by Julia Derek
THE DIARY
Julia Derek
* * *
Published by Adrenaline Books
Copyright © 2014 by Julia Derek
This is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Published as an e-book December 2014 by Adrenaline Books.
To find out more about the author and to sign up for her new books release, visit
JuliaDerek.com
Cover design by Luly Blazek at
Kalosys Art.
* * *
Sign up for the author's New Releases Mailing List and get a FREE copy of her romantic mystery novel The Smiley Killer.
Click HERE to get started.
* * *
MORE JULIA DEREK BOOKS
GIRL UNDERCOVER SERIAL (Romantic suspense with a sci-fi touch)
Parts One, Two & Three
Parts Four & Five
Parts Six & Seven
Parts Eight & Nine
Parts Ten & Eleven
Part Twelve
THE L.A. GIRLS SERIES (Sexy romantic suspense with an edge)
Trigger
Love Cursed
Lovely Revenge
DUPLICITY (Romantic Thriller)
Duplicity
* * *
For my father
Chapter 1
I knew Jason would be the love of my life the first time I met him. What I didn't know was that he would turn out to be a monster.
We were in college back then and ended up in the same drama class our senior year. Okay, so I had seen this gorgeous boy a few times around campus before, but we had never interacted. Doing so made all the difference. We were asked to do a scene together in class, playing a couple fighting about money and then making up afterward. He took me by surprise by actually French-kissing me at the end, even though our acting teacher had shown us how to properly fake such a kiss. The second I felt his hot tongue swirl around mine, I was lost. Well, to be honest, maybe that happened the moment I looked into his beautiful blue eyes. I had never before looked into eyes containing that much depth, that much sincerity and benevolence. This boy was one of a kind. And he would be mine.
I have been lost to this man for the last nine years and we’ve been so happy together all of that time, oh so happy. That blissful happiness ended today, about thirty minutes ago. That was when I found out that I had been wrong about the state of our relationship. I now know that Jason has been unfaithful to me for the last few months.
If only that had been it. See, I might have been able to handle him straying. No, scratch that; I would have handled it. I’m not a quitter and our marriage, our love for each other, is worth too much to me to give up on that easily. After all, I haven’t been easy to deal with lately and most couples have had their share of such problems, so this one would turn out to be ours. Life isn’t perfect and all relationships go through ups and downs. But we would get through our down. I’d confront him about it and then he’d leave her, realize his mistake. I’m the one he really wants to be with, but I have pushed him away with my postpartum depression. I’d get him back, though, make him mine again. Except his seeing another woman isn’t our only problem. Like I said, there is more—and it ain’t pretty.
My innards twist with excruciating pain when I read the last three words again, still hoping that I have just imagined the large, glaring letters written across one page. But there they are again in Jason’s distinct handwriting:
I killed her.
There, right before my eyes, is his confession. It is written in his diary together with what he did with his mistress during the many evenings when I thought he was only working late. He has even written about how they first met, which was in the weeks before Matthew was born. I never once suspected that he might be unfaithful to me. How could he be? Up until what happened with our little boy, we were so incredibly happy together.
But the evidence is here and there is no mistaking his handwriting. I’m as familiar with it as I am with my own. He has written all these horrible words, and unless someone has made him write them, it is what has happened. Why else would they be there and in such detail?
I can’t imagine why anyone would ever make him do such a thing, though. Neither Jason nor I are the kind of people who have plenty of enemies, certainly not ones who hate us to the point of forcing him to make up such a story, incriminate himself in the diary he uses to write about his feelings and daily life. Then again, if it is true—I still carry some hope that it might not be—it also shows that I don’t know my husband as well as I thought I did.
I bury my face in my hands and close my eyes. My stomach hurt so much I open my mouth to groan, but no sound comes out from between my lips.
Why is this happening to me? Haven’t I suffered enough?
I hear the front door to our apartment open then. Only two people have keys to get into our place—Jason and our maid. But it is one o’clock on a Friday afternoon, which means that Jason should be at work. Our maid always comes on Tuesdays. Did she confuse the days this week?
“Lexi?” Jason’s voice coming from the hallway. Slamming the diary shut, I spring to my feet and put the worn, blue book in my purse that is sitting on a chair nearby. My heart feels like it has gotten stuck in my throat, making it hard to breathe, and my pulse is throbbing loudly behind my ears. Frantically, I look around, wanting to hide myself somewhere as I hear him walk toward the kitchen where I am. Oh, God, how can I talk to him now? What shall I do?
And there he is, my handsome husband, standing in the doorway between the hallway and the kitchen, wearing a sharp suit that fits him to a tee. His short, dark hair is slightly messy, as if he just rolled out of bed and only had access to his fingers to smooth it out. His clear blue eyes glitter as he breaks into a smile at the sight of me.
“There you are,” he says and comes into our large kitchen, toward me, still smiling.
Oh, God, this man just can’t be a murderer, I think as I watch him approach, struggling not to reveal the storm of emotions going on inside me right then. And I don’t care how difficult it must have been to be with me lately, he would still never be unfaithful to me. There must be some other explanation as to why all those terrible, terrible words are written in his diary. There has to be. It suddenly strikes me that he might have written them because he has finally begun working on that novel he keeps telling me he wants to write.
Yes, that must be it.
He has just chosen to use his own life as the basis for his story. I’m well aware that my husband dreams of becoming an author and quitting his job at the ad agency one day. It’s a lucrative job, but he is not very happy doing it. I feel myself relax a little. Of course it is something innocuous like that. No sane person would ever confess to adultery and an actual murder in a diary.
The bright smile on Jason’s lips dies and worry colors his features. I must look miserable because he comes up and envelops me in his arms, holding me close. He strokes my hair and whispers into my ear, “My poor, poor Lexi. It’s one of those days, huh?”
I don’t reply. I just let him hold me and inhale the familiar smell of him, a pleasant mixture of wood, the city, and Chanel Platinum Egoiste.
So if I believe so strongly in his innocence, why am I dreading telling him what I have just found? Why do I dig my fingers into his back, not wanting to face him, instead of asking him straight out why he has written all those words? I tell myself it’s because I don’t want him to think I spend my days at home snooping through his things. Which is what I did today and how I found his diary in one of the drawers in his dresser, hidden under several sweaters.
Finally, he loosens his grip around me and I have no choice but to glance up
at him. He gives me a small but warm smile. There, in his gaze, is that deep care for me that I know so well.
“Feeling a little better?” he asks softly.
I make myself smile back at him and nod my head, but no words come out of my mouth.
He keeps smiling while contemplating me, a ray of sunshine hitting his face in that moment, causing his eyes to glow bright and almost painfully blue. “What were you doing, babe?”
The question slides off his tongue so easily, his voice light and carefree. Not the way I expect a man with a guilty conscience to ever speak. The thought gives me hope, reinforces my belief that there is a simple, perfectly reasonable explanation to what I have found. I am able to at least speak again.
“I was just going through some receipts, but I’m done now, just in time for your unexpected arrival. What are you doing? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
“I had a meeting uptown that got canceled, so I figured I should swing by the house on my way back to the office and say hi. See how you were doing.” He leans down and kisses me on the lips. “Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice is intimate. “You looked like you were in such pain.”
“Yes, I was, but I’m better now. Much better. I just got to thinking a little when I saw some receipt of… of the stuff we bought for…” I can’t make myself finish the sentence. Not that it is necessary. Jason knows much too well of what I’m talking.
He runs a knuckle along my jaw and that little, warm smile that I hope he only uses for me widens.
“That’s good,” he says. “Tomorrow you’ll be even better. Right?”
“Yes,” I say, my voice sounding odd to my ears. “Tomorrow I’ll be even better.”
“Good girl.” His arms loosen further around me. “Well, like I said, I just wanted to pop in and say hi since I was in the neighborhood. Are you still up for dinner tonight?”
“Absolutely. I need to get out of the house. It’s been days since I was out last. I’m beginning to feel claustrophobic.” I grimace. “And even if I don’t feel like dinner later, I’ll make myself. It’s time for me to get out of this funk once and for all. Besides, I need to be sure I haven’t forgotten how to behave properly in normal social settings filled with strangers.”
Jason chuckles softly and places a strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t think that’s ever possible. You were born with natural graces, babe.”
“Ha. Well, let’s hope you’re right or I’ll be out of a job next week.”
“You’re going to do great. Remember what Dr. Meyer says—one step at a time.”
I nod and smile.
He leans in and kisses me again with those soft lips. “See you in a few hours then. Fifth and 49th. Do you want me to text you the address in case you forget?”
I shake my head no. “I think I’ll be all right.”
He pinches my chin. “Okay. Bye. Love you.”
His tall shape disappears through the doorway, and then I hear his dress shoes click against the hardwood floor in our long hallway as he makes his way back to the front door. It opens and then shuts again, and he is gone.
I sink down on the chair I sat on earlier and wait a few minutes. When I’m sure he is truly gone, I find the diary in my purse. I open it to the page where I saw the words, convinced now that I have simply imagined them.
I must have.
There is no chance in hell that the sweet man who came to see me to make sure I was all right is an adulterer and a murderer. But there they are again, written as plainly as the last time I saw them across one sheet in the diary.
I killed her.
I clench my hand into a fist and bite my knuckles to stop myself from screaming out loud.
Chapter 2
Jason and I got married a year after we graduated college.
It was one of those picture-perfect weddings in which everything went even better than I could ever have wished for in those stressful weeks before the big day. The early July weather was warm but not humid the way it sometimes is that time of year in the New York area. The sun shone from a crystal clear, cloud free sky. No one in the bridal party was late, not even my sister, who is always late for everything. I didn’t slip while walking down the aisle in spite of my long dress and very high heels. Neither Jason nor I messed up the vows we had written to read to each other during the ceremony, and no one in the church made any weird noises or sneezed loudly to dampen the special moment. No one gave any awkward or embarrassing speeches during the reception, not even my father, who tends to get overly emotional when it comes to me, his first-born daughter. Our first dance on the dance floor went without a hitch, and both the catering team and the wedding band delivered beyond expectation.
It was truly a magical day and night.
The following morning Jason and I took off for our honeymoon, five days in Paris. Being so young and new at our jobs, that was all we could afford. Jason might come from money, but he was a fiercely proud and independent man, who refused to have his family pay for everything. I adored this quality about him—I had definitely not married a weak person. It turned out that we might as well have stayed in the States because we barely left our hotel room once during those five days. Amazingly, we were still so in love that we couldn’t keep our hands off each other even though we had been a couple for two years already.
When I glanced at the young man sleeping in the bed beside me during one of those nights, the moon shining through the hotel room window big and round in the dark Paris sky, I remember thinking that I was so lucky. How come I got him when so many other girls had wanted him? What had made me so special? This gorgeous, tall, brown-haired Adonis could have had practically anyone he wanted. After I got to know him in drama class, I quickly learned that Jason was a boy most girls were crazy about, and it surprised me that I hadn’t paid more attention to someone like him earlier. Well, it might have had something to do with me being hung up on my ex, who had dumped me a couple of months earlier. It was the only possible explanation.
So why would a guy like Jason want to be with me, a regular girl from working class Queens with mousy brown hair that ended up frizzy soon again no matter how much I blow-dried it? (This was before I discovered the wonders of Brazilian Keratin Treatments.) Okay, I knew I wasn’t totally unattractive and that I was a smart girl—I had been given a full scholarship to attend Columbia University after all because of my straight A’s. But still, I wasn’t in Jason’s league. He was a ten while I was a six, maybe a seven on a good day. In addition to the problematic hair, I was on the shorter side, and while I wasn’t fat exactly, I always wished I were a few pounds lighter, had a model’s slender, long limbs. There were several of those kinds of girls attending Columbia, drop dead gorgeous girls from good families like Jason, whose footsteps most guys worshipped. Really, the best thing I had going for me when it came to my body were my big breasts. Guys had always liked those. Those and my face that I had been told was cute in a quirky way.
I guess the answer was obvious—Jason simply preferred quirky, curvy looks over those of a gazelle-like supermodel’s. Still, in preparation for the wedding I made sure I lost the annoying extra twelve pounds I carried around, making me more confident about my body. Even so, there was always the slight doubt in my head whether I was good enough for Jason. Would I ever be good enough for a man like him?
On our last day in Paris I decided that I needed to know, hear him tell me why he had chosen me in his own words. I couldn’t help myself even though I knew it would make me sound horribly insecure and, at this point, with a big, princess cut diamond ring on my finger, was it really necessary to ask such a thing? The man obviously loved me and that was it. I had nothing besides my person to offer him, no money, no connections.
But I still wanted to know. Maybe it was the alcohol speaking, dipping into my most deep-seated insecurities.
“Jason,” I said, looking at him over my champagne glass that the waiter had just refilled for the umpteenth time that evening. We had t
old each other that champagne would be the only thing we would drink at dinner while on our honeymoon, making it one long celebration.
“Yes, babe.” He gazed back at me with those innocent blue eyes that had me floored the first time I gazed into them, really looked into them. A tiny smile curled the corners of his delectable lips. “What is it?”
“Why me?”
He frowned and tilted his head slightly. “What do you mean?”
“Why did you choose me when you could have someone… someone much prettier?” I regretted having used that word as soon as it left my lips. Drunk or not, my question was truly pathetic. I was pathetic. This was my husband I was asking this silly question, someone who had shown nothing but devotion for me since the day we started going out. I knew he loved me deeply. I could feel it, see it in his eyes when he looked at me.
Jason reached across the table and took my hands. “Because you are the prettiest girl I know. I always thought so. On the outside and on the inside, too. How could you ever doubt that I think so?”
I gazed down at my plate that still contained a couple of lonely slices of baguette and a sliver of Foie Gras. Yes, why did I doubt it? He was right; he had never given me reason to do so. I felt his finger under my chin then and he gently made me face him.
“There’s nothing about you that’s not pretty, Lexi. You made me the happiest man in the world when you agreed to marry me. Don’t ever forget that.”
I couldn’t help but smile at him then. I truly was a lucky, lucky girl. Not only was my husband the hottest, most ambitious man I had ever seen, but he was also the nicest. It was almost too good to be true. But it was true.
That night Jason proved to me just how much he loved me by making love to me in a slower, more sensual way than he normally did. Not that he wasn’t a good lover otherwise, but this night he took his skills to a whole new level.
