It Began With a Lie: A gripping psychological thriller (Secrets of Redemption Book 1)

by Michele PW (Pariza Wacek)

  “I …” Oh, God. What have I done? I knew I shouldn’t have gone out. I felt physically sick as shame and guilt started seeping through my pores. “Stefan, I’m … I’m sorry.” I tried to go to him, but he turned away from me in disgust. “I just wanted to go out with my friends and have a little fun. Is that so wrong?”

  “You’re drunk,” he said, his voice flat. His entire body was stiff and unyielding. I could feel how repulsed he was by me. “It’s pointless to talk about this now. Let’s go to bed.”

  I wanted to protest more. He wasn’t being fair. I just went to a bar with some friends, that was it. That wasn’t a crime.

  An image of Daniel stopping me in front of the bathroom popped into my head.

  I squashed it down. I didn’t do anything wrong, I told myself.

  Other than wanting him to kiss me.

  I could feel the hot burn of a flush start to creep up my neck. I turned away quickly before Stefan could see it and, heaven forbid, ask me about it, and started up the stairs.

  “Why are you going into this room?”

  I jumped—I was so deep into my own thoughts, I didn’t even realize he had stopped in the hallway.

  “I thought you wanted to go to bed,” I said.

  He peered inside the room, still not walking in. “I did.”

  “Well, then, let’s go.” I opened my arms and gestured around the room with a flourish.

  He frowned. “Why aren’t we in the master bedroom?”

  Oh. Crap. My arms dropped to my sides. “Well, that’s my aunt’s room.” My voice sounded lame even to me.

  He stared at me. “Are you serious?”

  I gazed down at the floor, wishing it would open it up and swallow me whole. God, would the night ever end?

  He sighed heavily. “Fine. We’ll stay here tonight. But, Rebecca, you’ve got to get it together. This is ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous.”

  I nodded, too embarrassed to defend myself, and slunk off to the bathroom. He started undressing, muttering to himself as he opened the closet and peered into drawers.

  God, I was a mess. Stefan was right. I could barely meet my own reflection in the bathroom mirror. Makeup smeared, eyes puffy and bloodshot. I sighed. What a disaster.

  I cleaned myself up and got ready for bed. All I could think about was pulling the covers over my head, hoping the next day would be better.

  Stefan was already in bed, lying on his side, light off. I fumbled my way to my side, trying not to disturb him, or bang into anything in the dark. Crawling into bed, I listened to Stefan’s steady breathing as he slipped into sleep, and replayed the evening over and over again in my head.

  It took me a long time to fall asleep.

  ***

  The sun was streaming through the window when I finally awoke. My head was foggy and congested, and I had a slight headache. At first, I couldn’t remember why I had a headache. What did I do last night? How much wine did I drink?

  Then I saw Stefan’s clothes strewn across the floor, just like they always were back in New York, and the memory of the entire night crashed into me. And, with it, all the guilt and shame.

  What have I done?

  What do I do now?

  I threw the covers back. It was after ten in the morning. I couldn’t believe I had slept so late. I hurriedly pulled on a pair of yoga pants and a tee shirt before heading downstairs.

  Chrissy’s door was open, so she was clearly up. I closed my eyes briefly. Of all days for her to be up before me. Why couldn’t she have slept in until eleven, like most days? How on earth was I supposed to have any sort of conversation with Stefan about what happened last night with her in the room?

  I hurried to the kitchen, still not sure what I should say or not say. I had so wanted this move to be a fresh start—financially, yes, but more importantly, for our marriage—and instead I felt like it had been one disaster after another. How could I turn things around?

  I was still mulling my options when the scene that greeted me in the kitchen stopped me short. Chrissy and Stefan were standing very close—too close—as they both leaned against the counter, heads together, obviously talking. As I watched, Chrissy let out a little breathless laugh, throwing her head back, tossing her shiny black and blue hair. She wore a white, silky shirt that exposed one shoulder and half her white, lacy bra that looked pale and innocent against her black hair.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  They both jerked their heads up to look at me. “Good morning,” Stefan said, before turning to glance meaningfully at the cheery sunflower kitchen clock. “Or maybe I should say good afternoon?”

  A fresh wave of guilt flooded my veins. “Sorry,” I said. “I normally don’t sleep so late.”

  Stefan picked up his coffee mug. “Well, it’s not terribly surprising after your late night.”

  I flushed. Even though his tone was neutral, I could still hear the reproach underneath. He was up late, too. And so was Chrissy. Yet, both of them were awake before me.

  “Chrissy, can you leave us for a moment?” I asked. The last thing I wanted was to have this conversation in front of her.

  She turned her head to look at her father. As she did, her shirt shifted so her entire white lacy bra became exposed. I wanted to add that she could stand to put some more clothes on, while she was at it, but I held back.

  Her father nodded to her. She glanced at me, a lazy smile playing on her lips as she pushed away from the counter, arching her back like a cat. “Of course, Rebecca,” she said, as she sauntered out of the kitchen, her hips swaying more than I liked to see. Did she always walk that way? Chrissy definitely had a seductive edge to her, but this seemed a little … over the top.

  But, enough of Chrissy. I faced my husband. Even at home on a Saturday morning, he still looked pressed and put together, while I felt like a wild mess in my yoga pants. He leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms across his chest.

  “I’m sorry about last night,” I said. “I’m really glad you’re here and I wish I had known you were coming so I could have been waiting for you.”

  He tilted his head. “Sort of wrecks the whole point of surprising you.”

  I squirmed a bit. “Yes, but … isn’t that kind of part of the risk you take when you decide to surprise someone?”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Are you saying this is my fault?”

  “No, that’s not …” My voice trailed off. Sometimes I really hated being married to a lawyer. I took a deep breath and tried again. “You know, whenever I’ve thrown one of my friends a surprise party, I’ve always made sure there was someone assigned to making sure my friend showed up. You barely reached out last week.” I wanted to ask him about Sabrina. It was on the tip of my tongue, but at the last moment, I stuffed it back and went a different route. “You only texted me twice and called me once. For the entire week. If we had been talking regularly, then maybe …”

  “So, you are blaming me,” he said. “It’s my fault because I was buried in work and didn’t text you enough for your satisfaction.”

  Oh God. I was just making this worse and worse. “No, I’m not trying to blame you. I’m just trying to explain. I was lonely and wanted to have a little fun. I know you’re working hard and I didn’t want to bother you. I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal.”

  I dropped my gaze to the floor, unable to look at him, feeling more and more deflated. What happened to us, I wanted to ask. How had we managed to drift apart so far and so fast that even something like this turns into a major issue?

  He sighed. “I’m sorry, too, Rebecca.” I peeked up at him from behind my lashes, but he had turned to the coffee pot and was busy pouring. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have gotten so angry when you weren’t here. You didn’t know I was coming. How could you?” He turned back to me, smiling, and held out a cup of coffee. �
�A peace offering?”

  I smiled back and reached for it. He had made it precisely the way I liked it. “I overreacted,” he continued. “Partly because I was upset that you weren’t here when I had wanted so badly to surprise you, but also because I was disappointed with the house.”

  “I know, but don’t you think it makes sense for us to stay packed? It will make it so much easier for us to move once we sell the house.”

  He sighed again, casting his eyes around the warm, homey kitchen. “I see what you’re saying, but it doesn’t feel like home without our things,” he said.

  I opened my mouth to protest. I wanted to protest. But, he sounded so sad, so resigned, I couldn’t.

  “This is our fresh start,” he continued. “And I was hoping to do it in a way where we both felt comfortable. Was that so wrong?”

  “No,” I said. It hadn’t occurred to me that Stefan would feel more cared for in the nest I was trying to create if I unpacked. I felt stupid for not realizing that sooner. “I’ll start unpacking next week. I promise.”

  He waved one hand. “Let’s not worry about that now. What’s important is we’re together. As a family. Shall we go out to breakfast?”

  “I can make us something,” I said quickly, putting down my cup. I wanted to do something to assuage the guilt I was feeling, but he picked it up and pressed it into my hands. “Let me do something nice for you,” he breathed into my ear, and I felt a shudder run through me. “I was a jerk yesterday. I totally overreacted, and I’d like to make it up to you. I’d like to take you and Chrissy out to breakfast. Treat you a little. Remember how we always used to go out to breakfast every Saturday morning together?”

  “I remember,” I said. After making love Saturday morning, he would always sweep me off to breakfast at one of our favorite little restaurants.

  He nibbled my ear. “It won’t quite be the same with Chrissy, but maybe we can make up for that later.”

  “I’d like that,” I said. It had been months since he had shown any interest in me sexually—since the day he came home to tell me the law firm was failing.

  See, this move would be a good thing after all.

  “Go get ready,” he said, swatting me gently on the behind. “And hurry up. I’m starving.” He winked at me, making his intentions clear as I left the kitchen.

  Chapter 12

  Stefan drove us to Aunt May’s Diner. “Chrissy said this place was great,” he said as he parked in front of it.

  Chrissy said what?

  “Ah, well, yeah I liked it,” I said cautiously. “But it’s just diner food, which I know you’re not a big fan of. The Terrace isn’t that far away and has a really nice brunch, at least from what I remember …”

  Stefan turned the car off and removed his seatbelt. “No, I’d like to try this place. Chrissy said your friends were here last time. I’d like to meet them. Especially if you’re going to be spending time in bars with them.” He shot me a sideways smile—a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.

  I felt myself grow cold. What did he mean by that? Was it another dig? Did this mean he was still upset with me? And why did he suddenly want to meet my friends? He hadn’t shown much interest in meeting my New York friends.

  Or did he mean Daniel?

  As if reading my thoughts, he continued. “Chrissy told me you’re old friends with a cop here. What was his name, David? Darrell?”

  “Daniel,” I said, through numb lips. What else has Chrissy been saying?

  He snapped his fingers. “Of course. Daniel. So, was he out at the bar too last night?” On the surface, his voice was casual, bored even. But, underneath I detected an edge.

  Was he jealous? He never had acted the least bit jealous before. What the hell has Chrissy been saying to him?

  I made a point of meeting his eyes. “Yes,” I said coolly, matching his flat tone. “Along with Gwyn, his fiancé. Shall we go in?” Without waiting for an answer, I opened the door and stepped out of the car.

  What the hell was that all about? I made sure I kept my back to Stefan, raising my face to the sun and allowing the wind to tousle my hair. I wanted a moment to pull myself together. I could feel my head starting to throb.

  “Aren’t you coming?” Stefan asked, his voice right behind me, startling me. Chrissy was next to him, her eyes bright. She had been conspicuously silent in the backseat when we had pulled up at the diner, which might mean she had been busy with her phone, but I had a feeling she had been hanging on our every word.

  I nodded, as I started trailing after them. Chrissy had started chatting with her father and as I watched them, I somehow felt uninvited … unwelcome.

  Aunt May’s was crowded with other families who clearly had the same idea we had. Mia waved to me from across the room. I waved back. “That’s Mia,” Chrissy said, before I could. “She’s pretty cool.”

  “I’d love to meet her,” Stefan said. “Rebecca, can you introduce us?”

  “Well, I can try, but she’s probably pretty busy,” I said hesitantly, not at all sure about how I felt about Stefan meeting my friends. The bar comment still hovered between us, like an unwelcome cloud of noxious gas.

  Mia waved as she wound her way toward us. “You must be Becca’s husband,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m Mia. I’m so happy to meet you.”

  “Stefan,” he said, shaking her hand. “It’s great to finally meet one of Rebecca’s friends.” Was it my imagination, or had he just emphasized “Rebecca”?

  She stuck her pen behind her ear. “Well, if you hang out in here long enough, they’ll all stop by eventually. Let’s get you a table.”

  I trailed after them, my head continuing to pound, my stomach suddenly queasy, with all the smells of bacon, coffee, and pancakes in the air. Was this some sort of delayed hangover? I hadn’t felt all that bad when I woke up that morning. I fumbled for a tissue to blow my nose, trying to clear the stuffiness from my head.

  “What’s good here?” Stefan asked, as Mia handed us menus, poured coffee, and got us water. I drank some of the latter, hoping it would settle my stomach, as Chrissy talked to him about the food. I glanced furtively around the diner, hoping Mia was wrong, and that none of my friends were there. Especially Daniel. My stomach rolled inside me.

  “You know what you want?” Mia was back, pen poised on her pad. Stefan nodded at me. I swallowed, trying to quell the sickness inside me, and ordered a couple of eggs and toast. Maybe if I ate something I would feel better.

  “That’s it?” Stefan asked.

  I drank more water. “I’m not that hungry. Actually, I think I’m going to go to the restroom for a minute.” Maybe I just needed a few minutes by myself to splash some cold water on my face.

  Luckily, the restroom was one of those one-room stalls, and it was empty, so I didn’t have to worry about someone walking in. My head didn’t feel any better after the cold water on my face. In fact, I then started to feel a bit dizzy. I swallowed a couple of ibuprofens, hoping they’d take the edge off.

  I leaned against the sink, pressing a cold paper towel against my eyes. I wanted to think, to try and figure out what was going on with Stefan, but it felt next to impossible to sort anything out while dealing with the dull pounding in my head, a stuffy nose, the faint dizziness, and the nausea. I spent a few more minutes breathing into the pain and sickness, giving the ibuprofen more time to kick in.

  It occurred to me that, while I appreciated not having to worry about another person coming in to the one-person bathroom and asking me a lot of questions I didn’t want to answer, it also meant I was holding up the bathroom. Reluctantly, I dried my face, cleaned up my makeup and combed my hair out.

  I surveyed the results in the mirror. Not great, but not terrible either. It would have to do.

  I opened the door and started to head back to the table, when someone called me from behind. I turned aroun
d. Daniel.

  “I was hoping to catch you,” he said. The cop was back—literally. He had his uniform on, and I noticed a strain around his eyes I hadn’t seen before. My stomach clenched tightly. Oh God, I did NOT want to deal with anything else—especially Daniel, and his questions.

  And the memory of wanting him to kiss me last night.

  “Don’t you have something better to do?” I asked, my tone snappier than I intended, as I felt the warmth of a blush creep up my neck. I prayed no one noticed. “There’s got to be a real criminal somewhere in this town you could be harassing. Hell, you could probably go outside and write some parking tickets, at the very least.”

  His mouth twitched. “Believe it or not, we’re having a slow crime day. And, I don’t write parking tickets anymore. I’ve been promoted.”

  “A cat to save, maybe?”

  “That’s the fire department.”

  “What about another town? Like Janesville? Or, better yet, Milwaukee? I bet their criminals aren’t taking the day off. They could probably use your crime-solving skills.”

  He smirked. “Not my jurisdiction. So, I guess you’re stuck with me.”

  “Anything wrong, Officer?” I jumped. Stefan had come up behind me. I had forgotten he was even there, in the diner. How much of our conversation had he heard? My stomach twisted into even more knots.

  Daniel straightened, his face instantly smoothing into an unreadable, professional mask. “And you are?”

  Stefan held out his hand. “Stefan McMurray. Rebecca’s husband.” He casually—and protectively—wrapped his other arm around my waist.

  Daniel introduced himself and shook Stefan’s hand, his eyes flicking across Stefan’s arm holding me firmly against him.

  “I hope there’s not a problem, Officer,” Stefan said, tightening his grip and pressing me against him. I was having trouble breathing—whether it was from the pressure of Stefan’s arm or that he was talking to Daniel, I couldn’t tell.