The Last Wife: An absolutely gripping and emotional page-turner with a brilliant twist

by Nicola Marsh

  He drags in a breath and blows it out, shiftiness in his furtive gaze as he looks away. “I saw the emails so I assume that’s what this is about.”

  I don’t know him anymore. Considering what I’d seen in that photo five years ago maybe I never did. When we first got together twelve years ago I thought I knew everything about him. How he liked poached eggs on toast smeared with avocado. How he liked lounging on a Sunday night watching reality TV with me tucked into his side. How he liked me on top as many times a week as we could muster.

  My cheeks flush again. It must be from aggravation. I need to keep telling myself this.

  “You had no right to hack into my computer.” I collapse onto the nearest chair, grateful when he keeps his distance and sits opposite me, a coffee table between us.

  “I know, but I kind of freaked out when you contacted me,” he says, draping his hand across the back of the chair like he used to and once again I’m assailed by memories of a time where I thought this man was my everything. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for accessing your computer.”

  I don’t speak, crossing my arms, and he eventually continues. “I’m sorry for a lot of things.” He thumps a fist to his chest, over his heart. “Walking away from what we had killed me in here, but I had to. What I was doing left me no choice.”

  “I don’t want to hear it.” Bile burns a path up my throat at the thought of what he’d been doing before he left. “Your perversions have nothing to do with me now.”

  Confusion creases his brow. “Perversions?”

  He has the audacity to feign innocence and I almost lose it. I want to rant and rave and fling something at him but I don’t want Shelley waking.

  “Cut the crap.” I drag in a breath, willing my rage to subside. “I saw the photo of you.”

  He stares at me, surprise widening his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re unbelievable.” I leap to my feet and march into the study to grab my laptop. When I swivel to march back into the lounge room, he’s behind me and I will my senses not to inhale his familiar woodsy aftershave.

  “Here. Take a look at this and tell me I’m imagining you led a secret life behind my back.”

  I stab at a few buttons and bring up the photo I’d only looked at once when it landed in my inbox like an undetonated bomb five years ago, the day after my marriage imploded.

  He leans closer, peering at the photo of him naked and being whipped by a dominatrix, while I grit my teeth at his nearness. “That’s not me.”

  “You’re full of—”

  “It’s shopped,” he says, pointing at the neck. “They’ve inserted my head here and you can’t see the join because of the collar.”

  “Bullshit,” I say, but I find my gaze drawn to where he’s pointing.

  When the photo had first landed I’d taken one glance at it, burst into tears and run for the bathroom where I’d vomited. It had made me sick to think the guy I’d loved, the guy who’d rubbed my feet at night and made me hot chocolates with tiny marshmallows, had led an S&M lifestyle so far removed from our marriage I could barely comprehend it.

  It hadn’t entered my head the photo could be doctored because he’d already fled our marriage the day before and the photo merely proved why.

  “Ria, look at me.”

  His low, gravelly voice washes over me and I stifle my visceral reaction to lean into him.

  “Look at me.” He touches my shoulder and I spin away to throw off his touch. “That isn’t me. I never cheated on you during our marriage and I sure as hell didn’t go in for anything like this.”

  I want to yell that he’s lying, that if he’s hacked into my computer he’s probably done something to the photo to make it look fake. But I risk a glance at him and see he’s guileless, confusion still darkening those memorable eyes.

  And against my better judgment I believe him.

  “Then why did you leave?”

  He startles, like I’ve electrocuted him. “You think I left because of that?”

  “Then why else? It’s not as if you gave me another explanation,” I whisper, not really wanting to hear the answer. Because if that incriminating photo is fake and had nothing to do with Grayson doing a vanishing act, that means him leaving had something to do with me and I can’t stomach it.

  I’d thought we were a great couple. Sure, we had our problems like any other marriage. We argued, mostly over money and the frequency with which he dipped into the bottomless Parker family account. I wanted to be independent, he was used to having whatever he wanted handed to him on a silver platter. But I could never fault his love for Shelley, and me most days, which made his leaving all the harder to bear. No one understood it. Not even May had an answer for me, which is why she’s looked after me all these years.

  “I’ll try to explain…” He pinches the bridge of his nose, a classic Grayson-ism that catapults me back in time to when I knew the gesture meant he’d be scrambling for excuses. “Back then, you thought I tolerated working for the Parker Partnership. But what you didn’t know…”

  He scowls and it does little to detract from his handsome face, a face I’ve explored in exquisite detail with my fingers and my mouth. Damn memories. “I delved into something I shouldn’t have and ended up being threatened because of it. A major threat, the kind I couldn’t ignore because of what it could do to us.”

  He drags in a deep breath and blows it out. “I couldn’t risk you or Shelley being harmed so I had to leave. That was the price I had to pay to keep you both safe.”

  I stare at him in disbelief, stunned that the man I’d lived with for seven years hadn’t trusted me enough to tell me the truth all those years ago.

  “I couldn’t tell you. I had no idea who was listening. They could’ve bugged our computers or cells and I couldn’t risk it.” He shrugs, like his ridiculous tale straight out of a spy movie means nothing. “They threatened you and Shelley, said I had to leave or else.”

  I shake my head. It doesn’t clear the fog making logical thinking difficult. The enormity of his confession is baffling. “But you could’ve written down all this stuff to explain. You could’ve told me!”

  “I didn’t want to put you or Shel in danger and if I’d told you the truth, knowing you, you would’ve dug deeper to try and discover who was behind it all.” He sends me a pointed stare. “Like you’re doing now with those other emails.”

  Damn him for being right as bitterness tightens my throat. “There had to have been another way.”

  “Do you think I didn’t exhaust every opportunity thinking about how to fix it before I left?” He lays his hands out, palms up, like he has nothing to hide. “I took their threats seriously and they made it clear I had to leave. I couldn’t risk exposing you and Shel to any possible danger.”

  I stare at him, stupefied, that even now he’s somehow twisting his own warped motivation and putting it back on us. “How noble of you. I mean, you had other options, like not sticking your nose into other people’s business in the first place! Why couldn’t you just do your job, stay in line like a good Parker, and ultimately keep us safe?”

  My voice has risen and I calm it with effort, not wanting to wake Shelley. “You did general IT work and dabbled in hacking at home. So what made you think you could do stuff like that at work—”

  “You’re in over your head.” His solemnity would be alarming if not for the fact I gave up taking advice from this selfish man a long time ago. “If I hacked into your computer, the bad guys can too so whoever sent those emails is targeting this family for some reason and I don’t want you or Shel to be any part of it.”

  “Too late, considering they only sent me those bloody emails.” I eyeball him, staring him down, neither of us willing to give an inch.

  “Have you asked the rest of the family if they’ve received any?”

  “Of course, but…” I trail off, knowing I’ll have to tell him the rest eventually but still too rattled by his revelations to know
what to believe or not. “There’ve been a few accidents. Ashlin, your mom, Shamira—”

  “What kind of accidents?” He pales and reaches out as if he wants to comfort me.

  “Ashlin was run off the road and her car totaled, someone on a bike pushed your mom over and Shamira was poisoned.”

  “Fuck.” He drags a hand through his hair and I resist the urge to smooth it down like I used to. “And you think it’s linked to those emails you received?”

  “Has to be. But there’s been no demand for money to keep everything quiet so what’s the end game?”

  He pins me with an astute stare. “That’s why you contacted me, because you’ve tried to find out who’s behind it and you haven’t had any luck.”

  As much as it pains me to acknowledge I need his assistance because I’m failing, I nod. “I used my best contact for online traces but he’s come up blank. I need your help.”

  “I’ll need access to your computer—”

  “Don’t you already have it?”

  He has the grace to blush at my direct jibe. “Ria, I was terrified something had happened to you or Shel when you reached out, and that’s why I hacked your computer, but I wouldn’t invade your privacy again. And I know this is a lot to comprehend but I’m here to help.”

  “How noble.”

  I bite back the rest of what I want to say. Why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me what was going on with you back then? Why didn’t you love me enough to stick around? Why didn’t you have the guts to confront whoever was threatening us rather than running away?

  When an awkward silence stretches between us, he says, “I want to see Shel.”

  My heart plummets. “No. You gave up parental rights around the time you left without a backward glance.”

  His eyes darken with a surprising anguish. “I’ve told you why I had to leave—”

  “And I’m not buying it.” Fury makes my words fire out like staccato gunfire. “You made the choice to dabble in something you didn’t understand. You brought that danger on us. You want me to applaud your nobility in taking us out of the equation? Here you go.” I slow-clap. “But don’t for one second think you can waltz back into our lives now and try to pick up where we left off. I need your help but that’s where it ends. Besides, if you’re back, doesn’t that mean whoever you fled from five years ago will know so the danger’s still present?”

  He’s silent, scrabbling for some kind of response that I’ll shoot down anyway.

  “Just go.” I pad to the door and open it, staving off a shiver as a cold blustery wind blows in. Or maybe it has more to do with my fear that Grayson’s right: if he knows I’m trying to track down who’s targeting the family, maybe the people doing this might too? I’d never put Shelley in danger willingly but what if I already have? “I’ll forward those emails and if you need remote access to my PC let me know.”

  “I’ll be staying at Mom’s,” he says, as he eventually brushes past me and out the door. “Please be careful. We don’t know who we’re dealing with and until I can trace who’s behind this I’m worried about you—”

  I close the door in his face, hating that my hands are shaking, hating that he’s made me feel something more. Because for those few seconds when he explained that he’d come home to protect me from some unforeseen danger, I felt drawn to him on a level deeper than a residual physical attraction. I felt… something, and I don’t want to.

  Grayson is my past.

  Keeping Shelley safe is my future.

  That means I need his help to discover who is targeting this family and why, but that’s where it ends.

  34

  May

  I tuck my granddaughters into bed and kiss them goodnight, when the doorbell rings. Their faces light with hope and my heart bleeds for what these poor kids are going through. They obviously crave attention and affection, and while they’re in my care I’ll lavish both on them.

  “Is that Dad or Mom?” Ellen’s expectant expression makes the ache in my chest intensify.

  “Don’t be silly,” Jessie says, sounding older than her eleven years, but the hope in her eyes can’t be quelled despite her know-it-all attitude. “We spoke to Dad an hour ago and he said he’s still at work. And Mom’s recovering from her accident so it can’t be her.”

  I don’t miss the sarcasm lacing Jessie’s voice when she speaks about her father’s job. I remember she mentioned waiting up for him every night, so she may resent his long hours at the office. It’s not ideal with a custody battle looming in the not too distant future. Considering her age Jessie must’ve seen and heard things between her parents, and being more astute than Ellen she may be holding a grudge against her father’s frequent absenteeism at work. Kids focus on the oddest things because Justin more than makes up for his long hours at the office by spending time with the girls on the weekend. But it sounds like Jessie’s feeling particularly vulnerable. I’ll have a quiet word with Justin about it.

  If Jessie has picked up on the animosity between her parents, it won’t be long before Ellen becomes aware of it too. I don’t like my narcissistic daughter-in-law but I have to begrudgingly admit she’s a good mother who loves her daughters, and hate that a custody battle has the potential to break that bond: the Parker fortune will ensure we don’t lose, meaning Justin will gain full custody and Ashlin won’t get to see her daughters often. I know what that feels like all too well and I regret not being more present in Christine’s life.

  This time a knock sounds at the door, a loud, annoying rap. “I think your aunt Christine is expecting a visitor.” The fib slides easily from my lips, as I want the girls to get some much-needed sleep. They have dark circles under their eyes, indicating they haven’t been entirely comfortable sleeping away from home. I don’t blame them, considering Ashlin doesn’t believe in sleepovers—at least not with their grandmother—so they rarely stay over.

  The doorbell rings again, insistent and annoying.

  “Goodnight, girls. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “It’s way too late for visitors,” Jessie mutters, sullen now that hope has been dashed, turning to face the wall and pulling the covers over her head.

  I agree and wonder who could be on my doorstep at nine p.m. on a weeknight. I don’t get many visitors as a rule considering I don’t have any friends. Acquaintances impressed by my fortune, yes, but true friends had fallen by the wayside early in my marriage when I became increasingly insular out of necessity. Anyone I got close to, Percival ended up sleeping with and I couldn’t tolerate it after the first few indiscretions. It had been difficult enough pretending in front of my children that everything was all right but having to do it in front of the women betraying me had become intolerable.

  “Goodnight, Gran.” Ellen blows a kiss and closes her eyes, always the dutiful child.

  When the doorbell rings for a third time, I wish I’d installed those ugly, monstrous gates Percy had wanted to keep out unwelcome visitors, mutter an unladylike curse under my breath and descend the stairs. Christine has popped out to pick up her favorite ice cream and has probably forgotten her keys. However, when I open the door, it isn’t my daughter on the front step.

  It’s my youngest son.

  I gape in shock and cling to the doorway as I sway a little. “Grayson?”

  I sound idiotic, saying his name like that, but I’m reeling, having him turn up like this without any warning.

  It’s been five years since I’ve seen him and almost that long since he made contact, a brief, hastily scrawled postcard from California that told me next to nothing. My bold, charismatic, charming son who’d been independent since he could walk, who’d always had wanderlust thrumming through his veins, has finally come home and I’m torn between wanting to hug him and throttle him.

  He grins, the familiarity of it after all this time so poignant my throat tightens. “Hey, Mom. You don’t look a day older since the last time I saw you.”

  Of course he aims for levity. It’s what
he does. But I won’t put up with it this time, not after I’ve only heard from him once in five years via a few scribbled words on the back of a flimsy piece of cardboard.

  “You deserve a good hiding but we’re both too old for it.” I open the door wider and beckon him in.

  “I missed you too, Mom.” He envelops me in his arms and I stiffen, not willing to give in too easily but unable to keep the joy from filling my heart.

  My baby has finally come home.

  Justin is my staid, responsible son who’ll do anything for the Parker name and I admire him for it. Trent is my dreamer and I’ve never been particularly tolerant of his soft-hearted ways. But Grayson is my unabashed favorite; at least, he had been before he ran away. He broke my heart five years ago and I never fully recovered. The fact he hadn’t come home for his father’s funeral didn’t bother me as much as his total disregard for his wife and child, and now he’s back I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything to hurt them again. I’m protective of Shelley and Ria because I feel bad a son of mine abandoned them. Shoddy behavior indeed.

  I wriggle a little and he releases me with a chuckle, knowing he’s always had a knack for worming his way into my heart no matter his antics.

  “Have you eaten?” I usher him toward the kitchen and he falls in step beside me. It has always been the most comfortable room in the house, the one place where all my children gathered regularly. Petty rifts and differences may have kept them apart like most siblings, but they’d always had to eat and the kitchen had been their go-to place growing up. I miss that.

  After Percival died, I envisaged moving into another house, something less ostentatious, but had never summoned the energy. At least, that had been my excuse. The real reason becomes apparent as we enter the kitchen and I glimpse Grayson’s unguarded expression: pure, undiluted happiness. He too equates this kitchen with home.

  “You sit, I’ll help myself to a snack.”

  “Good, I don’t feel like fussing over you because you don’t deserve it.”