza said. “I don’t have any money to my name. He’s marrying me because he loves me.”

  “You might not be wealthy yet, but you recently landed a big job. What’s your starting salary?” Mrs. Tate formed the question as if she wasn’t really looking for an answer. “We both know you’ll do quite well. So does Roman.”

  “But—”

  “Do you think the timing is coincidental?” Mrs. Tate licked her lower lip, stalling. “Roman asked you to marry him days after you secured one of the most coveted jobs in the industry. There was an article on you in the Hollywood News—one of the women und
er thirty to watch.”

  The cold, hard metal keys landed in Eliza’s hand. She could only stare at them.

  “But I also know my son,” Jocelyn continued. “I know my husband, and in a way, Roman and Todd aren’t so very different.”

  Eliza had been bewildered by her comment. Todd was a close-minded, rich, often cruel man. Her husband-to-be had an artist’s soul and a soft heart. He was marrying an immigrant, he loved the theater, he read poetry by night and played football by day. Roman was beautifully complex and wonderful and cared nothing for worldly things or money or fame. Eliza told Jocelyn all of it, that she was wrong.

  “Things change,” Jocelyn said with a weak smile. “You deserve to be happy.”

  “I am happy,” Eliza whispered. “I love Roman. More than anything.”

  At the time, Eliza had meant it. Her mother-in-law seemed to understand. As soon as Eliza said those words, a light extinguished in Jocelyn’s eyes as she reached for the keys and plucked them from Eliza’s palm.

  “Ah,” she said briskly. “I was afraid of that.”

  Then she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Eliza’s forehead before leaving the back room and disappearing into the chapel to take a seat beside her husband.

  Still reeling with confusion, Eliza had slipped the veil over her eyes and walked, unaccompanied, down the aisle to meet her husband. She and Jocelyn had never spoken of the moment again.

  Until now.

  Jocelyn’s eyes flashed. “Do you still love him?”

  “I don’t see how that’s relevant to our business.”

  “How much money do you need?”

  “Sixty thousand dollars.”

  The sum sat there on the table like a stack of dirty laundry. Eliza had done it. She’d said it. She’d voiced her needs, and now all she could do was let the chips fall where they may.

  Jocelyn pursed her lips. “I assume you have a business plan?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. I’m currently in the process of securing my first large client. Have you heard of Marguerite Hill? She writes popular women’s self-help books. Take Charge swept the bestseller lists last year. She’s got a new book coming out next year—Be Free— and I’ve presented a proposal for what my company could do for her. I suspect we’ll win her business.”

  “What’s the name of your company?”

  Eliza’s mouth went dry. “Eliza Tate Public Relations.”

  Jocelyn smiled as if she suspected Eliza had made the name up on the spot. “So you had a business plan in place before you quit your job, but you are only just now realizing you need additional funding?”

  “It was a gross miscalculation on my part,” Eliza said, feeling her cheeks heat with shame. “I’m sorry it’s so last minute.”

  “You are the most detail-oriented young woman I’ve ever met.”

  Jocelyn raised her water glass to her lips and crooked an eyebrow. “Were you fired?”

  “Laid off.”

  “Does Roman know?”

  “Enough.”

  Jocelyn nodded, unperturbed. “Does Roman still…” She frowned, looked down. Her fingers brushed gently over a bruise on her wrist that looked suspiciously like a thumbprint.

  “Roman has his flaws.” Eliza watched her mother-in-law tug her sleeve down to cover the mark. “But he’s my husband. I’m sure you understand.”

  Jocelyn studied Eliza more closely. Eliza couldn’t tell whether the tint in her eyes was one of crushing disappointment or grudging respect.

  “Well, then, consider your request done. It’s the least I can do. I imagine you want the funds transferred to a personal account? Or actually, I’ll just have Todd write a check in your name.”

  Eliza swallowed as Todd wrapped up his conversation across the room and sauntered back toward their table.

  “Thank you, Jocelyn,” Eliza whispered. “For everything.”

  TRANSCRIPT

  Defense: Four months ago, the victim filed for a restraining order on you. Why?

  Penny Sands: You’ll have to ask him.

  Defense: It’s impossible to ask the victim, seeing as he’s dead.

  Penny Sands: Right. What’s your point? I didn’t kill him. I wasn’t allowed to be within one hundred feet of him, remember?

  SEVEN

  Seven Months Before

  July 2018

  Come in.”

  With trembling fingers, Penny twisted the doorknob and let herself inside the office at the back of the acting studio. She found the room dimly lit, a bit musty due to the age of the building, but neat. Movie posters dripped down the walls while spines of brightly colored books winked out from dusty shelves.

  Most of the books were on the craft of writing screenplays, acting, or navigating the shark-infested waters of Hollywood. Surprisingly, one shelf was dedicated to a selection of self-help books. Yet another thing they had in common. Yet another reason fate had brought them together.

  “Thank you for sending this along.” Roman wore a pair of glasses that Penny had never seen on him before. They were thick-rimmed and made him look studious in addition to striking. He gestured to his computer where, presumably, he was studying Penny’s screenplay. “I always knew you’d be a talented actress, but I hadn’t suspected your writing would be incredible as well.”

  “You like my work?” Penny twisted her hands before her body. “Are you just saying that?”

  Roman gestured toward the chair. “Take a seat.”

  She exhaled a breath through pursed lips. It was working. Her plan would be worth every moment of careful preparation. All Roman had needed was a gentle touch in the right direction to get the wheels spinning. And that light touch had been a teensy white lie about a screenplay.

  “Your writing is good,” Roman said finally, pulling his glasses from his face and setting them gently on the desk. “Very promising work, Penny. I’m impressed.”

  Her heart leaped like a jackrabbit. “You’re just saying that!”

  “Why would I lie to you?” He spread his hands wide. “I promised you honest feedback. Now, there are plenty of things to improve—”

  “Oh, I know it’s not perfect.”

  Roman smiled patiently at Penny’s interruption, then picked up his glasses and slid them back onto his nose. “I hope you don’t mind, but I printed out the first half and redlined some of it for you. In terms of the bigger, global changes, I thought it might be best if we covered those with a conversation. The red pen is so impersonal.”

  Penny nodded, holding her breath.

  “Now, Penny, now is the time for you to take out that dreaded notebook and begin scribbling away.”

  She spent the next half hour, right up until the start of class, scribbling nonsensical notes into said notebook. Roman offered her candid suggestions to improve pacing and structure. He broached the idea of a big cut at the beginning and a bigger twist at the end. Penny nodded along like she knew exactly what he was talking about.

  “I’ve got to get class started,” he said. “However, if you’d like to revise and send it back to me, I’d be happy to take another look.”

  “I would be honored,” Penny said and then realized she sounded stupid. “I mean, that’d be awesome.”

  Not that it mattered what Penny said, because she wouldn’t be revising anything. It wasn’t exactly her script to revise. She didn’t know what the hell Roman was talking about when he told her to cut the second scene or add suspense leading up to the first twist. Because she hadn’t written a word of it.

  But none of that mattered. Some things were more important than the truth. And what really mattered was that her borrowed piece of art had gotten Penny face time with the elusive Roman Tate.

  “It’s my pleasure. Moments like this are what roped me into teaching in the first place.” Roman leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Finding inspired students, helping them to discover their creative paths. This industry is bloated with actors, writers, producers who are so focused on
the money, the fame, the business. It’s a breath of fresh air to meet someone like you.”

  “That’s how I feel! And it’s why I love your class.”

  “It’s a challenge to find someone who values the artistic aspects as much as I do. I think we have a lot in common.”

  “Oh my God, yes. You know, we even have the same taste in books. I actually own half that shelf there.” Penny waved a hand toward his wall. “The one by Marguerite Hill was a game changer for me. It’s actually the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “It’s the very thing that prompted me to move out to Los Angeles and”—Penny paused for a dry titter—“you know, Take Charge of my career.”

  “Ah, then what I’m about to say next will come as an even better stroke of luck.” Roman stood and shifted his long legs before turning to stare at the book Penny had referenced. “My wife is a publicist. She’s worked with a lot of these authors you see here, including Marguerite Hill.”

  “Seriously? That’s amazing. Your wife sounds awesome.”

  Roman exhaled, a complex look crossing through his eyes. “That would be one way to describe her.”

  The complex look passed, to Penny’s annoyance, as Roman continued listing off his wife’s impressive accolades.

  “In fact, my wife is starting her own company and is looking for new clients,” Roman said. “I won’t make any promises, but if you carry on with your work, maybe I can tempt her into taking a look at your portfolio.”

  “That would be incredible.”

  Penny’s curiosity was piqued. She wanted to know more about Roman Tate’s wife. The woman who had taken Penny’s unsung hero off the market. And if it led to more face time with Roman, so be it.

  A mere second later, Roman’s hand landed on Penny’s shoulder and brought her soaring mind back to earth. She was trapped somewhere between head and heart, feeling lost in the messy swirl of it all as Roman leaned close to her.

  A funny thought crept into her mind as Roman pushed the script back to her. Poor, poor Ryan Anderson. Maybe Penny should pass along the notes on his script. It was the least she could do for taking creative license and pretending Ryan’s work was her own.