the fact remained that Morgan Lowell, the man she’d married, and whose secret she’d kept—still kept—had died under suspicious circumstances in a foreign country after trying to get away with defrauding his employer. Pantelides Inc. had kept a lid on the fact to protect itself from adverse publicity.
What no one realised was that this was yet another morsel of unwanted truth she had to keep to herself; another detail she couldn’t share with Morgan’s parents, who had idolised their son and remained devastated by his death. She’d been forced to gloss over the truth for their sake. Again...
She clenched her hands and forced herself to focus. She had more important things to think about now, like how she could stand up and speak of her husband when another man’s face, the fevered recollection of another man’s hands and the thrust of his hard body repeatedly flashed through her brain.
Dear God, what had she done? What had she been thinking?
Although guilt clawed through her belly, the shame she expected to feel remained way below an acceptable level. In fact she barely felt anything except the forceful presence of her one-night lover, deep inside her, surrounding her, pulsing around her like a live electric current with every breath she took.
She’d taken three showers this morning, all in the vain hope of washing herself free of his scent. But it was as if he’d invaded her thoughts as well as her pores. Behind her, whispered voices surged higher and she heard shuffling as the congregation made way for new arrivals.
Perla’s breath stalled as she caught the familiar scent again. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. God, please give me strength because I’m seriously losing it here.
When her elderly neighbour and only friend Mrs Clinton’s hand covered hers, she gratefully clutched it. The discerning woman had wisely put herself between Perla and Morgan’s parents but she felt their heartbreak with every fibre of her being.
For their sake, for the kindness and open warmth they’d shown her, she had to keep it together. They were the reason she’d borne this humiliation for so long. Morgan had known that. Had banked on it, in fact, and used it as the perfect blackmail tool when she’d threatened to leave him—
‘Not long before it starts. Don’t worry, dear; in less than an hour, it’ll be over. I went through the same thing with my Harry,’ she whispered. ‘Everyone means well, but they don’t know the best they can do in times like these is to leave you alone, do they?’
Perla attempted a response and only managed a garbled croak. Mrs Clinton patted her hand again reassuringly. With relief, she heard the organ starting up. As she stood, Perla caught the scent again, and quickly locked her knees as she swayed.
She glanced to the side and saw a tall, imposing man with a thin scar above his right eye standing next to a striking blonde.
Sakis Pantelides, the man who’d phoned two weeks ago with news of her husband’s death. His condolences had been genuine enough but after her discovery of just what Morgan had done to his company, Perla wasn’t so sure his attendance here was an offer of support.
Her gaze shifted to the proprietorial arm he kept around the woman, his fiancée, Brianna Moneypenny, and she felt a twinge of shame-laced jealousy.
He caught her gaze and he gave a short nod in greeting before returning his attention to the front.
She faced forward again, but the unsettling feeling that had gripped her nape escalated. The feeling grew as the ceremony progressed. By the time the priest announced the eulogy reading, Perla’s stomach churned with sick nerves. She pushed it away. Whatever emotional turmoil she was experiencing had nothing to do with the Pantelides family and everything to do with what she’d done on Tuesday night. And those memories had no place here in this chapel, today.
No matter what Morgan had put her through, she had to do this without breaking down. She had to endure this for his parents’ sake.
They’d offered her the only home she’d ever known, and the warmth she’d only ever dreamed about as a child.
Another pat from Mrs Clinton gave her the strength to keep upright. She thought she heard a sharp intake of breath behind her but Perla didn’t turn around. She needed every ounce of focus to stride past the coffin holding her dead husband...the husband who, while he’d been alive, had taken great pleasure in humiliating her; the husband who even in death...seemed to be mocking her.
She got to the lectern and unfolded the piece of paper. Nerves gripped her and, although she knew it was rude, she couldn’t look up from the sheet. She had a feeling she would lose her nerve if her gaze strayed from the paper in her hand.
Clearing her throat, she moved closer to the microphone.
‘I met Morgan at the uni bar on my first day on campus. I was the wide-eyed, clueless outsider who had no clue what went into a half-fat, double-shot pumpkin spice latte—except maybe the pumpkin—and he was the second-year city dude every girl wanted to date. Even though he didn’t ask me out until I was in my last year, I think I fell in love with him at first sight...’
Perla carried on reading, refusing to dwell on how overwhelmingly wrong she’d been about the man she’d married; how utterly gullible she must have been to have had the wool pulled over her eyes so effectively until it was too late.
But now was not the time to think of past mistakes. She read on, saying the right thing, honouring the man who right from the very beginning of their marriage had had no intention of honouring her.
‘...I’ll always remember Morgan with a pint in his hand and a twinkle in his eye, telling rude jokes in the uni bar. That was the man I fell in love with and he’ll always remain in my heart.’
Unshed tears clogged her throat again. Swallowing, she folded the sheet and finally gathered the courage to look up.
‘Thank you all for coming—’
She choked to a halt as her gaze clashed with a pair of sinful, painfully familiar hazel eyes.
No.
Oh, God, no...
Her knees gave way. Frantically, she clutched at the lectern. She felt her hand begin to slip. Someone shouted and moved towards her. Unable to breathe or halt her crumpling legs, she cried out. Several people rushed towards her. Hands grabbed her before she fell, righted her, helped her down from the dais.
And, through it all, Arion Pantelides stared at her from where he stood next to the man she’d guessed was Sakis Pantelides, icy condemnation blazing from his eyes and washing over her until her whole body went numb.
* * *
Ari tried to breathe past the vice squeezing his chest, past the thick anger and acrid bitterness lashing his insides. The pain that rose alongside it, he refused to acknowledge.
Why would he feel pain? He had no one to blame but himself. After all life had thrown at him, he’d dared to believe he could reach out and seek goodness when there was none to be had. Only disappointment. Only heartache. Only disgust.
But still the anger came, thick and fast and strong, as he stared at Pearl...no, Perla Lowell, the woman who’d lied about her name and slithered into his bed while her husband’s body was barely cold.
Disgust roiled through him. Even now, the memory of what they’d
