The Perfect Ruin

by Shanora Williams

  Sadness is an easy emotion to pull off. My therapist helped me to cope by prescribing antidepressants so I could get back on my feet. As for the opioids, well, I suppose growing up in Wynwood had its perks. I still know people who can get these kinds of drugs for me for a fair price.

  I turn to look at you, Faith, after taking out the pill bottles and tucking them into the pocket of my jumper. You stare at me with a glint in your eyes and a cocked brow, as if you have the advantage—as if you have me all figured out.

  But Faith . . .

  Faith, Faith, Faith.

  There is this thing called minding your own fucking business. All you had to do was forget about me and suffer through your damn divorce, but instead, here you are in my face, threatening to take the money I worked my ass off for.

  That doesn’t sit well with me, Faith.

  “Before I begin,” I murmur, wiping away a tear, “would you like to share some tea with me? I think it will calm me down a little.”

  You hesitate at first, but then you give me an oh-what-the-hell kind of shrug. “I don’t mind a drink, but I’d prefer something stronger than tea. Got any wine?”

  And I nod. “Of course.” Then I turn and I smile, bending down to open my wine fridge. Wine and antidepressants. The same cocktail Lola was so quick to scarf down while she was arguing with Corey over their pending divorce, right before requesting her favorite cocktail.

  I lower to a squat and pretend to clang around in the wine fridge below the counter. I name some of the wines for you, to see if any are familiar to you that you might want. Your last drink should be a good one, no?

  But you don’t know any of them, so you tell me to bring the best one.

  So, I do. But oh—the wine bottle opener is in my bedroom. I tell you I had a glass in my room last night as I was packing. I go and get it, and as I round the corner and step into my bedroom, the pills come out.

  And with one of the heaviest lamps on my nightstand, I quietly smash, smash, smash the pills, then scoop the dust back into the bottle. I do it as quickly as I can. Use all my strength. Can’t have you getting suspicious.

  I return to the kitchen. You’re scrolling through your phone. Who are you texting, Faith? Are you telling people where you are just in case something happens to you while you’re with me?

  Ah. That’s okay. I’ll take your phone, pretend to be you for a while. Make everyone think you ran off and got tired of your life—afraid of the divorce. Afraid of losing everything.

  I pour your wine at the counter with my back to you, making chitchat about how heartbroken I am that you’d think I’d do such a thing to Lola. You are still smug. You don’t believe me. I really, really don’t like you, so I dump more of the pill dust into your drink than necessary, swirl it a bit, then pour another glass and turn around to leave the kitchen.

  Why didn’t you watch me? You know how Lola died. She was poisoned. You are an idiot.

  As I hand you your cocktail, I immediately sip from my glass so you won’t suggest that we swap, just in case maybe you were on to me.

  You sigh, and for a moment I think that surely you must know deep down that I would never commit such a heinous crime—that I would never have killed Lola Maxwell—because you take a long sip.

  Perhaps you think I just got something out of it but want to see if I’ll slip up, but if you knew for a fact that it was me—all me—you wouldn’t have come here. You wouldn’t be seated on my sofa, sipping my wine. You’d know I was dangerous . . . but you are just like Lola, I see. You underestimate me.

  As you sip your wine and type in the passcode for your phone, I make a mental note of the six digits you plug in all while taking a moment to breathe. And then I tell you the truth—the whole truth—to waste time. To get you to stick around longer as the pills and alcohol settle in your veins.

  And your eyes get bigger. You’re frightened, moving away toward the edge of the sofa. Your pupils have dilated. Your breathing seems much, much faster.

  Goodness, Faith, you’re sweating now. Are you okay? You look sick. Pale. You’re up now, rushing across my living room to get to your purse on the counter. But before you can make it, you fall, and your body slams right down on my marble floor.

  Your eyes are wide open, your mouth ajar. Just like Lola, your face seems a little blue now. Blood drips from your nose. Your lips. I get up and flip you onto your back. Can’t have too much blood that I have to clean up. Shit. I think I may have put a little too much dust in your drink. But that’s what happens when you piss me off.

  I’ll miss my flight because of you, but that’s okay. I’ll just schedule another, and all will be well. No one will know about this because you will have disappeared—considered a grown woman who ran away from her life—and I will still be free.

  Free, free, free.

  Oh, finally.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Forgive me.

  I have not wronged you or forgotten you. I’ve just needed time to think. Things like this require a plan, as you know all too well.

  I feel awful, guilty, ashamed. The situation you’re in is all my fault. I have read every word you’ve written and taken it all in with tears in my eyes because I know you. I know you like a daughter. I know that deep down, you are good.

  I’m going to fix this. My first step? Catch a flight to London. Get on the same plane she does.

  The woman who framed you, she’s booked a flight. I’ll follow her. I’ll feed Detective Hughes as much intel as I can until we build a good case. You’ll get that damn appeal even if it kills me, and I know this woman is dangerous, so maybe it will.

  Believe it or not, I think some of what you said to Detective Hughes about Georgia got to him, especially when he found out about the contract she had with Lola Maxwell. He dug and dug, and all of it led to dead ends, but something about that contract didn’t sit well with him, only he had no proof. No way around it.

  Then I showed up. I’d made notes about the woman’s visit after she left my office and had written a very in-depth description of her. I showed him the deposits she sent from her account to mine. I told him that the woman who framed you said her name was Mellie. That she’d lied to me. That she said she had Lola’s best interests at heart, but that she’d also hired a private investigator.

  I never should have told you the name, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was a lapse in judgment. I became greedy, heard about the money and lost myself for a while. But I knew the woman was watching, and you were pulling away. I prayed you wouldn’t do anything bad, and then I found out you left St. Petersburg. I knew it was happening. You’d fallen into whatever trap she had set for you.

  I saw the images of you with Lola Maxwell on your Instagram. I sobbed. I hurt for you. I’d hoped you’d let it go. I tried calling so many times. You’d changed your number.

  But it’s okay. You’ll be okay.

  Georgia . . . she’s a bad woman, Ivy, and she must be stopped. I’m going to do that with the forty thousand dollars she so willingly handed over to me.

  You’ll be angry with me right now for keeping my distance—letting this breathe—but in the end, you’ll thank you.

  I’ll save you. I promise.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would first love to thank my husband for supporting me through the writing of this novel. This was one of the hardest books I’ve ever written. It took me months to get through it and to figure it out, but he stayed close and encouraged me to work on it night and day while taking care of our boys, and I love him dearly for that. So thank you, Juanito. You’re the best husband ever.

  I also have to thank my agent, Shawanda Williams. If it had not been for you and your confidence in me, I would not have gotten this deal. You are a powerhouse and you keep me so motivated, even when things get rocky. I will never be able to thank you enough for seeing in me what I could not see in myself.

  Selena James, you got my foot in the door at Kensington. You’re incredible and yo
u believed in my words enough to make this dream of mine a reality, so thank you! I will never, ever forget it.

  Dani and MJ Fryer, y’all are the best alpha readers and friends an author could have! Your critique and confidence in this project really pushed me and made this feel all the more real. Thank you for cheering me along.

  To Norma and Esi of Dafina, you make the best team, so diligent and wonderful and passionate. While we worked on this book, I know so much was going on and life tried to get in the way, but you persevered and still delivered greatness. Thank you for believing in this story and in me . . . and for putting up with my many, many annoying emails!

  To my readers—my queens in Shanora’s Queendom. I would not be where I am today without all of you. Many of you have supported me since 2012, pushed me through each book I have written (even the ones that now make me cringe), and now I am here writing acknowledgments for the first book of mine that will ever sit on a shelf IN STORES. I am so humbled and so grateful for all of your love and support. You have made my dreams come true and it means so much to me to know you all have my back. I hope to keep you forever.

  And lastly, to the person reading this very sentence right now. Thank you for giving this messy, dramatic, intense debut thriller of mine a chance. I am so grateful for you.

  Discussion Questions for The Perfect Ruin

  1. The Perfect Ruin contains chapters in first, third, and even second person point of view. Why do you think the novel was written this way?

  2. Do you wish Lola had been able to share her point of view during the story too? Why or why not?

  3. If Ivy had never been given Lola’s name, do you think that she’d have turned out to be a different woman?

  4. Considering Lola’s reputation and all she’d done to become Miami’s sweetheart, do you understand why she tried to bury the tragedy? Should she have faced the consequences and backlash from her actions?

  5. In your opinion, was what Georgia did to Lola understandable after all she’d gone through while working for her?

  6. Why was Lola’s chandelier such an irritation to Ivy and Georgia?

  7. Ivy can be an unreliable and untrustworthy narrator. Though many chapters were told from her point of view, we don’t know if she’s being truthful or lying about certain events. Was Ivy telling the truth about never wanting to wish harm on Lola and Corey in the end?

  8. What were Ivy’s relationships to other female characters in the novel? Do you think that deep down Ivy wanted a best friend or someone she could call a sister?

  9. Considering the life-threatening act Ivy made toward Keke, and how determined she was to get what she wanted, do you think she got what was coming to her in the end?

  10. What do you think the final chapter means for Georgia and Ivy’s future?