by Gina LaManna
Marguerite Hill: Thank you.
Defense: But I found it interesting, reading your work under the current circumstances—specifically, the murder trial happening as we speak. Are there not several themes in your work about women taking what’s theirs, especially when it comes to men in a position of power?
Marguerite Hill: I suppose. But how does that relate to killing someone?
Defense: Let me read an excerpt to you, Ms. Hill. This comes from page 48 of Take Charge: “Ladies, I urge you to take what is yours, no matter the cost. It’s your right—your duty—to stand up for yourselves. By whatever means necessary.”
Marguerite Hill: So? I stand by my words.
Defense: So what if a woman read this and took it a little too literally? What if she thought that when you said “by whatever means necessary,” it included murder?
Marguerite Hill: That’s her problem, because that’s preposterous. That’s not how I intended it in the slightest. I don’t even have a clue how one might interpret it in that light.
Defense: What if that is what you meant, Ms. Hill? I’m not convinced you’re telling us the truth. Is your name Marguerite Hill?
Marguerite Hill: Of course it is.
Defense: Has it always been Marguerite Hill?
Marguerite Hill: I changed my last name to Hill when I got married. I kept the name after we divorced because I’d already used it on my work. My ex-husband and I are on friendly terms, so I didn’t care about changing it back.
Defense: What about before that?
Marguerite Hill: Before what?
Defense: Ms. Hill, as it turns out, your name was Katherine Bonaparte on your birth certificate.
Marguerite Hill: But how did you…
Defense: Look, Ms. Hill. I’m sorry for what happened to you as a child. The crimes against you were unspeakable and awful. But it’s time to be honest with the court. Please explain to the jury who you are, where you come from, and why you changed your name.
NINETEEN
Six Months Before
August 2018
Penny watched as Marguerite Hill flitted around the elaborate ballroom, a small posse flocking along beside her. Among her troupe walked Roman Tate.
It hadn’t been difficult to Google the event list for the Pelican Hotel and find out that Roman’s wife was throwing a party for Marguerite’s new book. Penny was still trying to puzzle out Roman’s reason for inviting her here. If he’d wanted to explain why he’d kissed her—among other things—wouldn’t it have been more prudent to go somewhere alone, just the two of them? Somewhere—anywhere—his wife wasn’t?
To Penny, it felt like she was a carrot being dangled just under Eliza’s nose. Was this all a big game to Roman? Was Penny his midlife crisis—a back-alley affair that would flash-bang bright, then fizzle to blackness when he returned to his wife and groveled for an apology?
Penny wasn’t going to stick around for any of that. She refused to be the other woman. So why had she come at all? Why hadn’t she ignored Roman’s email or sent him a giant fuck-you message back?
Because she was curious, and everyone knew that curiosity killed the cat. Penny wanted to know more; she wanted to know everything. She wanted to see Eliza with her own eyes, know the woman whose husband she had kissed. She wanted to see Marguerite Hill in person, her beloved guru, and hear from her lips that everything would be okay. That Penny’s life wasn’t over, that she could still take charge and move on from the messy trails she’d left behind.
And lastly, she was curious to hear Roman’s explanation. Would he be up-front with her? Would he lie? Would he tell her it had all been a mistake, and could she please keep their little interludes secret?
Nursing a vodka martini and chomping on one of the blue cheese– stuffed olives that came speared as decorative flair, Penny watched the smartly dressed group arrive at the party and slowly disperse. A few members of the group made their way over to the bar while others spread throughout the room in search of conversation with other attendees.
Penny fingered her H&M steal, biting her lip as Roman helped Marguerite out of her coat. The jacket was a shimmery pink thing that was entirely unnecessary in southern California temperatures, but it was stylish nonetheless and likely expensive. The guest of honor deserved to dress with a little pizzazz.
Penny was fascinated by Marguerite Hill and everything she stood for. Her last book had hit the New York Times list at number ten. She’d been a nobody before her unexpected success, much like Penny herself. Almost overnight, Marguerite had become the newest self-help guru on the continent. And now Penny was standing a stone’s throw from her idol.
There was something about Marguerite—something about the look in her eyes or the way she spoke. Maybe the way she moved or the way her words galloped across the page. Something about her that made Penny shiver. The woman was not to be taken lightly.
As Penny continued to stare over her martini glass, she couldn’t help but observe Roman as he inched closer to Marguerite. Was it Penny’s imagination, or were the two positioned a hair too close together? Maybe it was the little touches that threw Penny off or the way Roman tossed Marguerite’s jacket over his shoulder after she’d shrugged it off.
Maybe Penny wasn’t the only one Roman had his eye on. Penny wasn’t sure whether that made her feel better or worse, but she knew it made her feel something. And that something quickly became jealousy, an emotion that pinged around her chest like a ball in a pinball machine. Penny fought it back with every fiber of her moral compass, but it was a futile effort.
Trying to ignore her rattling nerves, Penny turned her attention to someone more interesting than either Roman or Marguerite. She watched Eliza Tate with mounting curiosity, wondering what she knew. Was it possible that Roman had confessed everything and she knew about their secret interludes?
When Penny entered the room, she’d seen a beautiful, forlorn-looking woman draped over a cocktail table, looking like a brokenhearted Disney princess waiting for a prince who would never come. Eliza’s long, shiny dark hair had been pulled over one shoulder, and her dress—sleek and short—was made from a crisp black fabric that made Penny feel like a starry-eyed teenager in her clearance-rack jumpsuit.
Penny might as well have worn sparkly eye shadow and chomped on bubble gum. It would have matched the duct tape slapped on the bottom of her shoe because she hadn’t wanted to shell out for a pair of new heels.
Turning to the bar, Penny slipped another olive between her lips. She was being stupid all over again, pining for a partner she couldn’t have when there was a real, tangible man bringing her flowers. Ryan Anderson might never be a yacht. But he made for a damn good dinghy.
“I’m glad you made it.” Roman’s voice clapped over Penny’s shoulder, prickling her skin in anticipation of a coming storm. “I worried you wouldn’t want to see me.”
“I’m still waiting to hear one good reason why I shouldn’t walk out the door right now.” Penny stared into her martini as she tasted the sour words. “You’re married.”
“You knew that from the day you met me.”
Penny’s face heated.
Roman leaned inward. “Yet you still wanted me.”
“I’m leaving—”
“Penny,” he chided gently with a matching shake of his head. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong. What I meant to say was that there’s a greater force pulling us together. I can feel it, and I think you can, too.”
Penny’s throat went dry. “What’s gone on between us should never have happened. It’s not fair to anyone.”
“You’re wrong.”
Roman looked so convinced, it gave Penny pause as she stared into her drink. Somehow, most of her cocktail had already disappeared. She hadn’t eaten much all day, considering she’d picked her way around suspect beans for lunch.
“You’re an asshole.” The alcohol must have hit her harder than expected, which explained her newfound backbone. “I can’t believe I fell for your whole…�
�� Penny waved her hand over Roman, head to toe. “All of it. I have half a mind to tell your wife everything.”
“Go ahead,” Roman said. “But first, take a breath and have another drink. I promised you there’s an explanation, and I’m getting to it. Once you hear me out, you can do whatever you like, and I won’t try to stop you.”
Penny gave a shrug of disbelief. She’d committed this far.
Roman eased closer, gestured for the bartender. “Another martini for her, a whiskey neat for me.”
“I’m okay.” Penny drained her drink and waved off the bartender. She ignored Roman’s gaze as it fell on her profile. “I haven’t eaten dinner. The alcohol’s gone straight to my head.”
“We’ll take that martini,” Roman assured the bartender. Turning to Penny, he gave her a generous smile. “Best to loosen up. Events like this are always a bit…stuffy. If you need food, there will be appetizers floating around.”
Penny made a noncommittal noise in her throat.
“Have you had the opportunity to meet anyone yet?” Roman gestured toward the party, dodging any real conversation in lieu of light banter. “Lots of industry folks in attendance. It’d be good for you to mingle.”
“As a matter of fact, I did meet your wife.” The vodka in Penny’s system simmered under the surface, mixing with an infusion of latent anger. “She seems very nice.”
“She can be.” Roman didn’t take the combative bait. “Though she won’t be my wife for much longer.”
Penny choked on an olive. “What?”
“We’re separating. All we’re waiting on is the divorce paperwork.”
“I-I’m…sorry to hear the news?” Penny didn’t mean for it to come out sounding like a question. “When did this happen?”
“Months ago,” Roman said, “but it should have been years.”
“For crying out loud. Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Penny fanned at her face, feeling an even bigger burst of relief than she’d anticipated. “I’ve been losing hair thinking that I’d ruined your marriage.”
Roman’s face softened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to assume.”
“Can I ask why you’re separating?”
“We’ve been growing apart for a long time. We aren’t in love anymore. Like I said, it’s been years coming. I’m not sure we were ever truly in love.”
Penny remembered the forlorn look in Eliza’s eyes and knew that wasn’t true. At least, not for Eliza. Penny recognized a woman who couldn’t have what she most desired.
“Who decided it was time to get divorced?”
“It was a mutual decision. We have an amicable relationship. Hence the reason I’m here this evening. At my soon-to-be ex-wife’s party.”
The bartender returned with fresh drinks. Penny greedily speared another olive and chewed, hoping it would give her stomach a base coat and help to diminish the light-headedness that had her floating on a cloud of confidence. A cloud that looked bright and shiny in the moment but would no doubt appear dark and stormy and rimmed with regret in the morning.
Penny waved a hand at one of the servers toting a tray of crackers with delicate cheeses smeared on top, but a hand rested on her wrist and stopped her halfway through.
“I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to tell you.” Roman leaned in, raised a hand to gently touch the back of her neck. “I’ve been thinking about you, Penny. Unable to get you off my mind. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that without telling you the truth first, but I couldn’t help myself.”
Penny closed her eyes, took a deep breath. She felt sick with relief and wondered what that said about her. Did she still have a conscience after all? All those years of hoarding others’ things and instructing her guilt-ridden thoughts to take a hike… She thought she’d just about worn the bitch down.
But every once in a while, that voice returned—the little angel on her shoulder who hadn’t completely been eradicated by the devil on the other side. Penny couldn’t decide if this was good news or troublesome.
At the end of the day, Penny hadn’t ruined a marriage after all. She sat, basking in the relief for a moment, wondering if that very relief was what made her human. Then, almost immediately, the relief slipped away, and a feeling of ecstasy crept into its place. Penny was left to wonder all over again if that made her an awful person. Not that she needed an answer. She’d been granted the lesser of two evils, and that was the best she could do.
As Roman’s declaration truly sank in, Penny let the little sprouts of guilt that’d plagued her for months seep into the recesses of her brain as she finally, finally allowed other senses to take the wheel. Roman’s breath smelled familiar now, of spicy mint and expensive whiskey. A light, appealing cologne clung to his fine suit. The touch of his hand against her wrist felt like ice cubes melting against hot asphalt—jarring cold and shocking heat.
“I hope you know my intentions were good from the start,” Roman said. “I’m hoping you can carve out a few minutes of time tonight to talk more—in private.”
Penny opened her eyes before glancing over her shoulder. She squinted as Eliza and Marguerite made their way across the room, stopped every few feet by eager guests as the party grew in number and volume. Their trajectory, however, couldn’t be clearer.
Eliza’s eyes rose to meet Penny’s for the briefest of seconds. Penny’s neck prickled. She poured herself over the bar, hugging a martini toward her chest in an effort to shrug Roman’s hand off her neck.
“I would like that,” Penny said. “But give me a minute to breathe. And I really do need to eat something.”
“Of course.” Roman’s words were amiable, but his tone was edgy.
Penny saw a peculiar look appear in Roman’s eyes as he glanced at his soon-to-be ex-wife. Roman gave her a smile, but Eliza didn’t return it. Penny vaguely wondered if the divorce was as amiable as he claimed.
She didn’t have time to dwell on the layers of the Tate family, however, because Eliza had finally completed her trajectory toward the bar with Marguerite in tow. Penny’s throat went dry. She was so absorbed in the approaching guests that she didn’t notice Roman disappearing from her side.
“Marguerite,” Eliza said as she came to a stop, “this is the woman I was telling you about. Penny, meet Marguerite Hill.”
“Oh my God!” Penny reached for the woman’s outstretched hand and clasped it in a shake. “I loved your book. It literally changed my life.”
“Is that right?” Marguerite stepped forward, eyes twinkling. “Tell me more.”
For the next few minutes, Penny floated on cloud nine as she explained her journey from Iowa to California, eventually concluding her gushing praise by dragging her tattered copy of Take Charge from her bag.
“Would you mind signing my copy?” Penny asked. “It would mean so much to me. I can’t wait to get my hands on Be Free. I’ll have to have you sign that one, too.”
As Marguerite signed the book, Penny found herself feeling truly elated for the first time in weeks. She was still flying high when Eliza and Marguerite moved on to enchant the rest of the guests and left her alone. Penny fanned herself and dropped her toothpick, depleted of olives, into her empty martini glass.
Roman was single. Penny had met her idol. Could the night get any better?
Wandering to the dessert table in a dreamlike state, Penny speared strawberries and pineapples in no particular order, barely aware of her own movements. She’d just dipped her confection under the chocolate fountain when she felt a presence next to her.
“Come with me, somewhere quiet. Just for a bit.” Roman’s voice startled Penny out of her happy haze. “I think it’d do us good to talk.”
“I’m not sure that’s a great idea,” Penny said, swallowing hard. “Technically, you’re still married.”
“I’ll answer all your questions about my relationship once we’re somewhere private. But I can guarantee you that my marriage is over.”
Penny’s heart thumped against her
chest, banged on her rib cage like a drum circle. As much as she didn’t want to feel anything toward Roman, she was drawn to him like a magnet. A relentless, natural pull.
“I do have some questions,” she admitted finally. “But I’d just like to talk. Nothing…else.”
“I have a room upstairs.” Roman reached into his pocket, pulled out a key card. “409.”
TRANSCRIPT
Defense: Did you ever speak with Ms. Hill about your husband?
Eliza Tate: I’m sure he came up in our conversations. As husbands do. Marguerite and I have been friends for years, and she’s met Roman on numerous occasions. It would only have been polite for her to ask about him.
Defense: How long would you say you’ve known Ms. Hill?
Eliza Tate: A handful of years. She was my largest client at my previous job. We worked together at the start of her first book.
Defense: Over the course of those years, did Marguerite Hill ever seem interested in your husband? Romantically?
Eliza Tate: I would have said no, up until a few months ago.
Defense: Then what happened?
Eliza Tate: The night of her Be Free launch party at the Pelican Hotel, I did notice that she seemed a little bit too cozy with Roman.
Defense: Were you upset with your client?
Eliza Tate: I was upset with my husband. I assumed Marguerite was just the pawn.
Defense: How do you mean?
Eliza Tate: Roman was upset with me about the loan I’d gotten from his parents. I thought he was trying to punish me by showing me that he could have other women if he really wanted. He flirted with Marguerite right in front of my eyes; he knew exactly what he was doing. Or so I thought. Now, I’m not so sure.
Defense: Why is that?
Eliza Tate: I’m beginning to think none of that was Roman’s fault at all. I think Marguerite was the one trying to seduce my husband. I think she knew exactly what she was doing, and he was the fool. She just let him think he was in charge. It’s amazing what men will do if you stroke their ego just right.
Defense: And why would Ms. Hill try to seduce your husband?