The Preacher's Wifey

by DiShan Washington

Genres: African American; African American Urban

Synopsis

With her curvy body, long jet black hair, and a face to rival any super model, Allyson Chase is every man's fantasy, and she sees nothing wrong with sleeping her way to the top to maintain the life of luxury her good looks have afforded her. From athletes to politicians, she's been with them all.
When Byran Ward, a wealthy pastor, enters the scene, Allyson could not be more excited. Never one to pass up an opportunity, she turns on her charm and soon finds herself sharing his bed and swiping his Platinum American Express card.
Beyond his physical attraction to her, Byran has his own agenda. He's vying to become the pastor of Cornerstone Baptist Church, a ten-thousand-member congregation that is sure to give him more of the prestige and notoriety he craves. He matches all of their qualifications except for one: he needs a wife.
Knowing that Allyson is a certified gold digger, he makes her an offer she can't refuse. She can have the life of luxury she desires, an instant social circle of well-known pastors' wives, and anything else she needs to act the part. The only stipulation is she must always remember it's just an arrangement. It's a façade; it's not about love.
No one is more surprised than Allyson when she discovers the material perks are not enough to satisfy her. She develops real feelings for her new husband, and she soon wants more attention and affection than Byran is willing to give her. Allyson is left with a decision. Does she give it all up for true love, or does she stick it out and try to prove that money can buy you happiness?


The Preacher's Wifey is a well-written, page-turning, intense drama that will stay with you long after you read the last page. A wonderful story of growing faith and learning how to rely on God, this novel is full of messages of God's love and forgiveness. This is DiShan Washington's best work yet.  Bravo!
—Essence bestselling author Victoria Christopher Murray

Release date: March 1, 2013

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

One year later . . .

The waves beat against the ocean side. The Bahamian breeze was crisp, light, and refreshing. Byran and I walked hand in hand along the beach, stopping every few feet to pick up seashells that were buried deep within the sand.

“Isn’t this a lovely evening?” I asked, hoping to end the silence that we had been experiencing for the past few hours.

“It is,” he replied simply.

Not able to take it anymore, I asked, “Is something wrong? I noticed you have been really quiet since we arrived this morning. I mean, regardless of the reasons we got married, this is our one-year anniversary. Can we just enjoy ourselves and have a good time?”

“Baby, I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Is it something you want to talk about?”

“Actually, it is. But I will wait until dinner. Let’s enjoy the remainder of our stroll.”

Something in his voice told me it wasn’t good. Well, no matter what he said, I had my own announcement that was sure to perk him up.

“Why don’t we just cut this short and head in to get ready for dinner? I am a little hungry, anyway,” I said.

“You sure? I know how much these long walks on the beach mean to you.”

“Yeah, I am sure. Let’s go back to the villa.”

We turned and went in the direction of our two-bedroom oceanfront villa. As much as I loved walks on the beach, the villa was my favorite place to be. It was spacious and was decorated with vintage wicker furniture, the walls were splashed with shades of ocean blue and white, and beautiful hand-painted art complimented them. It was the perfect oasis for rest.

We slipped into the shower, then threw on our island clothes. I chose to wear a yellow sundress, and he, a white linen suit. We made our way to the casino to dine at Nobu, a Japanese restaurant, which we frequented whenever we were on Paradise Island.

“That sundress really compliments your skin. I love it.”

Finally. He was back to being his charming self. As arrogant as he could be at times, it was this side of him that made it tolerable. I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, baby. I wore it for you. I know you love when I wear bright colors.”

“Yes, I do. Honestly, you look great in anything you wear.”

He sure was making up for such a sour morning and afternoon. Without even needing to look at myself, I knew my face was lit up as bright as the dress I wore and the matching flower in my hair.

“You do too, love. You are looking mighty handsome tonight in your white linen. You know I love it when you wear white. Sexy.com.”

That garnered a smile from him.

“Are you all ready to order your drinks?” the waiter asked.

“The lady will have a glass of Moscato, and I will have a glass of Riesling.”

“No, love, not tonight,” I interjected. “I’ll have a juice blend of pineapple, orange, and cranberry with a splash of Sprite.”

Byran stared at me, no doubt wondering why I would ever turn down a glass of Moscato. It was my favorite wine of all time, and the fact that we were celebrating our anniversary was all the more reason to enjoy a bottle.

“Okay. The lady has switched it up on me tonight,” he said, his eyes asking questions.

“Very well,” the waiter said. “I’ll be back momentarily to take your order.”

“I know you are wondering—”

“You want to explain to me why you turned down Moscato? Are you sick?”

His questions came before I even had the opportunity to explain. “No, I’m not sick. Actually, I feel great.”

His expression showed his confusion.

“I’m pregnant,” I blurted out.

“Here are your drinks,” the waiter said as he placed our drinks down. “Are you ready to place your order?”

Our eyes were glued to each other’s. Byran looked as if his appetite had been ruined.

“Ma’am, do you know what you would like?”

I glanced down at the menu. I already knew what I wanted, and I was eager to turn my attention to something else. “I’ll take the Sea Bass Fish and Chips.”

“Great choice,” the waiter said as he took my menu. “And you, sir?”

Byran forced himself to pull his eyes away from me and look at the menu. After a few minutes he said, “I’ll have the Black Pepper Crust Sea Bass with Balsamic Teriyaki.”

“Ah, another excellent choice,” the waiter replied, also taking his menu. “I neglected to ask, but would you all like an appetizer? Tuna or Salmon Spicy Miso Chips? Or beef sashimi perhaps?”

The waiter’s words were lost in the traffic jam of our thoughts. Realizing he was not going to get an answer to his last question, he dismissed himself from our table.

Immediately my stomach produced gut-strangling knots. The nervousness I felt threatened to consume me. Thankfully, Byran didn’t prolong it.

“You’re pregnant?”

“Yes,” I said, hardly able to contain the excitement that was now beginning to seep into my nervousness.

“How far along are you?”

“I haven’t had my first doctor’s appointment yet. I don’t know.” I reached down into my black Birkin to retrieve the decorative gift box that held the positive test. I had not planned to blurt the news out the way I had, but it seemed to just roll off my tongue. I handed the box to him. “Happy anniversary, baby.”

He took the box without saying anything, opened it, picked up the digital test, placed it back in the box, and put the cover back on it.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Try telling me how elated you are. That would be a great place to start.”

“Allyson, I wish I could tell you that and mean it. Truth is, I don’t feel that way right now.”

His words crushed me like ice. How could he not be happy that I was carrying his child?

Fighting back tears, I said, “Why not? Your flesh and blood, our flesh and blood, is growing inside of me. Byran, that is a beautiful thing.” The tears threatened to overtake me.

“It’s just not the right timing. I mean, I have been pastoring Cornerstone for only two years, we have been married for only a year, and what I wanted to talk to you about tonight . . . Let’s just say this complicates things.”

“That is so selfish of you to say. All of it. Who cares how long you have been the pastor at Cornerstone? What does that have to do with our child? And, just in case you didn’t know this, married people have kids. Did you think we would be exempt?”

“I thought you told me you were on the pill.”

“Come on. Are you serious? Do you think the pill is one hundred percent effective in preventing pregnancy? You have got to be kidding me.”

“You didn’t skip one, did you?”

“What?” I said, a little louder than I should have. The other patrons were starting to cut their eyes in our direction. In this moment I could care less. President Barack Obama could have been dining at the table next to us, and I would not have cared. This man had certainly lost his mind somewhere. “Please don’t tell me you are suggesting I got pregnant on purpose.”

“I’m just saying. We’ve been together for almost three years, been married for one, and you have never come up pregnant. I don’t understand why now.”

I wanted to pick up my knife and throw it right between his eyes. As classy a woman as I was, he was pushing me into the ghetto category real quick. Did he forget I had a contract? Why would I have a need to trap him?

“You are about to make me act in a very non-Christian manner in this restaurant. None of that is important. It is all beside the point. The fact of the matter is I’m pregnant. Point-blank. Period.”

He studied me carefully. Then he took a sip of the Riesling he had ordered. Then he studied me more. And then another sip of the wine. His eyes played the cat-and-mouse game with his glass for several minutes.

“You have to get rid of it,” he finally managed to get out. “It’s just not the right time, Allyson. We have to be prepared to bring a child in the world, and we are not prepared. It would cause so many problems with so many things.” He paused, as if to reconcile his final statement with his thoughts. “Yeah, you have to get rid of it.”

My gasp was heard all over the restaurant. Every diner in the restaurant turned to focus his or her attention on us. But I could no longer help it. And just like the green beans my grandmother used to snap on the front porch, I snapped. I jumped up from the table, picked up my water glass, and tossed the liquid right into Byran’s face. Not only that, but I threw the glass to the floor, causing it to shatter into little, tiny pieces.

“Were you prepared for that?” I shouted.

I stormed out, leaving a horrified, embarrassed Byran sitting at the table, looking as if the rapture had come and he had been left behind.

Who the hell did he think he was?

His words played over and over in my mind. How could he ask me to get rid of our child, as if he or she was a piece of trash or something? Surely he was delirious if he believed I would go through with something like that.

The sound of the waves dancing along the beach was a calming factor. Ever since getting back to the villa, I had been lying in the comforting embrace of a white wicker chaise, crying. I cried so much, I was sure my tear ducts were drained dry.

Somehow I had seen the entire thing going differently in my head. I assumed he would be excited, and that whatever he was going through that had caused him to be somber would be temporarily forgotten as we celebrated the impending birth of our child. Not so.

I was so lost in thought, I did not hear the door to the balcony slide open.

“Allyson?”

Ugh. What did he want?

“Yes?”

“Are you busy?”

“Does it look like it?” His question was redundant and irritating.

“Listen, I know you are upset, and you have every right to be. There is no excuse for my attitude at the restaurant.”

He had found his senses somewhere on his way back to the villa.

“You are exactly right. No excuse, Byran. How could you be so insensitive?” I sat up so I could turn to face him. “I am pregnant with your child, and you make me feel like I did it on purpose or all by myself. It takes two to make a baby, you know.”

The tears started flowing again.

He walked over to me and wiped them away. His sweet gesture made them come faster, harder. I didn’t know if it was my out-of-control hormones or the sensitivity of the situation, but before I could stop myself, I was bent over, weeping on his shoulder. He wrapped both arms around me and held on to me tightly. For the next ten minutes I felt like he really cared about me. I felt as if I was the woman he truly loved with his entire being, and not the woman he had an arrangement with.

“Allyson, I did not mean to sound so cold and callous. And I am sorry. Words cannot express how regretful I am for that coming out the way that it did. I can only imagine how it made you feel. Because no matter what, you are a human being with real feelings and emotions, and although neither of us married for love, I think we both care deeply for each other.”

I remained silent.

He was right. Neither of us married for love, but after a year of being with him and pretending to be a happy couple, I had begun to believe our lie. Finding out I was pregnant with his child had only increased my feelings for him.

“Look at me,” he said as he lifted my chin. “Stop crying, okay? We will figure this out.”

“What is there to figure out? Do you really want me to have an abortion?”

“I cannot deny that the timing could not be any worse.”

“But why? Things are going great with the church. Cornerstone adores you. Matter of fact, the membership is at its highest, and so is your salary. The car dealerships are doing well. The funeral home business in Chicago is booming. So I know it’s not about money. You have everything just like you told me you wanted it to be when I first met you a couple of years ago.”

“Baby, this is not about money.”

“Then what is it about?” My level of confusion was increasing by the second. “Why is this a bad time?”

“I could never make you understand now. Prior to this baby, you would have understood perfectly. I will say our arrangement did not include kids. I needed you so I could seal the nomination to be the pastor at Cornerstone. I never even thought about having a family... with you. Remember? This was an—”

“Arrangement. I know. You just said that, and besides, you never let me forget it.”

“But you were fine with it in the beginning. I asked you from the start if you would be able to keep your feelings at bay and see being my wife as your job—not your duty. And you assured me that you would. And I pay good money for you to be my wifey. You shop in the best stores. You eat at the best restaurants. You go on monthly excursions with the other pastors’ wives in our circle. You live in a ten-thousand-square-foot home. You drive a BMW seven-sixty five days a week and a two-door Porsche Panamera on the weekend. You have unlimited access to my platinum American Express. You are on at least three of my bank accounts.

“Allyson, I have afforded you a very good life. You knew I was not in love with you. You knew that I probably never would be. This was all about me making my dreams come true. It was about me meeting one final requirement to become the senior pastor at the most highly sought-after church in the nation.”

“But . . .”

“But you thought over time you would change me, didn’t you? You thought that after living together and pretending to be a happy couple, I would somehow walk in the door and realize I was really in love with you. Allyson, I’m not. And you being pregnant just changes things. It confuses me. I am not sure how to feel about a child with a woman I am not deeply in love with.”

“That still doesn’t explain why this is bad timing. You are right. I knew you were not in love with me when we mutually decided I would be your wifey. You are also partially correct in that I figured over time we would be a real couple . . . actually in love with each other. But regardless of any of that, I am pregnant with our child. This child is innocent and has nothing to do with what can really be defined as our buffoonery. Not many people agree to have a relationship with someone based on terms and conditions. But we did it.”

“I am not debating that.”

“So what, then, is your point, Byran? Why does this have to be such a bad thing? How will this affect our contractual agreement, because in my mind it doesn’t complicate things at all. What are you not saying?”

He got up and went to lean over the balcony. He stared out into what had now become the darkness of the night for several minutes before he spoke again.

“Do you really want the truth, Allyson? Because the truth often hurts.”

“Let’s not talk about what hurts. It can’t hurt any worse than the hurt I’ve felt tonight.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Byran, just spit it out. Stop the shenanigans and just say it.”

“The woman I am in love with . . . is pregnant too.” Those words froze in midair like the characters from the film The Matrix before they hit my heart like 9 mm bullets. I shook my head in hopes of waking up from what I was sure was a horrible nightmare. Surely, I did not hear what I thought I just heard.

I convinced myself it was all a joke, and laughed incredulously. He could be such a comedian at times. I dismissed his statement, got up, and walked inside. I could feel his stares boring holes into my back. I went into the kitchen, took a juice glass from the cupboard, reached into the cabinet that held the liquor, and poured myself a shot of Macallan Scotch. I turned up the glass and swallowed the Scotch before it could splash my throat.

I poured another shot.

And another one.

By the time I was done, I had taken six shots.

My stomach immediately became furious with its contents, and I had to rush to the bathroom. I gripped the porcelain throne and released the Scotch from my insides. I stayed there long after I had thrown up in hopes of regurgitating the pain, the disappointment, the hurt, and . . . the baby.

“Are you okay?”

Was he still here? Why in the hell was he still here?

“Allyson?”

Without saying anything, I found the strength to make my way to the sink. I grabbed a towel that was hanging from the brass rack, turned on the cold water, and wet my face. Maybe the coolness of the water would somehow freeze the tears that were falling again. The scent of Byran’s cologne, Gucci Guilty, filled my nostrils. Without even needing to turn around, I knew he had come into the bathroom.

He grabbed me by the waist and held on to me. I knew I should push him away, but I didn’t have the strength to do it. It was then I accepted the truth—my truth—that somehow over the course of time I had fallen in love with this man. And even though he had just diced my heart like a ripe tomato, I had to fight for him.

For us.

For our child.

He put his face in the crease of my neck, and I lifted my head to see our reflection in the mirror. We were the perfect-looking couple. Our public showcase was a hit among our friends, our family, and even the people at the church. All I needed to do was convince him that he loved me.

He didn’t know it yet, but I was going to make him love me.

I was going to make sure that before it was over, I became the real wife and not just the wifey.

My mother and I sat on the patio overlooking my Olympic-sized pool, and she listened as I recapped the events of the past weekend. She didn’t seem fazed at all that my anniversary trip had ended up being a nightmare from hell.

“Allyson, you have to look at this more than one way,” she said as she sipped on merlot. “I know it hurt you to hear what he had to say, but the point is you are still his legal wife. It doesn’t matter who he is in love with. You are Mrs. Byran Ward. He chose to marry you. Whoever is also pregnant by him is the sidepiece. The sidepieces never mean anything.”

“That would be the case if he was or had ever been married to me for love. Technically, I am just a legal sidepiece. I have his last name. The other woman has his heart.”

I stared into space as that reality settled into my brain. My husband was in love with another woman. And she was pregnant.

“Do you know who she is?”

“I have no idea. But I am certain she is beautiful. Probably successful.”

“Let’s not speculate. We need to find out who she is.”

“That is my least concern right now.”

“No offense, but if you intend to keep your man, you need to know who the competition is and what she’s about.”

“My contract with him basically states that the only way he can divorce me is if I embarrass him, expose our arrangement, or commit infidelity. None of which I intend to do. So I’m not worrying about keeping him per se. Actually, the truth is, I never had him.”

“So you did not think to include that same clause for yourself? Because if this little secret comes out that he has another woman pregnant, it would most definitely embarrass you.”

“Mother, I wasn’t thinking about that then. Everything about the deal favors him. After all, he was the one who came up with it, and I was the one who agreed. I’m sure whoever this woman is, if she’s in love with him, she won’t be saying anything to anybody about him being the father of her child.”

“I still say you need to find out who she is. We need to make her go away.”

“Go away?”

“Yes, go away. Especially if she lives around here.”

“I never even considered that she might live here in Atlanta. Oh my goodness. What if she does? How often does he see her? Is that where he is when he isn’t here at home?”

It was too much. The thoughts. The questions. The what-ifs. All. Too. Much.

“Allyson, now is not the time to allow yourself to be frazzled. You are smarter than this. Byran is not the only successful man you have been with. You are accustomed to money and to men catering to you. You seem to be getting soft when it comes to him. First thing you have to do is push your feelings aside and handl. . .