Best Kept Secrets

Book 1: Chesterton Scandal Novel

by Shelly Ellis

Genres: African American Women's Fiction; Women's Fiction; African American Romance

Synopsis

Between the fall-out from his father's latest shady business dealings and his wife Charisse's alcoholism, Evan Murdoch has his hands full. But he should be most concerned about the scandalous affair Charisse is having right under his nose--with his half-brother. Evan's being pushed to the edge, and no one knows that better than Leila Hawkins...

Leila is back in Chesterton, divorced, penniless, and desperate enough to do anything to save her mother's home from foreclosure--including turning to Evan, her former best friend. But Evan isn't interested in friendship. Instead he makes Leila a shocking indecent proposal... Meanwhile, Evan's newlywed sister, Paulette, wants to be the perfect wife. But a blackmailing bad boy ex has reappeared in her life--and he's threatening to reveal her most painful secret...

The scandals just won't quit--and for everyone involved, desire, betrayal, and lies are all in a day's work...

Release date: September 1, 2015

Publisher: Recorded Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

Leila Hawkins paused as she mounted the last concrete step in front of the double doors of the First Good Samaritan Baptist Church—one of the oldest and largest churches in Chesterton, Virginia, her hometown. Nestled on Broadleaf Avenue across the street from rustic Macon Park, the house of worship had hosted many a baptism, funeral, and nuptial inside its brick walls in the one hundred and some odd years of its existence. And since 1968, a stark white sign had sat along its exterior, highlighting a Bible verse chosen by the honorable reverend, or the assistant pastor when the reverend was ill or on vacation. Leila stepped aside to let a couple pass as she squinted at that sign, which hung a foot away from the doors and several feet above her head.

A FOOL GIVES FULL VENT TO HIS ANGER, BUT A WISE MAN KEEPS HIMSELF UNDER CONTROL, the sign read in big bold letters. PROVERBS 29:11.

Her eyebrows furrowed.

What the hell ...

Was someone reading her mind?

Who cares if they are?

She grabbed one of the church’s stainless-steel door handles.

She was on a mission today and she wasn’t going to be deterred from it. She was giving “full vent” to her anger, whether any celestial being liked it or not. Leila was crashing this hifalutin wedding, and only lightning bolts or locusts would keep her away!

She walked into the vestibule, then tugged a heavy wooden door open, preparing herself to be met by a hundred stares, finger pointing, and indignation the instant she stepped inside the sanctuary.

“Hey! You’re not supposed to be here!” she waited for someone to shout at her.

Instead, she was greeted by a light melody played by a string quartet and the polite chatter of the two hundred and some odd guests who were taking their seats in the velvet-cushioned pews.

No one stared at her. Hell, they barely seemed to notice her!

The tenseness in her shoulders instantly relaxed. Her white-knuckled grip on her satin clutch loosened. She reminded herself that she was walking into a wedding, not a gladiator pit.

“You’re here to talk to Evan,” a voice in her head cautioned her. “Not to fight with him. Remember?”

That’s right. I’m just here to talk to him, to have a conversation with an old friend.

And if Evan chose not to be polite or listen to her, then and only then would she go off on him.

She looked around her.

The sanctuary was filled with splashes of pink and lavender, which Leila remembered were the bride’s favorite colors. Roses, hydrangeas, freesias, and lilacs decorated the pulpit and pews, filling the space with their alluring scent. Ribbons and ivy garland were draped over anything and everything, and free-standing candelabras were along each aisle and by the stained-glass windows.

Leila felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. She hadn’t set foot in this church since her own wedding day ten years ago. As she gazed around her, all the memories of that day came rushing back like a tsunami: the anticipation and nervousness she had felt as she waited for the church doors to open, the happiness she had experienced when she’d seen her handsome groom waiting for her at the end of the aisle, and the overwhelming sadness that had washed over her when she had looked at the wedding guests and had not seen her then best friend, Evan, among their friendly faces.

But she had known Evan wouldn’t come to her wedding. Stubborn Evan Murdoch had told her in the plainest way possible that there was no way he would stand by and pretend that he was happy about her nuptials.

“That son of a bitch is going to break your heart,” Evan had warned her over the phone all those years ago when she’d made one last-ditch effort to ask him to come to the wedding. “He’s going to drag you down. And when he does, don’t come crying to me.”

Leila wasn’t sure what had made her angrier: that Evan had given her that dire, bitter prediction on the eve of her wedding—or that his prediction had come true. But today she would have to put aside all that resentment and anger if she was going to get Evan to do what she needed him to do for her mother. Her mother . . . a proud woman who had juggled multiple jobs and saved every dime she had for decades to gather the money to put Leila through school and give her a reasonably happy life. Leila had tried to repay her by purchasing her a two-bedroom bungalow in a middle-class neighborhood where they still held summer block parties, where neighbors still waved and said hello. But now Leila’s mother would lose her home in a few months without Evan’s help.

Leila’s grip on her purse tightened again.

She’d argue. She’d beg. She’d do what she had to do to get Evan to listen to her.

For Ma’s sake, she thought.

“Bride or groom?” someone asked, yanking Leila from her thoughts.

“What?” Leila asked.

She turned to find an usher leaning toward her. An officious-looking woman stood behind him with the kind of pinched face reserved for those who waited at the counter at the DMV and dentists’ offices. A clipboard covered with several stacks of paper was in her hands. The woman discreetly whispered something into her headset while the usher continued to gaze at Leila expectantly.

“Are you with the bride or groom?” He gestured toward the pews. “On which side would you like to be seated?”

That was a tricky question. The bride hadn’t invited Leila to the wedding; neither had the groom. But Leila certainly knew the bride better. Paulette Murdoch, Evan’s sister, was someone Leila had once considered a friend—almost a little sister.

“Umm . . . uh, bride . . . I-I guess,” Leila finally answered.

They noticed her hesitation and exchanged a look that Leila couldn’t decipher. The woman behind the usher whispered into her headset again and waited a beat.

What? Leila thought with panic. What did I do wrong?

The woman stepped forward, plastering on a smile that seemed more forced than friendly.

“I’m sorry. Would you mind giving me your name?”

“Uh . . . why?”

“I just want to make sure you’re seated in the proper area.” The woman then pulled out a pen and pointed down at the stack of papers. Leila could see several names listed along with check marks next to each of them.

You’ve gotta be kidding me, Leila thought.

They actually had a guest list for the church! What did they think? Someone was going to sneak into the wedding?

“You are sneaking into Paulette’s wedding!” the voice in her head chastised.

But still, this was ridiculous! Leila wondered if the guest list had been Evan’s idea.

Wouldn’t want the unwashed masses to wander in off the street, would we? Leila thought sarcastically. Wouldn’t want the poor people to stink up the place! Only the best and the brightest for the M&Ms!

M&Ms or Marvelous Murdochs . . . People had been muttering and snickering over that nickname for decades around Chesterton, using it to derogatorily refer to the Murdochs—one of the most wealthy, respected, and (some said) stuck-up families in town. Of course that was better than their old nickname, the “High Yella Murdochs.” That name had faded once the Murdochs became more equal opportunity and let a few darker folks like Evan’s mom into the family.

“Well, my . . .” Leila paused, wondering how she was going to get out of this one. She most certainly wasn’t on the list. “My name is . . . my name is, uh—”

“Leila! Leila, over here!” someone called to her. Leila turned to find her childhood friend Colleen waving wildly. Colleen sat in one of the pews toward the front of the church.

Saved by the bell!

“Come on, girl!” Colleen shouted, still grinning. “Sit by me!”

“I guess my ‘proper area’ is up there, then?” Leila asked.

The usher laughed while the woman with the clipboard continued to scrutinize her, not looking remotely amused.

“Go right ahead,” he said, waving Leila forward.

She walked down the center aisle to Colleen. As she did so, she ran her hands across the front of her pale yellow dress. It was an old ensemble that she had thrown on at the last minute after raiding her closet. She hadn’t worn it in years, certainly not since she had given birth to her daughter. It felt a little tight and she worried that it wasn’t very flattering. The ill-fitting dress only added to her already heightened anxiety.

“I haven’t seen you in ages, girl! I didn’t know you’d be at Paulette’s wedding,” Colleen cried, removing her heavy leather purse from the pew and plopping it onto her ample lap. She shifted over, causing an elderly woman beside her to glance at her annoyance. Colleen then adjusted the wide brim of her sequin- and feather-decorated royal purple hat. “I saw you come in, but you didn’t notice me waving at you. What were you thinking about, staring off into space like that?”

Leila pursed her lips as she took the seat nearest to the center aisle. “Just took a little trip down memory lane, that’s all.”

“Memory lane?” Colleen frowned in confusion. Suddenly, her brown eyes widened. “Oh, I forgot! This was the church where you got married too, isn’t it?”

Leila nodded.

“Ten years ago last month! Girl, I remember,” Colleen continued. “It was a beautiful day, wasn’t it? And you had looked so pretty in your gown.” She patted Leila’s hand in consolation. “I’m so sorry to hear about you and Brad, by the way.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Leila assured.

I’m certainly not, she thought.

Not only had Brad broken her heart, like Evan had predicted, but that man also had put her through so much pain during the course of their marriage—between the lies, philandering, his get-rich-quick schemes, and his all-around bullshit—that he was lucky she hadn’t thrown her wedding ring down the garbage disposal in outrage. Instead, she had pawned it to pay for a hatchback she’d purchased for her move from San Diego back to Chesterton. She’d had to get a new car after her Mercedes-Benz was repo’d thanks to Brad neglecting to mention that he hadn’t made any payments in four months.

“So it is final then?” Colleen asked. “It’s over between you two?”

“Almost. The divorce should be finalized in a few months, I guess.”

Leila certainly hoped it would be. But frankly, it was no telling with Brad. He had been dragging his feet on the divorce proceedings, saying that his focus was instead on his criminal case. He faced charges for fraud and money laundering because he and his partners had bilked several wealthy clients in Southern California out of more than twenty million dollars with some elaborate Ponzi scheme.

Thanks to Brad, his lawyer, and the California court system, Leila’s life was still in limbo. She felt like she was still swimming her way out the whirlpool Brad kept sucking her into.

“Well, I’m glad you came back here,” Colleen said. “We missed you. I know I certainly did. I’m sorry your divorce is the reason why you came, but . . . you tried your best, right?”

Leila nodded then turned away to stare at the front of the church, wishing desperately that Colleen would drop the topic. She didn’t want to think about Brad right now. She had enough on her plate today.

“You put up with more than most wives would,” Colleen continued, oblivious to Leila’s growing discomfort. “It’s a wonder you lasted as long as you did. I know I wouldn’t have!”

Leila’s smile tightened.

“All that lying and cheating—and now that pyramid-scheme nonsense! That man has dragged you through the mud, Leila. Right on through it!” Colleen shook her head ruefully. “Girl, I would have taken a frying pan to the back of that man’s head years ago!”

It was bad enough to have a wreck of a marriage, to find out that you were sharing a bed every night with a liar and a hustler. But it was ten times worse knowing that everyone in town also knew—and Chesterton was a town that loved its gossip. She was sure her failed marriage and Brad’s criminal charges had been gossip du jour in every beauty salon, church gathering, and coffee shop in Chesterton for months!

Of course, Evan had discovered the truth first, but he hadn’t needed the town gossips to tell him. He had figured it out himself. He had seen through the varnish and spotted the shoddy workmanship underneath. He had seen the real Brad back when she met the smooth-talking Casanova her junior year in college. Though Brad had blinded Leila with his sweet talk, worldliness, and charm, Evan had called him on his bullshit. But she had been too naïve and lovesick at the time to listen to her then best friend. She wished now that she had. It could have spared her a lot of disappointment, agony, and heartbreak in the long run. It could have spared her from severing ties with Evan and the humiliation she was suffering today.

“The flowers are beautiful,” Leila said with a false cheeriness, trying to change the subject from Brad. She looked around her again, taking it all in.

Paulette Murdoch was probably deliriously happy with how the decorations had turned out. The décor fit her to a T.

“I knew everything would be this nice though,” Leila said. “Paulette’s dad never spared an expense, especially when it came to his little girl. I’ve been away for a while, but even I remember that much.”

Colleen shook her head and leaned toward Leila’s ear. “Not her father, honey,” she whispered. “All this was arranged while he was sick in the hospital and after he died seven months ago. It’s Evan who dished out the money for this wedding. He controls the purse strings now!”

Of course he does, Leila thought sullenly. Evan controlled everything. He held all the cards, which was why she was here today.

The last note of the melody the string quartet had been playing ended and the violins started to play Canon in D Major. The chatter in the sanctuary ceased as the church doors opened. The groom and his six groomsmen strolled toward the front of the church, near the pulpit, in single-breasted tuxedos with pink calla lilies pinned to their lapels.

The groom was a handsome man. He stood at six feet, had ebony-hued skin, and wide shoulders.

Just Paulette’s type, Leila thought, remembering when Evan’s little sister had described her ideal man more than a decade ago as Leila painted the teen girl’s toenails.

Leila watched as the bridesmaids began the processional. They were all wearing satin gowns of various designs, but in the same shade of lavender. They clutched bouquets of hydrangea, freesias, and roses. The adorable ring bearer and the flower girl made their way down the center aisle next. The little girl reminded Leila of her own daughter, Isabel.

Suddenly, the music changed again. This time it was Vivaldi’s Spring. Everyone took their cue and rose from the pews in anticipation of the bride’s entrance.

Seconds later, Paulette stood in the church doorway, and she took Leila’s breath away.

Leila couldn’t believe this was the same unassuming teenager she had last seen ten years ago. This woman was beautiful and regal. Her long, dark glossy hair cascaded over her bare burnt-copper-toned shoulders. Her curvy figure was accentuated by the mermaid cut of her strapless wedding gown, which was decorated with Swarovski crystals and lace. A cathedral-length veil trailed behind her dramatically.

Paulette looked so beautiful, so stunning, so absolutely—

Perfect, Leila thought as she stared at her in awe.

And holding Paulette’s satin-gloved hand was Evan. Being the new family patriarch, it only seemed right that Evan would give the bride away today. Judging from the grin on his strikingly handsome face, he seemed proud and happy to play the fatherly role.

Evan hadn’t aged much in the past decade, but he certainly looked more handsome and distinguished than Leila remembered. He had the same coppery skin as his sister and was even taller than the groom. The glasses he’d often worn during childhood were gone. Leila was happy to see he had finally given them up for good. She had always thought he had the most soulful dark eyes that shouldn’t be hidden behind thick, plastic lenses.

As the brother and sister walked down the center aisle toward the altar, a lump formed in Leila’s throat. Her heart ached a little. This was the man whom she had once called her best friend. Once, they had been so close. She had been able to turn to Evan in her darkest moments, to confess to him her worst fears. Now he wouldn’t even return her emails or phone calls. He hadn’t met her daughter. He had gotten married five years ago and she had found out about it months later. She hadn’t even met his wife!

Leila stared at the front pew, looking at the faces of the folks who sat there, wondering if his wife was among them.

She and Evan were practically strangers now. What the hell had happened to them?

Time . . . distance . . . silence, she thought.

But they could still make it right, she told herself, filling up with the warmth of the moment. They could put the past behind them. They could make amends. The guy standing in front of her didn’t seem petty or angry. Maybe she had just misunderstood him. Maybe they just misunderstood each other. Once she told Evan why she needed his help, he would listen. She knew he would!

As Paulette and Evan drew closer, Leila grinned at the bride, whose loving gaze was focused solely on her husband-to-be.

Meanwhile, Evan’s eyes drifted to the wedding guests. He nodded at a few in greeting. Finally, he noticed Leila standing in the pews near the center aisle.

“Hey, Magoo,” she mouthed before giving him a timid wave.

Magoo. It was the nickname she had given him back when they were kids. Whenever he hadn’t worn his glasses, he had squinted like the cartoon character, Mr. Magoo. His nickname for her had been “Bugs” after Bugs Bunny, thanks to her bucked rabbit teeth, which had thankfully been corrected over time by a good set of braces.

When Leila waved at him as he walked past, Evan did a double take. Leila watched, deflated, as his broad smile disappeared. His face abruptly hardened and his jaw tightened. The dark eyes that she had once admired now snapped back toward the front of the church. Evan looked more than irritated at seeing her standing there in the church pew. He looked downright furious.

The warm, mushy feeling that had swelled inside of her abruptly dissolved. Her cheeks flushed with heat. Her heart began to thud wildly in her chest again.

“There goes that fantasy,” the voice in her head scoffed.

She should have known it wouldn’t be easy. Evan was obviously still cross at her and even more so now that she had sneaked into his sister’s wedding.

Fine, she thought angrily. Be that way, Evan.

But she wasn’t giving up. She was still going to find a way to talk to him today—or yell at him or plead with him, whatever was required. She would find a way to plead her mother’s case.

“What the hell is Leila doing here?” Evan snarled as he stood at the bar in the hotel’s immense and elegant ballroom.

“Paulette said she doesn’t remember inviting her,” his equally handsome brother, Terrence, replied. “Maybe there was a mix-up.” The younger man adjusted the bowtie at his throat. “Hey, is this thing on straight? It feels crooked.”

“There was no goddamn mix-up! I can’t believe Leila had the balls to just . . . to just show up!”

And to think, Evan had initially balked at the idea of having a church guest list when the mother of the groom had made the request. She had explained that she wanted to make sure the VIPs, like Mayor Crisanto Weaver and his wife, were properly seated in the church, but Evan suspected that the meddling mama really wanted to make sure no undesirables made it into the wedding. Evan had thought it was not only in poor taste but outright rude to ask people to give their names as they entered the sanctuary, though now he was starting to have second thoughts about that.

The list didn’t work anyway. Leila still made it in!

Terrence lowered his hands from his bowtie. “I know you’re pissed, Ev. But just chill out, all right?” He shifted a shot glass toward Evan. “Here. Have my drink. Maybe it’ll calm you down.”

Evan highly doubted that. He was too hot with anger to be cooled down right now.

Terrence nudged the glass again with the tip of his finger, easing it closer to his older brother. “Go on.”

Evan hesitated for only a few more seconds before he raised his shot glass to his lips and downed his drink in one gulp. He then slammed the shot glass down on the bar’s granite countertop and grimaced. “Ugh, what the hell was that?”

“Tequila,” Terrence answered as he sniffed the shot glass. “Why? What was wrong with it?”

“It tasted like shit!”

“No, it didn’t.” Terrence held up two fingers to the bartender behind the counter, silently conveying that he wanted a double. “You are such a pussy now, man! There was nothing wrong with that drink. You’ve just lost your taste for liquor. That’s what happens when you act like a monk and stop drinking alcohol.”

“You know why I don’t drink,” Evan said tightly, silencing his brother. “Charisse drinks enough for the both of us,” he muttered.

In fact, seeing his wife, Charisse, slur and stumble her way around their home had put Evan off drinking for years. The taste of the stuff he had just imbibed told him he wasn’t missing much.

“She’s lucky I don’t have her ass thrown out,” Evan said.

“Who? Charisse?”

“No, not Charisse! Leila!”

Terrence tiredly closed his eyes, which were a shade of caramel that he had inherited from their father. “So we’re back to Leila, huh? Ev, we all know how you feel about her, but Paulette said she’s okay with her being here. So why don’t you just—”

“But what if I’m not okay with it?” he asked indignantly, pointing at his chest.

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that. I told Paulette you wouldn’t like it. She said . . . and I quote . . . ‘It’s my wedding day and Ev will just have to get over it.’”

Evan blinked in amazement. Did he hear him correctly? “Get over it?”

Terrence shrugged. “That’s what she said.”

Evan turned his menacing gaze to the parquet dance floor, where his mutinous sister and her new husband danced under the misty glow of an orange spotlight. He gritted his teeth. Get over it? So this was the thanks he got for the more than two-hundred thousand dollars he had spent on this little shindig?

Paulette had nearly fainted when she’d seen her Vera Wang wedding gown at the bridal shop and she’d just had to have it. Had Evan balked when he’d seen the fifteen-thousand-dollar bill months later? No.

Had he complained when the wedding guest list got as long as his arm? No.

Had he objected when he’d heard about the ice sculptures, four-foot chocolate fountains, performance artists, and fireworks display planned for the reception? No!

And why had he simply opened his checkbook and wordlessly written check after check?

Because I wanted to make my little sister happy, Evan thought irritably. Whatever Paulette wanted on her special day, he promised he would give it to her. Even their crusty father would have done as much. But how had Paulette repaid Evan’s graciousness? By siding with the one woman he had avoided for almost a decade, the one woman who had betrayed him and broken his heart.

“Look,” Terrence began, reaching for his own shot glass, “Leila is one out of I don’t know how many guests here tonight. I wouldn’t worry about her. You probably won’t run into her again anyway.”

“But what if she’s here to start some shit? What if she’s here to ask about—”

“But what if she’s not? Maybe she came because she just wanted to see Paulette get married.”

Evan squinted in disbelief. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“Yes, I do, and I’ll bet you a hundred bucks that I’m right. If I’m wrong, then you get a hundred bucks and we’ll have her escorted out. Until then, just forget that she’s here and go enjoy yourself. Do some schmoozing.” Terrence smirked. “You’re a Murdoch. It’s what we do best.”

Evan gazed around the darkened ballroom, his expression grim. That was easier said than done. Even if he didn’t see Leila, he knew she was probably out there sitting at one of the banquet tables. Feeling her presence in the room ruined his evening, though he kept telling himself that such feelings were nonsense.

“Just misplaced anger,” a voice in his head said.

Maybe, he conceded.

The person he was really mad at was Charisse, who hadn’t bothered to stay sober enough to at least make it through the entire wedding. She had sat bleary eyed during most of the ceremony, hiding her hangover and her bloodshot baby blues behind tinted sunglasses. After a few drinks during cocktail hour, she was back to her outgoing self, laughing and charming everyone. But, of course, she had started to go downhill by the time the bride and groom had their first dance. She had been constantly tripping over the hem of her evening gown. Her words had become more and more slurred. She had been on the verge of getting full-on drunk and making a real ass of herself when Evan had her spirited away.

His half brother, Dante, had agreed to drive Charisse home. Dante had only connected with the family less than a year ago, not too long after their father’s death. He was eager to be accepted into the Murdoch fold and wanted to be helpful. Thank God he had offered to handle Charisse!

But now Evan had another headache to deal with, thanks to Leila Hawkins crashing his si. . .