The Sinful Lives of Trophy Wives

by Kristin Miller

“Probably.”

  Because, like the novel I’d been working on last year, if I make Jack wait until the excitement wears off, he won’t end up reading it at all. Then he won’t see how closely I relate to some of the main characters. He won’t notice that I know a little too much about certain elements of a crime. How to sneak in and out of a house undetected, for example. How to shoot a man and make it look like suicide. Or how to transfer money from a charity to an overseas account. I may not have pushed Eli down the stairs or pulled the trigger on the gun that killed Andrew—those were Danny’s executions—but I was the one who gave him the ideas. The one who directed the scenarios from afar. I had plans and backup plans and backup plans for the backup plans.

  “Well I’m proud of you. You’re so talented.”

  “Oh, you have no idea,” I say, and then laugh.

  He squeezes my shoulders and kisses my forehead. “Can’t wait to celebrate the success of your newest book when we land in New Orleans.”

  Before settling into our new home in Los Angeles, I’ve asked to spend a week in New Orleans, visiting with my mother. She took Danny’s death hard, and I don’t blame her. The anniversary of my brother’s death is right around the corner, and I really should be with her.

  Jack doesn’t know that Danny was the man Georgia shot in the parking garage. As far as Jack is concerned, Danny is still in and out of prison in Florida. Some people believe married partners should share everything, and have no secrets between them. I wholeheartedly disagree. The only reason my marriage to Jack is successful is that certain things remain hidden in the shadows.

  He also doesn’t know Danny’s last stint in prison was due to him witnessing a bar fight between a woman and her husband. Husband got violent. Danny got involved. He was sentenced to ten years. Voluntary manslaughter. Didn’t have any remorse for his crime at all because when he looked at that woman in the bar, he saw our mother. In his own way, he was saving her. One night, not long after he was released, he called and said he’d found online forums for abused women seeking help, and talked with a woman in San Francisco who feared her husband would kill her. He said he was stepping in to help. Given Danny’s past, I knew what that “help” entailed. But Danny was sloppy. Always had been. Filled with good intentions, but not a lot of thinking. I didn’t want him to get locked up again, so I orchestrated the plan…as I did for Georgia, and then for Erin.

  Those are the only women we ever “helped.”

  “I already made the reservation,” Jack says, bringing me back to the present. “It’s the perfect place. You’ll love it. I thought we could invite your mother to dinner as well. I’ve already texted her.”

  “Perfect, darling.” I blink back tears. “You’re the best.”

  If he only knew how much taking control like that means to me. After my brother and I lived a life of uncertainty, never knowing if we were going to come home to our parents fighting or setting up a nice family dinner, we chose different paths in life. Danny decided he couldn’t count on anyone but himself. On the other hand, I realized I needed someone to make me feel safe and protected at all times. I craved routine, and what some might call “stuffiness,” because there isn’t volatility in scheduled rigidity. Jack provides that and then some. We may have an unconventional marriage because we sleep in separate bedrooms, but we give each other what we lack. And there’s love there, beneath it all. Always love.

  Someone knocks on the front door downstairs.

  “That’s Erin and Georgia,” I say, closing down my laptop. “I’ll get it.”

  When I open the door, Erin holds up Malibu strawberry rum, Diet 7-Up, and a lime. Georgia’s behind her waving around V8 berry and peach schnapps.

  “We brought the party,” Erin says and pushes inside, setting everything up on the counter. “I’m going to start mixing. Four glasses?”

  “Three. Jack’s in the bedroom packing up the last of his things.”

  Georgia plants her hands on her hips and scans our bare living room and kitchen as Erin searches through the cabinets for glasses. The movers have already taken the large items. All that’s left are a few essential kitchen items, personal effects, and a handful of crates a third-party moving company is going to transport to Los Angeles. The red and white painting with the many faces still hangs in the living room.

  “I can’t believe you’re leaving,” Georgia says, gazing at me somberly. “Feels like you just moved in. Do you really have to go?”

  A smile tugs at my lips. “It’s not like we’re moving across the country. We’ll stay in California because of his work, but it looks like there’s an opportunity for me in Los Angeles. It’s not far. Only a ninety-minute plane ride. You can come down whenever you get lonely.”

  “That might be all the time.”

  “Unless she gets hitched again,” Erin says with a giggle.

  “I think I’m content being single for the time being. Can I ask you something, Brooke?” Georgia levels me with a serious stare. “You didn’t move to the terrace until Eli and Andrew were gone, yet you were still able to—you know, take care of business. Why’d you need to buy this place when it came to Mason?”

  “Danny and I talked about how to handle Eli and Andrew from the start. We were lockstep. Had every detail outlined. But when we discussed how we would handle Mason, Danny was adamant that we were missing our big chance. He kept insisting we could get more money if we went for Robert instead. He said we could make it a simple kidnapping and ransom.” I locate a pitcher for Erin and slide it in front of her. She dumps in the alcohol, diet soda, and V8 juice. “But that was never our plan. We were helping women escape abusive relationships. We weren’t basic criminals, who were only in it for the money.”

  “Darling,” Erin says, stirring the pink drink, “you’re far from basic.”

  “You know what I mean.” I cut a lime and squeeze the halves into the pitcher. Droplets of juice dribble down my hand. “I tried to reason with him, but he was fixated. I thought my presence here would keep him in check. I was wrong.” I push the glasses closer to Erin for her to fill. “He was greedy and went too far. There was nothing I could do.”

  Leaning over the counter, Georgia takes a drink and passes one to me. “I’d call it water under the bridge, but considering where they found Robert, I think it’s too soon.”

  I kink my head to the side sympathetically. “I’m so incredibly sorry.”

  “What’s done is done.” She licks the side of her glass. “So you didn’t move here because of Jack’s work? Isn’t that what you said when we first met?”

  “That played a part in the decision, of course.” I swirl my drink round and round. “It was easy to convince him to move because the Bay Area is the hub for anything technology-related, and the timing was right to be closer to his business’s headquarters. But I’d also become stagnant in my writing and thought a change of scenery might spark inspiration. The move to Presidio Terrace killed a few birds with one stone.”

  I wince, waiting for the backlash from my last words. The comment was ill-timed under the circumstances. But Georgia and Erin don’t seem to care and continue oohing and aahing over the pink-red color of their drinks. God, I’m going to miss them.

  Erin takes the first drink and moans. “Delicious. Speaking of writing inspiration, will Georgia and I find ourselves in your newest book?”

  I think of the story line, the murder, the women who are perfectly flawed, who think they have it all together, when really they’re just trying to do the best they can with what they have. The leads could be anyone in Presidio Terrace. Pam, using a tiny Yorkie to keep her company because she’s too lonely living in the huge house with her husband. Penny, edging her lawn with scissors because if it’s not exactly right it’ll bother her when she’s trying to sleep at night. The lead could be me, using my career as a novelist as an excuse to search for retribution against men
who abuse women. We’re all the same, really.

  “I think you might find some of the elements familiar,” I say, turning my gaze to Georgia. “There’s a sister and brother working together at one point. The sister had no idea her brother was going off the rails, sending death threats to people, and extorting them for large amounts of money. The sister never knew about any of that. He’d kept her in the dark. The friend was never supposed to be in danger or pay anything beyond the original contract. That was never part of the plan.”

  Georgia purses her lips as if she’s deep in thought. “I bet the friend suspected that. She forgives the sister in the end and they become great friends, bonded by tragedy, don’t they?”

  “You’ll have to read it to find out,” I tease, sipping the sugary drink.

  “It’s on my reading list. I think Erin and I are going to start a book club with some of the other ladies in the terrace. Come back, and we’ll read the book together. Throw you a proper book signing party.” Georgia plops onto the barstool in front of me and empties half her glass in a single gulp. “Are you all packed?”

  “Almost. The crating company is going to come in later and create custom boxes for our artwork, and a few of the chandeliers.” I glance at the painting in the living room—the one Georgia had taken a liking to the first day I met her. Since that time, she’s said it looks familiar but can’t place where she recognizes it. Although I can’t say for certain, I bet it’s like seeing an outfit on a rack that you’re sure you already own. A jacket that fits just right or a blouse with a pattern you absolutely love. To be honest, that’s why I purchased the piece. Because it spoke to me on some subconscious level I couldn’t understand. There’s simply an element of the painting that appealed to me. And it’s clear it appeals to her as well. “I’d like you to have that,” I tell her.

  She perks up, glancing into the living room. “What?”

  “The painting. It’s yours.”

  “I—I couldn’t.”

  “It’s done. I’ll have the craters deliver it to your home tonight before we leave.” My heart warms at the thought of it hanging in Georgia’s beautiful home, where it’ll be cherished. “I didn’t bring a gift to Robert’s funeral, but I should have…I simply couldn’t think of anything appropriate, under the circumstances. It’d mean a lot to me if you’d accept it.”

  Sliding off the stool, she comes around the island and wraps me in her arms. “Thank you,” she whispers and then returns to her stool as Erin downs her drink. “You don’t have to leave, you know. You could stay and be housewives like us. Grounds & Greens every morning.”

  “Mimosa bar,” Erin pipes in with a wink. “You have to admit, it’s tempting.”

  “It is, and I appreciate the gesture,” I say, “but I can’t stay. I’ll never forgive myself for Danny’s mistake that night. Every time I see that engagement ring on Georgia’s finger, I’ll think of what I could’ve done differently to prevent what happened.”

  “Brooke, we all experienced loss this year,” Georgia says. “Robert…”

  Erin tops off her frost-rimmed glass, then does the same for Georgia’s. “Mason…”

  “My brother…” Then Erin tops off my drink. “But I was the only one who profited from the losses. It wouldn’t be right for me to stay.”

  “Depends on how you interpret profit.” Erin raises her glass in cheers. “To skeletons in closets that never see the light of day.”

  I raise my glass to meet theirs. “To good people.”

  Georgia meets my gaze. “Or at least people who are trying.”

  And that’s all any of us can do.

  Once again to Justin.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I have so many people to thank, but first, I must thank God for the amazing blessings he’s placed on my path.

  I’d like to thank the people who rock my writing world. My wonderful agent, Jill Marsal, for her support and guidance. Shauna Summers and Lexi Batsides at Random House, for their wisdom and insights that helped shape this book. Eternal gratitude to Jennie Marts, for late-night plotting sessions, cheering me on, and keeping the faith. Your friendship is invaluable. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  Special thanks to my Spartan crew for their unwavering support, and to a select few, for allowing a few minor characters in this book to borrow their names: Martha Dent, Jeff Baldwin, Zulfiqar Malik, Lisa Wilson, Karen Dell Osso, Sheree Richter, Stephanie Maestretti, Stephanie and Andrew Barrious, Mike and Hillary Pangburn.

  As always, much love to my family and friends, for asking how my writing is going, dropping champagne on my doorstep when I reach a milestone, hunting for my books “in the wild,” or encouraging me when the words simply aren’t there. You’re the very best there is. To Justin, Kelli, and Gavin, immense gratitude and unending love.

  Ballantine Books by Kristin Miller

  In Her Shadow

  Photo: © Lilly Walker

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Kristin Miller is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than thirty novels. After writing dark and gritty versions of “happily ever after” for more than a decade, she turned her hand to psychological suspense, a genre she has loved since childhood. She lives in Northern California with her husband and two children.

  kristinmiller.net

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