Three Single Wives: The devilishly twisty, breathlessly addictive must-read thriller

by Gina LaManna

  Eliza Tate: Marguerite hated Roman. She wanted me to leave him.

  Defense: Ms. Hill hated your husband? Did she say so outright?

  Eliza Tate: She didn’t need to. Like I said, I’ve known Marguerite for years. Over the past few months especially, she’s been prodding me to leave him. To Take Charge if you will and get rid of him.

  Defense: And you didn’t want to leave him?

  Eliza Tate: It didn’t matter what I wanted. I wasn’t moving fast enough for Marguerite and what she wanted.

  Defense: Why do you think Ms. Hill hated your husband?

  Eliza Tate: She thought he was controlling. That he didn’t deserve me. Now that I know her history, it makes more sense why she had it out for him from the start.

  Defense: What does Ms. Hill’s past have to do with her disliking your husband?

  Eliza Tate: Marguerite’s got a bit of a vendetta against men in power. Men who abuse power, I should say. After reading the stories that have come out about what her father did to her as a child, I can hardly blame her. Honestly, I think she believed she was trying to do a good thing. I think she wanted to help me.

  Defense: But?

  Eliza Tate: But I didn’t need help. I’ve always taken care of myself. I knew what I was doing.

  Defense: Did you tell her that?

  Eliza Tate: I didn’t get the chance. Because somewhere along the line, feelings got involved, and that never ends well.

  TWENTY

  Six Months Before

  August 2018

  I have to tell you, Marguerite, I am so looking forward to your next project.” A man stuffed into a boring black suit extended a meaty hand toward Marguerite. “I’m Henry David, editor for the Los Angeles Literary Magazine. It’s a small, independent, digital-only magazine I run from my blog. Any chance I could steal a few moments of your time?”

  Eliza tuned out the mundane conversation, sweeping her gaze across the rest of the partygoers. The attendance was quite impressive. The food was perfection. The ambiance was on point. So why were Eliza’s nerves ragged?

  “That’s a brilliant idea,” Marguerite said, digging an elbow into Eliza’s side. “Don’t you agree?”

  Eliza forced a smile onto her face, trying to rack her brain for remnants of a conversation she’d actively tuned out. “Sorry, which idea?”

  “Book clubs.” Marguerite’s annoyance was thinly disguised. “What if we provided advanced copies of my book to book clubs across the country? We could get them to tweet and post about it on Instagram. Better yet, it would help get some early reviews up.”

  “Absolutely,” Eliza said. “I’ve already got that covered.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course. The first book club event is slotted for February. We should have advance copies of Be Free printed by then. It will be a great opportunity to snap some photos of the book in the wild.”

  Marguerite noticeably cheered, looking intrigued at the mention of a photo op. “Is it local? I’d love to swing by in person. Sign some copies, hear how the book was received.”

  Get your picture taken, Eliza thought harshly.

  “It’s local,” Eliza confirmed. “I’ll update your calendar with the details.”

  “Very good.” Marguerite turned, satisfied, back to the blogger. “Stay tuned for photos. You can run them in your magazine with the article.”

  Eliza raised a hand, biting her nail as she contemplated the logistics of throwing together a book club event that would impress Marguerite Hill. She’d lied about the whole thing—there was no local book club. There was no book club at all.

  “I’d love to attend, too.” The reporter turned his gaze on Eliza. “Snap a few photos of my own.”

  “Great idea,” Marguerite said. “Eliza? Where is it being held?”

  “It’s…uh…it’s actually at my house,” Eliza said, shooting the reporter an apologetic smile. “Sorry, closed to the public.”

  “Good idea,” Marguerite muttered. “Good idea.”

  It was a stroke of good fortune that Eliza’s good friend Dominic Schroeder strolled by at that moment. Eliza grabbed his elbow, thrust him toward Marguerite, and threw introductions at them to avoid any more questions about this nonexistent book club. Marguerite raised her eyebrow curiously at the well-groomed, handsome gentleman.

  “This is Dominic, film and television agent,” Eliza rushed. “He’s the best of the best. Sold the latest Annie Shefflin books to Warner Bros.”

  “Annie Shefflin?” Marguerite raised her eyebrows. “Very impressive. I’m—”

  “I know who you are,” Dominic interrupted. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marguerite. Are you at liberty to share some details about Be Free? I’m wondering if there’s any hope of adapting it for the big screen. With the success of Take Charge, I’m sure the studios would be hankering for a look at a pitch.”

  Eliza smiled to herself and ducked out of the conversation. The two would occupy one another for the next half hour easily. The slightest mention about film rights to Marguerite, and she melted into a sugary-sweet mess. Likewise, whenever Eliza dangled a New York Times bestseller in front of Dominic Schroeder, his mind rang up dollar signs like an ATM.

  Still beaming from her matchmaking efforts, Eliza meandered through the guests. She paused when she spotted Roman and Penny nose-to-nose in the center of the ballroom, speaking in low tones while the chandelier dripped sparkles of light over them. Eliza’s throat went dry as Roman handed Penny something that resembled a credit card. A room key.

  Penny seemed to be in shock as Roman turned on a heel and disappeared from the ballroom. She stood stock-still, alone in a sea of people, her eyes wide and unblinking as she stared down at the key. Her cheeks grew progressively pinker. Eliza could see her expression change as she digested the meaning of the plastic slip in her hand.

  Grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, Eliza held it to her lips and sipped. She watched, waited. Penny’s eyes flicked toward the door, then down to the key card. Then across the room and then back to the key card. It was clear she was torn.

  Then, like a swift streak of lightning, a sheet of steel seemed to descend over the young woman’s features. Her neck snapped high to attention. Her shoulders jerked with rigidity. Her tentative smile evened to a thin line. And like that, her decision had been made. Eliza watched, her heart sinking, as Penny made her exit from the ballroom.

  Eliza reached the hall just in time to see the elevator doors slide shut. The arrow pointing upward had been selected. Closing her eyes, Eliza let her body sag against the wall, just out of sight. She pressed a hand to her forehead.

  For a moment, she debated following Penny. Eliza could storm in like a battering ram and rain fury upon both of them, but what good would that accomplish? If Roman and Penny wanted to be together, a few biting words from Eliza wouldn’t stop them.

  So Eliza straightened her dress and marched back to the bar. Once there, she secured two more glasses of white wine and returned to Marguerite’s side.

  “Has Roman left the party?” Marguerite asked as Eliza handed her one of the two wineglasses. She quickly tacked on an explanation. “He put my jacket somewhere, and I was looking for it.”

  “I’m sure you were,” Eliza said sweetly. “But that darling husband of mine is otherwise occupied at the moment. If you wait, I’m sure he’ll come back for you.”

  TRANSCRIPT

  Prosecution: Did Roman Tate ever talk about his wife to you?

  Penny Sands: A little bit.

  Prosecution: Did he ever talk about their wedding?

  Penny Sands: Their Vegas elopement, you mean? Sure. He mentioned it.

  Prosecution: Did he explain why it was urgent they get married so quickly?

  Penny Sands: I’m assuming they were in love. That’s what people do sometimes. They fall in love and get married.

  Prosecution: Did he ever tell you that Eliza Tate had an expiring visa?

  Penny Sands: I don’t remember
.

  Prosecution: The way I see it, Mr. Tate did his wife a favor by marrying her. For a while, Mrs. Tate felt indebted to him. She earned a lot of money and gave her husband a nice life. But how long was she supposed to pay her debt to him while he spent her money and had affairs with younger women?

  Penny Sands: I’m not sure what you mean.

  Prosecution: I’m wondering if it’s possible that Eliza Tate didn’t want to deal with her husband— and his mistresses—any longer.

  Penny Sands: I wouldn’t know the answer to that. You’ll have to ask Eliza.

  Prosecution: It’s no secret that there’s bad blood between you and Mr. Tate. Ms. Sands, did Mrs. Tate ask for your help in murdering her husband?

  TWENTY-ONE

  Five Months Before

  September 2018

  The gauzy curtains twitched in the breeze, the air breathing life into the nearly translucent fabric. Penny lay curled on the plush comforter with crisp, white sheets draped just so over her naked figure. She watched the curtains dance with whimsy, the doors beyond thrown open to the morning sunlight as another Los Angeles heat wave sent warm whispers down her bare legs.

  The door to the bathroom opened with a click. Penny didn’t need to look back to see the striking figure cross the room. She waited until he slid under the covers to join her. Roman slipped his tanned arm over Penny’s shoulders and let his index finger and thumb trace circles on her exposed belly.

  “God, I could get used to this.” Penny cuddled against him, basking in the sunlight and the tickle of a long, slow kiss at the nape of her neck. “It’s magic. Pure magic.”

  Roman murmured an unintelligible agreement. It’s sort of his thing, Penny thought, rolling to face him. She traced his jawline, thinking when a man looked like Roman, he didn’t need to use English words. His nonsensical mmms and aahs were enough. And what he didn’t say aloud, she could read in the depths of his gorgeous eyes.

  “I love you,” Penny blurted.

  A silence followed, and though it was somewhat long, it wasn’t awkward. Roman leaned forward and touched a kiss to her forehead.

  “You don’t have to say it back,” Penny added quickly. “I completely understand if you’re not ready for that. But…it’s how I feel. I didn’t plan to say it, but the damn thing came out anyway.”

  “I’m getting there.” Roman’s kisses worked their way down to Penny’s lips. “Have patience, sweetheart.”

  “I waited a long time for this, for us,” Penny said. “I can wait a little longer for you to catch up.”

  Roman just smiled and nuzzled against her.

  “Tell me about Eliza,” Penny said.

  Roman propped himself up on his elbow, his hand stilling on Penny’s belly. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m curious,” Penny said. “You were married for a long time.”

  “Yes,” Roman said. “We fell in love in college. Or whatever you want to call it. I always thought the two of us had more of a business arrangement than anything. Eliza is…exceptional in the workforce. It didn’t translate to home life.”

  “Why’d you marry her?”

  Roman’s eyes flickered toward Penny. “I wish you wouldn’t—”

  “Indulge me,” Penny said. “I’m not jealous. I just want to understand.”

  “We were dating,” Roman said. “We got married fast. Eliza was up for a huge job, but her visa was about to expire. If I didn’t marry her…”

  “That’s so romantic!”

  “It was borderline illegal.”

  “Romantic,” Penny insisted. “You took a risk for a woman you loved. Even if it didn’t work out. I think that’s admirable.”

  “Even though we failed.”

  “Even though it failed.”

  “Yes, well…” Roman winked. “I can be unadmirable, too, if you’d like to see that.”

  Penny giggled, wriggling against him. “I saw plenty of that last night.”

  “There’s more where that came from.”

  “I want to talk,” Penny said. “I want to get to know you. More, I mean. Every inch of you.”

  “The past is the past. I don’t want to sit around discussing my ex-wife when we have this beautiful morning ahead of us. Let’s order room service.”

  “Sure,” Penny agreed as Roman extended an arm and pulled the menu toward him. He slipped on a pair of thick glasses that she thought made him look exceptionally cute. “Then let’s talk about the future. Our future.”

  Roman placed a call to room service, ignoring Penny’s request. He ordered a lavish breakfast spread from the staff at the Pelican Hotel and spared no expense. They’d returned to the scene of their first night spent together time and time again. It’d been weeks since that evening, the evening of the book launch party, and they’d spent many a night together since, each better than the last. Call it nostalgia, call it routine—Penny didn’t care. She loved it. She loved him.

  Roman continued his order: sliced grapefruit, full omelet, toast with rose petal jam, fresh figs and dates, and two black coffees with cream on the side for Penny. When she spent the night with Roman, she never went hungry. One of the million perks to dating a man with money.

  “Two sugars,” Roman added. “And extra packets of butter for the toast.”

  When he hung up, Penny rested her hand on his thigh. He wore nothing but black boxers, and her hand stroked through the dark hair on his leg. “I love that,” she whispered. “This. Us. It’s just so…easy.”

  “What’s easy?”

  “Us,” Penny repeated. “You know what I like to eat and how I like my coffee. That I need extra butter for my toast.”

  “I know the extra butter is so you can stash it in your purse for later.”

  Penny laughed. “And you know that, too. I always thought this was what love would be like. Sunny mornings, lazy days, good food, and…yes, great sex,” Penny added when Roman started dancing his fingers down her torso. She smacked his hand away. “Is this what you thought it would be like? Are we different than you were with Eliza?”

  Roman withdrew his hand. “Why are you so intent on analyzing my ex-wife? We’re no longer together for a reason. It’s over.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. I’m just so excited about us, how far we’ve come even though it’s only been a few months since we met. It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

  “You’re amazing.”

  The cross look on Roman’s face dissipated, to Penny’s relief. She’d have to tone down her mentions of Eliza, curious or not. Understandably so, seeing as she wouldn’t love Roman digging into her past relationships, either.

  Almost as if he’d read her mind, Roman winked at her. “I’m sure you have a past, too.”

  Penny nodded.

  “Did you fuck Ryan Anderson?”

  “Excuse me?” Penny recoiled. “What are you talking about?”

  “Ryan Anderson,” Roman said. “He’s been ogling you since the day you walked into class. Did you sleep with him?”

  “God, Roman. That’s so rude.”

  “Well?”

  Penny stood. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I meant it when I said you should stay away from him.”

  “I know,” Penny said, hugging her arms around her as the warm breeze suddenly felt cool on her body. “You were jealous, even then?”

  “He’s a strange guy.”

  “He’s boring is all. I went out with him a few times because I thought you were married. What was I supposed to do, be celibate for the rest of my life because you were in love with someone else?”

  “I was trying to watch out for you,” Roman said, reaching out to grab Penny’s wrist. He tugged at her gently. “I don’t like the way he looks at you. Maybe I am jealous. Maybe it was my only way of keeping tabs on you before I was ready to take the next step.”

  “That’s almost sweet.”

  “I just know he’s done it before, dated girls from class.”

 
“He’s allowed to date. I told him I wasn’t interested. I don’t expect him to wait around for me, nor would I want him to.”

  “Oh?”

  “C’mon, I’m interested in you,” Penny said, twirling to face Roman. “You idiot. It’s always been you. I only went out with Ryan because I was trying to get you out of my mind.”

  “Come here.” Roman’s voice was a quiet instruction. “I’m yours, baby.”

  “I know.” Penny let herself be pulled toward him, let their lips meet in a tangle of familiar angst that grew whenever they were apart and calmed the second they were together. “I love you. I’m sorry about Ryan. I’m sorry we argued.”

  “That wasn’t an argument.” Roman pulled Penny onto his lap. “But I’ll make it up to you anyway.”

  TRANSCRIPT

  Prosecution: When did you suspect your husband was having an affair with Penny Sands?

  Eliza Tate: I saw my husband give Penny a key to his room the night of Marguerite’s book launch party.

  Prosecution: Why did you marry your husband?

  Eliza Tate: Because I loved him.

  Prosecution: Why did you kill him?

  TWENTY-TWO

  Five Months Before

  September 2018

  You owe me,” Anne said as she plunked herself down at the table across from Eliza. “I had to pay the valet fee today because I was running so late. Their rates are pure theft.”

  “No, it’s the Pelican Hotel,” Eliza said. “Your coffee’s on me. Will that help you to stop whining?”

  “Damn right it is.” Anne shifted her glasses lower. “I want the biggest, most expensive coffee that’s legal, and then I’ll consider us even.”

  Eliza repeated the order verbatim to a waiting server, studying Anne as she wiggled into her seat. Anne’s gaze flicked toward the doors of the hotel almost uncomfortably, and Eliza wondered if the location held bad memories for her, too. Anne had argued against meeting at the hotel’s lobby café, but Eliza had assumed the argument had more to do with the financial end of the spectrum than anything else.