The Wife Before

by Shanora Williams

Genres: Women's Fiction

Synopsis

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Shanora Williams weaves an insidiously sexy, twist-filled novel in which a new bride’s fairytale marriage fast becomes a nightmare of secrets …
Samira Wilder has never had it easy, and when her latest lousy job goes south, things only promise to get harder. Until she unexpectedly meets a man who will change her life forever. Renowned pro golfer Roland Graham is wealthy,
handsome, and caring, and Samira is dazzled. Best of all, he seems to understand her better than anyone ever has. And though their relationship moves a bit fast, when Roland proposes, Samira accepts. She even agrees to relocate to his
secluded Colorado mansion. After all, there’s nothing to keep her in Miami, and the mansion clearly makes him happy. Soon, they are married amid a media firestorm, and Samira can’t wait to make a fresh start—as the second Mrs. Graham …
Samira settles into the mansion, blissfully happy—until she discovers long-hidden journals belonging to Roland’s late wife, Melanie, who died in a tragic accident. With each dusty page, Samira comes to realize that perhaps it was no accident at
all—that perhaps her perfect husband is not as perfect as she thought. Even as her trust in Roland begins to dwindle and a shadow falls over her marriage and she begins to fear for her own life, Samira is determined to uncover the truth of
Melanie’s troubled last days. But even good wives should know that the truth is not always what it seems …

Release date: June 28, 2022

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

I often think back to the very moment my whole life changed. I was twenty-eight years old, taking each day as it was. I didn’t really have much going for me, and not much to look forward to, but I didn’t mind that. I was a floater, moving from place to place, going with the flow, not usually one to complain.

But now, I can’t help going back to when my life took the slightest turn and paved the way toward Roland Graham.

It all started the day I was supposed to meet my brother, Kell, for lunch. I woke up to the blaring alarm on my phone and groaned, jamming a finger down on the screen to stop the noise. I missed the screen and sat up with a huff, snatching up my phone and pressing the button hard to make the alarm stop.

The label on the alarm said Work. I rolled my eyes and flopped back down on my bed, burrowing myself beneath the comforter.

Less than a minute later and my phone rang again. A photo of Kell and me appeared on the screen, both of us smiling up at the camera with alcoholic drinks in hand, and the song “Gold Digger” by Kanye West and Jamie Foxx playing as his ringtone. He’d set it as the ringtone during one of our drunk nights out a couple months ago and I never got around to changing it.

“It’s nine in the morning, Kell,” I answered groggily. “What do you want?”

“Just checking to see if we’re still on for today, sis.”

“Of course we are. Every Wednesday, right?” I sat up, pressing my back against the wall. I had no headboard, not even a bed frame. Just a mattress on top of wooden pallets that I’d found, sanded, and painted white. I think of it as bohemian. My roommate, Shelia, thinks of it as a homeless move.

“Right—no, babe.” Kell’s voice was distant. “That’s the tie for my meeting today. Yes, I’ll talk to her about it later.”

“Talk about what?”

“Sorry, I was talking to Ana.”

I rolled my eyes at the mention of Ana. “Ah, right.”

“Anyway, see you at twelve?”

“Yes, Kellan,” I said through a yawn. “Twelve it is.”

“Good. And please try to be on time, Mira. I have to meet a client afterward.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll be on time. Promise.”

“Good. See you then.”

Kell hung up abruptly and I turned back over in bed, sleeping for another hour.

“You’re late.” Kell stared at me from across the two-top table, his dark brown eyes narrowed, and his lips pressed thin. “I told you to be here on time. I literally just told you this morning, Mira.”

“I know, I know! I’m sorry! I was just really tired this morning because I spent all yesterday job hunting—”

“Job hunting?” he interrupted. “You lost another job, Samira?”

“Yeah. I was let go for being late too many times.” I waved a dismissive hand.

“Are you serious? I set that job up for you with Miranda. I told her you were accountable and good for her store. She’s a client of mine! Do you realize how that’s going to make me look?”

“Yeah, I know, but it’s not my fault, Kell! And to be frank, your client is a bitch and we weren’t meshing, so it’s fine. I’ll get another job, send her a fancy forgive-me basket or something.” I sipped water from one of the glasses already placed on the table for us. “I’m also tired because Shelia wanted to cheer me up for being fired, so we got drinks last night at this new club and we stayed out a little too late—”

“Look, Mira. Just stop.” Kell lifted a firm, impatient hand in the air.

I blinked and clamped my mouth shut, staring at him.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses anymore.”

“Um . . . okay. Noted. What’s with the attitude, though? Is this about me being a little late getting here? I’m always a little late, Kell! I’m sorry! What’s going on with you?”

Kell looked me over twice and then sighed, the seriousness that was once gripping his features now fading. I took a moment to really look at him since walking into the restaurant.

He wore a navy-blue suit with an olive-green tie over a creaseless tan button-down shirt. His hair was freshly cut, a gold watch on his right wrist.

Kell had been dressing different lately. Before, he’d wear plaid button-down shirts and khakis or black slacks. But now it was crisp three-piece suits, flashy watches, and weekly haircuts when before he wouldn’t bother going to a barbershop until absolutely necessary. All of these changes came shortly after he proposed to Analise seven months prior.

Despite my brother’s done-up appearance, I could see the tiredness in his eyes. To the average man, they’d see a dapper guy, handsome and alert, but as his only sibling of twenty-eight years I could see right through whatever façade he was trying to put on.

“Kell,” I called when he turned his head to look out of the window, at the Miami traffic. He hadn’t answered my question and he was avoiding my eyes. Something was clearly wrong. “You’re worrying me now. Did something happen?”

“No, nothing happened.” He sighed and I lifted my head, relaxing my shoulders a little. “Look, Mira, there’s no easy way for me to say this so I’m just going to put it out there, okay? I can’t help you out anymore.”

I frowned, confused. “Help me out? With what?”

“As far as finances go. I can’t keep sending you money every month anymore.”

“Why?” I countered quickly. “What happened?”

“Ana is pregnant,” he murmured, and immediately lowered his gaze. “I just found out yesterday. I wanted to tell you in person, over lunch.”

“Wow!” I stared at him, stunned. “Pregnant? Wow, Kellan, that’s—that’s so great! I didn’t know you guys were planning on having a baby so soon.”

He looked away again. “We weren’t.”

“Oh. But this is good news, right?”

“Yeah—well, I mean as far as baby-related news goes. It’s good. But as you know, with a baby comes expenses and not only that, Ana wants to bump the wedding date up now.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Silence thickened the space between us. “So it was Ana’s idea to cut me off?”

“No—Mira, don’t think of it like that.” He sat forward. “We’re just trying to get our ducks in a row here. You have to understand.”

I folded my arms and worked my jaw.

“We have a baby on the way and we want to get married, sis. We’ll need a bigger house, a place with a yard and all that. I’ll be getting a promotion at the firm soon too and it couldn’t be coming at a better time.”

My head shook hard. “This is all Ana, Kell. I know it! She fucking hates me! I mean she called me a moocher at your Christmas party in front of everyone last year and never even apologized for it. She’s been waiting for this day. She’s been so ready to tell you to cut me off for something more important. Your baby is more important than helping your sister and she knows it. She also knows I’d never stand in the way of you and my niece or nephew. I would never, no matter how much I’m struggling.”

“Mira—” Kell reached for my hand across the table but I moved it away.

“No—it’s fine, Kell. It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. My eyes burned and my throat thickened from unshed tears, but I refused to cry in front of him. All he would have done was tell Ana that I cried in public, made me look like an even sadder bitch to her, and she’d rub his shoulders with her pasty hands and tell him it was okay—that everything would be fine for me because I’m “so smart” and “so beautiful” and have a whole life ahead of me. She was so full of shit. Our mother would have despised her.

I pushed back in my chair and placed the strap of my tote on my shoulder. “Well, I don’t want to hold you up for your important meeting so I’ll just text you later.”

“We can still have a quick lunch, Mira. I’ll pay for it. It’s no problem.”

I scoffed at him. Pay for what would probably be our last lunch together? He paid for every lunch we had—it was our thing and he never minded taking care of the bill. But with his baby news and knowing that Ana was probably in her cozy, overly furnished condo that my brother paid for monthly, laughing about this in between puking her guts out over the toilet, I refused to entertain lunch today. I’d only end up saying something rude about his fiancée that would make matters worse, and neither of us needed that right now.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to you later.”

I turned and walked out of the restaurant, ignoring Kell’s pleas for me to come back.

My brother was all I had left and yes, I was upset about this news. Not about the baby in particular, but the way that it was happening.

I was twenty-eight years old and going nowhere. Truth was I relied on him too much and I knew it. He knew it too, but being his only sister and the only immediate family he had left in the world, he never minded taking care of me when I needed him—or at least he never acted like it.

He always looked out for me. If I needed help with a bill, he gave me money. When I needed a car, he cosigned and helped me buy one. When I moved in with Shelia as her roommate and had a few rough months where I couldn’t pay the rent, he helped me out with no problem.

But then he moved in with Ana and all of that started changing. I was certain it was because she was in his ear, saying little things that got to his head and making him recognize my flaws. Making him resent me.

Now he’s about to get married and has a baby on the way. His career is soaring—big-time manager of the biggest public relations firm in Miami—meanwhile I can’t hold a job for more than two months.

In truth, it’s only a matter of time before a person cuts off their deadweight so they can evolve, and I guess what hurt most in that moment was that I wasn’t at all prepared for it.

“So, he cut you off? Just like that?” Shelia stood in our kitchen with a knife in hand, slicing through a cucumber. She was prepping salads for her and her boyfriend, Ben, who would be coming over any minute.

She looked gorgeous in her sleeveless turtleneck top and low-rise dark jeans. The top was a light purple that complemented her golden-brown skin. Her hair was braided into two cornrows with gold jewels perfectly spaced throughout each section. Shelia always looked put together, unlike me. I hardly ever wore makeup unless I was going to a club or party, and my wardrobe didn’t consist of bright colors like my roommate’s. Neutrals were a favorite, but I did love bursts of color in jewelry, and especially loved me a pair of gold hoop earrings. I often wore crop tops, high-waisted jeans, and sandals. My hair had been natural since birth, though I did have it silk-wrapped once and didn’t care for it. The unruly look suited me best, but I did love a good perm rod two-strand twist-out. If not the twist-out, I was definitely rocking a springy afro.

“Yep. Just like that.”

“I bet you it was that girlfriend of his.”

“Fiancée,” I corrected, watching her finish off the cucumber.

“Girlfriend, fiancée, wife, whatever! She’s a whole mess and I couldn’t stand her from the moment I met her. What makes him want to marry that valley girl anyway? Your brother can do so much better than that.”

“I don’t know, but I’m telling you, Shelia, she’s behind all of this. I know Kell, and he wouldn’t just spring something like that on me after finding out she’s pregnant. He wouldn’t just cut me off right away like that. I bet you a hundred bucks she gave him an ultimatum. Her and the baby, or his sister.” I sipped my smoothie. “Evil witch.”

“Evil indeed.”

“What the hell am I gonna do now? I was going to ask him for a little money today to cover the electric bill, but that’s clearly out the window.”

Shelia looked at me beneath her eyelashes, and as she did there was a knock at the door. “I don’t know, girl,” she said, placing the knife down and walking around the counter. “But you need to think quick because I’m not your brother. I can’t keep covering for you.” She smirked over her shoulder before unlocking and opening the door to let Ben in.

I looked away when they kissed, adjusting myself on the stool.

“What’s up, Samira?” Ben followed Shelia into the kitchen. Unlike Shelia, Ben dressed down. He always did. His go-to was basketball shorts and a plain, solid colored T-shirt, but since they had a date in the park today, he stepped it up a notch with cargo shorts and a Nike shirt. He was cute, but I could never see the attraction Shelia had to him. He was cute in a little brother kind of way. Twenty-seven and still with a bit of baby face.

“Oh, not much. Just trying to figure out the purpose of my life right now.”

He laughed. “The purpose of your life? That’s new.”

“She needs a job,” Shelia said, opening a pack of carrots.

“Another job? Damn, Samira. You’ll have about fifty jobs before you turn thirty at this point.” He and Shelia laughed, and I rolled my eyes.

“This is not funny, you guys! I need to find something soon. I can’t keep being out of work like this. Today was a rude-ass awakening and proof that I really need to get my shit together before I end up in a damn dump somewhere.”

“Okay, okay,” Shelia said in a more serious tone, but she was still smiling.

“Well, my cousin is bartending for a party tonight,” Ben said, opening the fridge and taking out a bottle of water. “He’s getting paid ninety dollars an hour to bartend one of the counters at Lola Maxwell’s mansion. Ninety damn dollars an hour.”

“Lola Maxwell?” I asked, stunned. “Really?”

“Who the hell is Lola Maxwell?” Shelia asked mindlessly, slicing the carrots.

“You don’t know who Lola Maxwell is? She runs that nonprofit charity for pregnant ladies? Super rich and super pretty? Over a million followers on Instagram? She’s all over the local magazines.”

“Don’t even try to explain it to her,” Ben muttered after taking a swig of his water. “She doesn’t keep up with famous people. You’d think she’d know Lola Maxwell though, since she’s local. I swear you’re so oblivious sometimes, baby.”

Shelia pointed the knife at him with narrowed eyes and I laughed. Their banter was always hilarious.

“Anyway, he told me earlier they’re looking for waiters and waitresses to serve drinks, bounce around and shit,” Ben went on. “I know that’s not really your thing, but he told me they’re paying three hundred dollars for the whole night. Just gotta be there on time and stay ’til the end to get paid. They need a handful of people and it’s an exclusive gig, so you can probably get in if you sign up now. He sent me the link where you need to apply. I can send it over to you. I was going to take him up on it, but I’ve got a date with my girl and can’t bail on her.”

Shelia puckered her lips, blew an air kiss, and winked at him.

“Ugh, I hate waitressing. They’re the worst jobs and if it’s at Lola Maxwell’s place, you know there are going to be rich, stuck-up people all over the place.”

“It’s just one night, Samira,” Shelia stated, giving me a stern eye. “You serve some people, show your face, and then hide in the bathrooms for most of the night if you have to. Doesn’t matter as long as you get those three hundred dollars.”

“Okay—I know, I know.” I recognized that tone of hers. If I kept slacking on the bills, she’d replace me. No hard feelings, of course. But paying the bills on time was part of our agreement. Shelia was a stickler about overdue bills. She’d covered me a few times before in order to avoid being late for a bill, but with no job, no more help from my brother, and a looming electric bill, this waitressing gig was the only hope I had right now—at least until I found another job.

I focused on Ben. “Fine. Send me the link.”

It was so hard for me to stay consistent with jobs, but to be fair, I grew up with a mother who overworked herself because my father bailed on us when I was three. He just up and left, didn’t pack any of his clothes, didn’t say goodbye to any of us, but he did take the savings my mother had in her safe as a rude farewell.

That burned her and we all know a woman scorned is not one to play with. She had something to prove and she worked hard to earn back every penny he’d stolen.

In the mornings, breakfast would be on the stove or in the microwave for Kell and me and she’d be out the door and headed to work before we ventured to the bus stop. At night, she’d show up at home briefly to swap out her daytime outfit for her diner uniform, kiss us on the cheek as we did our homework, and peel.

The truth was our mother didn’t have to work so hard. She’d gotten back the money that was stolen plus more within three years, and what she made from her job as a legal secretary was enough to cover the bills, according to what Kell told me. He knew more about what went on with our momma. He always did.

But like I said, a woman scorned is no joke. She had a mission, and that mission was to save up enough money for us to have a cushion and for her children to go to college. She’d accomplished that mission too, but it didn’t come without repercussions.

She had a stroke when she was forty-nine. Passed away at fifty-two. She’s been gone for seven years now but the emotion of that loss still lingers. Everyone who spoke at her funeral talked so fondly about how hard she worked, how dedicated she was, but they didn’t see what I saw. They didn’t see Momma coming home at midnight or later, bone-tired with bags under her eyes. They didn’t wake up to hear her crying at night, asking God how she was going to make it.

Momma never did love again. She hooked up here and there, yes (and always tried to hide it), but she didn’t fall for anyone. She just worked. Constantly. Always missing my band practices or Kell’s football games. Not there as often to brush my hair or even help me pick a prom dress.

Sadly, my brother is following in her footsteps. Working extra hours and constantly on the move. I worry for him, and that worry is probably why I refuse to stress myself out over working.

A job is a job and money is only an object. Sure, it’s nice to have money, but people—Americans especially—have become so numb to working. They get up at the same time every day, slave away for hours, mentally drain themselves, and for what? All so some rich, corporate man can sit in his big mansion and watch the numbers climb in his bank account?

I don’t mind working for what I need, and I don’t blame the rich for being the rich. After all, we all have our roles and we must play them. It’s the circle of life. But my problem with it all is that my mother allowed money to be her end-all, and I refuse to follow in those footsteps.

She raised me and Kell to work hard for what we wanted, no matter how hard life became, but I could never wrap my mind around such a mentality.

Why kill myself over a check that wouldn’t even last a week?

Why trudge through muddy waters when there were so many other options?

Options like the night of Lola Maxwell’s party. It was a beautiful Miami night and I had one job—to serve. Serve the rich people standing around the pools and cocktail tables with drinks in hand, get them drunk, feed them, and even compliment them if that’s what they wanted for a good night.

I can admit that, though I hated waitressing, I was pretty damn good at it. I knew how to keep a level head when a person got rowdy. I could balance a tray on one hand like an acrobat on a tightrope. I was good at knowing when not to show up, when not to hover, and how to swindle a person to tip more, though tipping wasn’t required that night.

It was so easy to me . . . but tonight my skills were against me. I didn’t want to be at that mansion, dressed in the itchy collared shirt I’d found in the back of my closet, or the black slacks that were a little too snug on me now. Jazz music was playing and most of the guests were engrossed in deep conversations, which made this feel more like a soirée type of event than an actual party, and it was so humid outside that I could feel each coil of my natural hair loosening and turning into frizz.

I was bothered, but only because I’d gotten a text from Kell right before arriving for the job.

Miranda says she’ll give you your job back if you can close for her tomorrow.

I rolled my e. . .