In their shadows, p.1
In Their Shadows, page 1
OTHER TITLES BY BRIANA COLE
The Unconditional Series
The Wives We Play
The Vows We Break
The Hearts We Burn
The Marriage Pass
Couples Wanted
The Pseudo Series
Behind Her Lives
BRIANA COLE
in their shadows
www.kensingtonbooks.com
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Prologue
PART I: DENIAL
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
PART II: ANGER
Chapter Eight - Before
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
PART III: BARGAINING
Chapter Fourteen - Before
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
PART IV: DEPRESSION
Chapter Nineteen - Before
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five - Before
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
PART V: TESTING
Chapter Thirty - Before
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
PART VI: ACCEPTANCE
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Epilogue
DAFINA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2023 by Briana Cole
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
The Dafina logo is a trademark of Kensington Publishing Corp.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-3876-9
ISBN: 978-1-4967-3878-3 (e-book)
First Electronic Edition: November 2023
To my baby sister, Paige Christina. I dedicate this book to you like I dedicate my life and creative ventures. As always, you are my inspiration and my motivation. I hope I’m making you as proud as you made me.
#Forever28
“The past is never dead. It’s not even past.”
—William Faulkner
Prologue
April struggled to restrain her rising panic as she approached the hotel desk. Usually there was a rush of adrenaline. But not tonight. Not this time. That had been superseded with a fear so chilling it left her breathless and trembling. Would it work? Would they recognize something was off? But she kept those thoughts to herself. As far as everyone else was concerned, she was just another guest, weaving through the maze of elite patrons peppering the hotel lobby. Blending in was the easy part. Not getting caught—well, that was the challenge.
Muffled laughter and music wafted to greet her, evidence of a party in full swing in the ballroom. The merriment was almost mocking and April quickened her pace. She had to get away. She had to think. She knew if she acted on impulse, she would make another mistake. And she couldn’t afford any more of those.
April scissored her legs across the floor with a panicked urgency. A laptop bag was slung over her shoulder and knocked against her hip, throwing off her stride. She wheeled a Montblanc suitcase along, with a grip so tight it felt like the handle would crack the bones in her hand.
She was nearly nauseous. It was his musky vanilla scent that clung to the trench coat she wore. She hadn’t wanted to take his, but it was the only one she could find in her haste. Anything to hide the blood coagulating in the fleece of her sweatshirt.
The hotel attendant—Wendy, by the gold name tag pinned to her breast pocket—looked up with a warm smile. “May I help you?”
April forced a smile of her own, hoping her face relayed the casualness she didn’t feel. “Checking in,” she greeted.
Wendy nodded and began pecking away on her keyboard. “Of course. Name?”
April’s voice quivered over the name, and she licked her lips. Breathe, just breathe, she coaxed herself.
“ID, please.”
April tensed as she pulled the stolen driver’s license from the front pocket of her computer case and slid it across the marble countertop. She held her breath.
Wendy’s eyes flickered to the laminated card. One moment. Then two. Each second was more excruciating than the last. April felt like she was going to combust.
Finally, the attendant nodded her approval and resumed typing on the computer. Desperate to remove the evidence, April all but snatched the license from the counter and shoved it into her coat pocket.
“Only one night with us?”
“Yes.” And because she felt like she needed more to corroborate her story, April added, “Just passing through to take care of some business and enjoy the Atlanta nightlife.”
“I completely understand.” Wendy pressed a button and the printer at her backside hummed to life, generating a receipt. “It’s so crazy here during this time of year. If I didn’t have to work, I would spend tonight by myself in a remote cabin with some wine. I hate crowds. Big crowds,” she amended, with a chuckle. “And Atlanta sure has plenty of those. This your first time here?”
“Yes.” The lies were coming easier now.
“Well, when you get all settled, you should join us in the ballroom to ring in the new year.”
April nodded politely, though that was the furthest thing from her mind. She reached for the key cards. The gesture prompted her sleeve to rise just a little to expose a piece of her arm. The sight of dried blood checkered on her skin had her immediately snatching back, praying Wendy hadn’t seen.
Thankfully, the sweet hotel attendant was preoccupied, her head dipped low as she circled the room number on April’s receipt with an elaborate flourish. “Room four-two-two-eight,” she was saying. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“Can you please make sure I’m not disturbed?”
“Absolutely. Enjoy your stay and good luck with your business.”
April’s face was ashen as she hurried to the bank of elevators. Of course, Wendy had no idea exactly what business she was up to. But the comment’s double meaning was eerily appropriate.
The cavernous presidential suite was elaborate, adorned with high-end finishings and offering a panoramic view of the skyline. City lights pulsated in the distance and for the briefest of moments, April was lulled by the pensive hum of downtown nightlife. She was sure if she looked hard enough, she would see her condo nestled on the outskirts of the city. Far away enough for privacy, but not far enough to escape.
Which was why, instead of basking in the luxurious accommodations or indulging in the complimentary wine and charcuterie board with its arrangement of fruits and cheeses, April immediately peeled out of her clothes and rushed to the bathroom.
Water sprayed from the rain shower in scalding splotches, rinsing her skin until there was a dirty, crimson puddle collected at her feet. She couldn’t risk the blood staining the white hand towels, so instead, April used her hands to lather the soap, inducing the smell of lavender to fuse with the metallic stench in her pores. Desperate, she scrubbed and scrubbed until her body was inflamed from the friction.
Maybe one day she would become immune to the guilt. A piece of her was comforted by that hope and she clutched it like a lifeline. But that day wasn’t today. Today, with the steam pluming around her and the ominous burst of fireworks echoing in the background, April sank to the floor, wrapped her arms around her knees, and let loose a defeated sob.
Ten minutes. That’s all the time she allowed herself to be emotional. When she was done, April took a breath, wiped her face, and got to work.
PART I: DENIAL
The refusal to accept the facts of the loss, either consciously or unconsciously.
Chapter One
April awoke, disoriented; briefly unsure which one of her husbands lay beside her. Her vision cleared enough so she could make out the red digits illuminated from the clock on the nightstand: 1:43 AM. Her peripheral vision caught the floor-to-ceiling windows adorning one whole wall of the industrial high-rise. The Atlanta skyline glittered through the glass, sweeping and majestic in all its early-morning splendor. She was in a penthouse suite. That meant . . .
April glanced at the figure sleeping beside her. Sure enough, Carter was in his catatonic pos
April relaxed against the leather headboard as the last bit of haze cleared from her head. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but Carter had wanted them to enjoy themselves the previous night. “Since you can’t be here for New Year’s Day, then we’ll celebrate tonight.” And they had. Wine, slow music, dancing in their living room. Intimate and therapeutic. For a moment, it was as if it had been real. But this time of year, just like it had been for the past eight years, was triggering. No matter how much she tried to assuage the lingering trauma.
April eased from the comfort of the satin sheets and padded across the hardwood floor. The room’s sudden chill peppered goosebumps on her forearms. Carter insisted on keeping the air conditioner on sixty-eight degrees, no matter the weather or the season. It was a habit she wouldn’t miss when she got back to her other husband. The two men were similar in more ways than one, but it was those kinds of differences she could appreciate.
April rested her forehead on the window, letting the coolness of the glass soothe her hangover headache. Too much to drink. That wasn’t like her. She was usually sober and in control. She had to be. Thankfully, last night was over. Carter was asleep and she was alone. This was one of those rare moments that she could be herself, her real self, and not the women that she pretended to be. She savored it. Even if it was only temporary. Finally, almost regrettably, April tore her gaze from the view, all emotion suppressed. No, now she was . . . numb, moving on an autopilot that had been perfected like second nature.
Carter had converted the second bedroom into a minimalistic office. As an architect, he was so meticulous she could recite everything in this room by memory. A glass drafting table buried under a cluster of blueprints dominated the room. Vague outlines of pictures hanging on the walls; proof of his brilliance in the designs of the commercial properties captured in each frame. The only light was from his laptop, which cast a chilling glow on the neatly organized files stacked on his desk. His next projects. She had been half-listening and feigning excitement the previous night as he raved about his new bids.
April slid into the executive chair and, as she had done numerous times before, typed her birthday (more like the fake birthday that Carter knew) into the password box. The Microsoft desktop appeared on the screen, cluttered with entirely too many spreadsheets, folders, and programs. Three clicks and she was on their joint banking website, keying in the same log-in information she had used too many times in the past.
She knew never to transfer too much money. Only what she needed for now. Carter wasn’t one to notice fifty dollars here, or a hundred dollars there. But he sure as hell wasn’t stupid.
Seven minutes. That was all it took for her to steal from her husband. She was used to the routine, had calculated every best- (and worst-) case scenario down to the excuses she would use if she were ever caught. Even still, as prepared as she always was, it didn’t make the task any less difficult. Or troubling.
“It’s pretty easy to have more than one life; you just have to know how to balance them. Like shifts, you clock-in one while you clock-out from another.” Even though the years had bred a dissonance between April and her mother, she still couldn’t shake the words playing in her head as she waited patiently in the dark. Like some kind of sick and twisted lullaby. Erika sure as hell hadn’t given her much in the way of an idyllic childhood. But the little tidbits of knowledge that did manage to seep through during her moments of sobriety—well, those gems had proven priceless. Like now.
As always, April tried to keep her eyes focused on the screen and ignore the photo Carter kept right beside the keyboard. Their wedding picture. She had seen it too many times to count and still, the image managed to unravel the threads of her guilty conscience. The frozen memory made her look so deceptively happy. Carter had managed to smear a bit of icing on the tip of her nose, and she had opened her mouth to laugh at the gesture. And the photographer had caught just that. Her laughing with a mouthful of red velvet cake clumped on her tongue and Carter watching her in adoration.
Never mind her embarrassment, the illusion in the picture looked entirely too . . . natural. Too comfortable. She hated it. He loved it. Which is why he hid it in his office, tucked away from the myriad of photos decorating the rest of their apartment.
A sudden light shined through the pocket of her robe. Her cell phone. Silenced, but the screen signaled the incoming call. She knew who it was without even looking at it. Deciding he could wait, April took her time finishing her transactions. She then cleared the browsing histories and recycle bin, making sure every trace of her deception had been carefully and neatly erased. By the time she readjusted the chair and swept from the room, there was only a phantom of her presence.
It was done and according to her balance, she was a few dollars closer to her goal. Her feelings weren’t as intense anymore, which was progress. The first few times, April’s eyes would sting with the threat of tears at what she did. At what she had become. Looking back on it now, it was almost humorous because she couldn’t explain her distress if she tried. And how could she even justify being a con woman with feelings, anyway? What’s wrong? Nothing and everything. Thankfully, she was past that part. Or so she liked to tell herself. It was easier not to feel at all than to feel too much.
April checked the bedroom to confirm Carter was still sleeping before settling on the couch, tucking her legs underneath her. She swiped her screen to toggle to the missed call.
The late hour was never a deterrent for Ramsey. She used to wonder if he slept at all. Another one of the subtle differences between her husbands. Carter lived by his early-to-bed-early-to-rise ideology, energized and ready to get his day started at the crack of dawn. Ramsey, on the other hand, was like a vampire, often spending the nights painting in his art studio because he insisted those were the most creative hours. She could already picture him hovering at his easel, flecks of paint caked on his fingers, guiding his brush across a half-finished canvas in methodical strokes. Creating picture poetry, he called it. For someone like April, who had never cared about painting, she now found herself fascinated by his talent. Even to the point where she chanced picking up a paintbrush herself, mimicking his movements. Of course, her artwork never turned out as beautiful as his, but she was proud just the same. Interesting how she was discovering more about herself by pretending to be someone else.
Ramsey answered on the first ring as if he’d been waiting. “What are you doing up so late, Mrs. Duncan?”
Without realizing it, April’s lips curved at the sound of his voice. “I should be asking you the same thing, but I already know you’re in the studio making something great.”
His chuckle glided through the receiver. “My wife knows me so well.”
“Of course, I do.”
“How is Virginia?”
Once again, her eyes lingered over the scenic Atlanta view through the window. Of course, she wasn’t in Virginia, but Ramsey couldn’t know that.
“Great,” she lied with practiced ease. And then just as genuinely, “Wish you were here.” That much was true. She would be lying to herself if she said she didn’t have feelings for both of her husbands. Was it love? Not necessarily. She wasn’t even sure what love was. But they did make her feel special in their own ways. And they provided her with an escape from reality. It was . . . reassuring. Which was close enough.
“I miss you too, babe,” Ramsey said. “Maybe if you can get away from work for a few days, we can take a little vacation this summer. Maybe a cruise or something. I think we both need it.”
April didn’t bother responding. If she voiced what was on her mind, she would have to admit that she didn’t plan on being around during the summer.
