The Secretive Wife (More Than a Wife Series Book 2)

by Jennifer Peel

  “Delanie.” He blew out a large breath. “I’m sorry for lashing out. This isn’t your fault.”

  I choked back my tears. “I beg to differ.”

  “Please don’t. I’m trying to adjust.”

  “Me too,” my voice betrayed me and cracked.

  “Baby, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  The tears came whether I wanted them to or not. I was so tired I let them fall without restraint. With them came silence. There was no lying and saying I was fine. I wasn’t. And worse, I had no idea how to comfort him. How had we gotten to this place?

  “Delanie, let’s talk in the morning after we’ve both had some sleep.”

  He wanted to hang up?

  “Okay,” I choked, but I couldn’t let him go quite yet. “Peter?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You know I’m still me, right?”

  “I know. Good night.”

  That was it? My phone fell in my lap, heavy and cold. Nothing had prepared me for that call. Though I suppose it was unfair for me to think he would make it all better when he was going through as much turmoil as me. Words Avery had spoken after the death of their daughter, Hannah, came to mind. The hardest part is that we are both in so much pain we can’t comfort each other, she had said about James and herself.

  This situation didn’t come close to the loss of a child—I knew from experience—but Peter and I had lost something. It was more than privacy. It was the oasis we had forged when we needed peace from the storms, usually his mother. That oasis had now been invaded by something much more invasive, and we were retreating instead of clinging to each other like we had before. The worst part was I didn’t know when the storms would end, and I myself carried a tidal wave large enough to drown us both. How could I tell him now? I would have to wait until the sun rose again. When we had time to catch our breath. I could only hope that it didn’t come to light on its own.

  I wasn’t sure any of my secrets were safe anymore.

  I curled up on Joan’s hard-as-a-rock wool couch wishing for sleep to take away the hurt if only for a little while. I was too tired to get up and go to bed and the thought of being alone in bed made it even less inviting. My head had barely landed on a throw pillow when my phone vibrated. I barely had the physical or mental energy to look at it. I wasn’t sure I could handle one more blow today. I turned over the phone to find my favorite words from my favorite person. I love you.

  His message was better than any stimulant. I immediately texted back. I love you more.

  Impossible.

  The stranglehold on my heart eased. It gave me hope we could weather the storms together. That we would find our way to each other in this blinding rain that was beating upon us now. I held the phone tight to my chest as if it were a talisman, only to have it ring. I didn’t bother looking at it; I answered right away knowing it had to be Peter but ended up confused when the voice on the other end sounded similar but not quite like him.

  “Delanie, I hope you don’t mind that Peter gave me your new number. I know you may not want to hear from me.”

  It finally clicked who it was, and I sat up. “Hello, Joseph.”

  He let out a deep sigh. “I was hoping one day we could dispense with my first name and you would call me Dad.”

  The tears returned. No one had ever wanted me to call them Dad. I was so touched, I had no idea what to say. I didn’t even care that the timing wasn’t perfect, or maybe this was perfect timing. A light in the storm.

  “That’s probably wishful thinking at this point,” he said while I tried to sort through my feelings and formulate a response.

  “No. It’s just . . .” What did I say? I was terrible at this. I paused and listened to my heart. “That would be an honor, but I fear it may result in bodily harm for you.”

  “The honor would be all mine and I’m willing to endure any pain for it, but I don’t think that will be an issue.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure.” I did a terrible job of keeping the snark out of my reply. I knew very well how Sarah would feel about me calling Joseph Dad. It seemed unnatural to think it. How was I going to say it?

  “Honey,” he sighed. “I’m sorry I let things get this far. I want you to know that I genuinely thought last weekend would bring us all together. Now I fear there are rifts that will never be mended.”

  “This isn’t your fault.”

  “But it is. I should have spoken up a long time ago and especially over the weekend. On Saturday I knew something was off with . . .” I wasn’t the only one refusing to say her name. “But I didn’t question it because over the years I’ve learned to stay out of my wife’s way, and because I didn’t want to believe it. Now we are all paying for it.”

  “It was bound to come out eventually,” I tried to make him feel better, even though what I really wanted to do was tell him that his wife was an evil witch, and this was all her fault. And what did he ever see in her anyway? But I couldn’t do that to Joseph.

  “Well it damn sure shouldn’t have been from your family.”

  I couldn’t have agreed more, but the problem was that Sarah never saw me as her family. “What’s done is done.”

  “I’m sorry it had to be this way, but I want you to know that I’m proud of the way you’re handling it.”

  “You’re proud of me?” My voice squeaked.

  “Very. You held your own during that interview and from what I’ve heard for the last few years, my daughter-in-law is one heck of a writer.”

  The fact he even watched the interview meant so much to me, but to be proud of me? That was a whole new level. A parent that was proud of me. I had to let that sink in while I wiped away my tears. “Thank you.”

  “Honey, I should thank you for sticking it out with my son despite what some of us have put you through.”

  “I love Peter.”

  “I know you do.”

  “I’m worried about him,” I admitted quietly.

  “He doesn’t seem to be handling the pressure well,” Joseph agreed with me, “but I’m not surprised.”

  I didn’t expect that response. “You’re not?” I had to say that I was. Peter had been a rock our entire relationship.

  “Most of Peter’s life, he has lived a sheltered existence. It’s one of the reasons I was happy when he brought you home. He’s needed to see that life isn’t the straight line he’s always imagined.”

  “Are you saying I’m the squiggle marks?”

  He laughed, albeit subdued. “You are the woman who’s given him permission to look at life through another lens and see that there are multiple perspectives for every situation or circumstance and realize that things may not be as cut and dry as he used to think.”

  “I don’t think I can take the credit for that. I think his former profession taught him more about that than I ever have.”

  “You don’t like saying ‘priest,’ do you?”

  “You are perceptive.”

  “That’s what happens when you get old. It’s okay, you know? Neither of you have anything to be ashamed about.”

  “I just know how hard that choice was for him and I . . .” I couldn’t admit it out loud to him.

  “You worry he regrets it?”

  I’d needed someone like him. A father or father figure to know what I was thinking even if I couldn’t say it. I knew I had missed out on something by the way my friends growing up would talk about their dads, but until this moment, I had never known how deep that loss was. Joseph was making me question how differently my life would have turned out had I had a father to turn to. Maybe I could have avoided some of my mistakes if there had been someone there willing to guide me instead of the man I felt like I had to hide everything from, lest he be disappointed or dismissive. Joseph made me feel free to share my fears.

  “More so now than ever,” I breathed out.

  “Honey, you have no reason to worry. My son loves you. He’s been a bear to be around these last couple of days since you’ve been gone,
if that tells you anything.”

  “It could have more to do with our names being dragged through the mud.”

  “I agree that he’s taking that hard, but your absence is harder. I know what it’s like to miss your wife.” Emotion crept into his voice.

  I hesitated to ask, “Are you missing her now?”

  “More than you know. I better let you get some rest,” he hastily moved on.

  “I hope you can work things out.”

  “We always manage to somehow. Good night, honey.”

  “Good night, Jo—I mean, D . . . Dad.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The thing about New York is when you first arrive you are ready to leave. All you notice is how crowded it is and how it smells like cigarette smoke, but after a day or two, you could picture your life there. An artistic vibe flowed through the streets. I so badly wanted to take my laptop to the park or a café and absorb it. Use it to my full advantage. Write beautiful words with it.

  But the city that never sleeps had other plans for me, like making sure I too had no sleep for the next few days as I was ushered from interview to interview, appointment to appointment, store to store shopping for a new wardrobe. Apparently, my thrift store boho look was fine for Delanie, but not Autumn. To add insult to injury, I had to buy an evening gown for the Sweet and Sexy Ball. My entire life, I had gone without wearing such nonsense, and within a week I was shoved into more ball and evening gowns than the Queen of England owned. I decided if had to dress up, I was going to do it my way. I was going to look more like the queen of the dead than the queen of romance. Joan called the long, snug black trumpet gown vampy. That worked for me.

  What didn’t work for me, besides being dressed up, were answering the same questions repeatedly. Added into the mix now was my scandalous past as a high school newspaper editor. It was sad how many people wanted it to be true that I was an exhibitionist and how disappointed they were when they couldn’t find footage of my escapade. Perhaps because it never happened. No one wanted to hear that, or how Peter’s superiors in Phoenix wished us all the happiness in the world. That was glossed over in every interview. No. They were more interested in that awful teacher who made fun of the girl with unmatched shoes. She was happy to dish about us and how it was apparent there was something going on between us. Yes, there was. We were falling in love with each other, but that was a beautiful thing. And we loved each other so much that we did the right thing by unselfishly not acting on it. Couldn’t anyone see that?

  A bright spot did come in the form of a podcast. The hostess was extremely laid back and interested in me as a person. She didn’t ask me one thing about Peter. She wanted to know which writers inspired me and was intrigued to learn they weren’t romance writers. I was a Roald Dahl, Stephen King, Leo Tolstoy kind of woman. Sure, I loved Austen and the Brontë sisters, but it had more to do with their wit and commentary on life than the romance. She even read some excerpts of my book and praised them for having poetic beauty. After the week I’d had, I was going to crown her my best friend.

  All I wanted to do was be home with Peter and my laptop, mostly Peter, though; he was warmer and kissed a lot better. I hoped he was planning on showering me in kisses when I got home. I wondered, though, since our phone calls hadn’t been the normal flirty I can’t wait until I’m home so I can make all your fantasies come true kind of calls. The kind we used to have every day. Now they were more like support helpline chats and breaking development announcements.

  The latest twist in this ever-evolving new way of life was that Sarah was coming into the office every day to help answer phones and do some of the accounting in Sam’s absence. I guess she used to do the books when Joseph, I meant Dad, was just starting his business. I was still getting used to that one. I took more pleasure in saying Dad than was probably normal, but it was a tiny ray of light in the looming clouds that followed me right now. And it made Peter happy too, so that was a bonus. But what wasn’t making him happy, besides the obvious, was having his mother in the office every day, which meant Mimsy had to come too. No one could trust her to be on her own. Who knew who she would talk to, or if she might try and contact Giovanni, aka Jerry the felon.

  Peter was still furious with his mother and grandmother for bringing this all upon us, and according to Avery, was not his normal forgiving self around them. He was being short with them and Sarah wasn’t fighting back, so much so, Avery mentioned being worried about her. She was even more worried about Dad and Sarah’s relationship. They weren’t talking at all unless they had to. But feisty Mimsy was her usual self. She wasn’t making any apologies for her behavior and had the gall to ask Peter how much money I made. And sadly, she was pining for Giovanni. I heard about women being taken advantage of like this all the time, but I never thought it would be Mimsy. She was too independent, or so I thought.

  Amid the chaos, the company was trying to hire more employees or contract with smaller companies for the interim to help with all the new business they were getting and to cover Peter while he toured the country with me. All the new business seemed to make James happy, as he was to inherit the company when Dad retired. I supposed that was another silver lining. James was no longer brooding for the time being. From the sounds of it, he found this all rather comical. The bad news was his brother had picked up brooding right where he left off.

  I didn’t blame my husband. Maybe it was easier for me because my writing had been criticized online by various perpetrators for the last four years. Grace had just written another scathing piece about me since I’d been shoved out of the closet, or attic as it may be. The gist of her post was that I was a laughingstock and no better than a politician who never answered the question asked in interviews because I either couldn’t or didn’t want the embarrassing truth to come out. Which she couldn’t understand since I was an obvious embarrassment. Joan was now on the warpath and vowed to take Grace down. I halfheartedly told her not to waste her time, but deep down, well not even that deep down, more like every cell of my body wanted to see Grace get a taste of Joan.

  All I wanted was a taste of my husband and to fly home. It’s why I was catching a red-eye Friday night even though I was exhausted, and Joan had asked me to stay for a girl’s weekend. I think she wanted an excuse not to see Lucas. I never thought Joan would be afraid of anything or anybody, but I stood corrected. Lucas terrified her. She wouldn’t admit to it and told me where I could go when I gave her my opinion. All I knew was she was out getting drinks late almost every night I was there, and she was wearing a turtle neck today even though it was seventy-five degrees out. And she was happy to report negotiations for my new contract were going very well. I bet they were. At this rate I would own half the stock in the company, or maybe Joan would if they decided to merge.

  Joan was good enough to drive me to the airport at midnight and do her best to try and kill me one more time in her Porsche. She really needed to lay off the caffeine . . . and the car horn.

  Before I exited the vehicle to retrieve my luggage that had multiplied during my week-long visit, she grabbed my hand and gave it a good crush. “Do not, I repeat, do not get sucked into googling yourself and scouring the web to see what’s being said about you. Let Fiona and me be your filters. If anything comes up you should be worried about, we will let you know.”

  I nodded, knowing that would be easier said than done.

  “And,” her lips curled up in a sinister grin, “that witch Grace just happens to be an author.”

  “What?”

  “All those horrible books she gives glowing reviews to are her own under different pen names.”

  “Nooo.”

  “Oh yes, and I may or may not have called her out on it, not only on her site, but every popular public forum I could think of. All anonymously, of course. My paralegals have been busy.”

  I shook my head at her with a big grin. “I love you more than my Eminem collection.”

  “I know, darling, and you’re going to lo
ve me more when you see that wench take down her site, and when you see your new contract.”

  I would love to see Grace’s site die. I had no respect for other authors, especially women authors, not supporting each other. There was room for everybody at the table. Not so sure about the contract though.

  “You know I might not sign that new contract.” Peter and I had plenty of money, and I would make money off the Hunter Black series for years to come, hopefully. All this attention had me wanting to ride off into the sunset never to be heard from again. And my fears about living up to Hunter Black’s success were almost paralyzing, if I was being honest.

  Joan rolled her eyes. “I know you’re scared, but you’re too talented to walk away from this. And whether you want to admit it or not, at your core you are a writer, and writers must write. It’s like breathing for you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how twitchy you’ve been this week not being able to write or all the notes you’ve jotted down. That isn’t going away.”

  She was right, but . . . “You know I don’t have to get paid for it.” I’d written most of my life without getting paid or paid very little for it.

  “Yes, but think of all the good you can do with the money you’ll make.”

  “Like paying you?” I teased.

  “Among other things.” She was not teasing.

  “I better go.” I had too many things to think about right now other than facing that particular fear.

  “Think about it, kid.” She wagged her eyebrows. “I hope you have a firework filled reunion with the hubs.”

  “Thank you,” my reply oozed with sarcasm. Believe me, I was hoping for the same, but didn’t feel the need to discuss it with her. I hugged her and whispered, “Thank you for everything and maybe I’m not the only one who is scared.”

  “Ugh,” she scoffed before pushing me away. “I don’t do second chances.”

  I opened the car door, securely holding onto the bag with Peter’s T-shirt in it. I hoped to be wearing it for him soon. “That’s too bad. I think Lucas knows exactly what he’s been missing out on and would make sure to do whatever he could not to lose you again.”