Hidden in Lies Read online

  Hidden in Lies

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Stay Tuned

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Hidden in Lies

  Copyright © 2015 by Rachael Duncan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form of by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes, if done so constitutes a copyright violation.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.

  Edited by:

  Nichole Strauss with Perfectly Publishable

  Interior Design and Formatting by:

  Christine Borgford with Perfectly Publishable

  Cover Designed by:

  Marisa Shor with Cover Me, Darling

  Twelve years ago ...

  “WHAT COLOR WILL it be this time?” she asks me.

  Tapping my index finger to my lips, I look through the different bottles trying to decide. “How about ... pink?”

  “Then pink nails it is,” she says. Hopping up onto the kitchen counter, I let my legs dangle as my mom pulls a chair up in front of me. She’s been painting my toes for as long as I can remember. Even when I tell her I’m old enough to do it on my own, she insists. Saying something about it being our bonding time or something. Whatever, it seems to make her happy, and I kinda like it too.

  The wand brushes slowly over each nail, as she takes her time so she doesn’t mess up. “Tell me, how’s school?”

  “School’s fine.” I’m in the ninth grade, and really I’d rather do anything than go to school, but Mom always tells me how important it is.

  “It better be more than just fine, Elizabeth,” my mom scolds. “You’ve got good grades this quarter, right?”

  “Yes, Mom,” I say in a monotone voice. Looking up, she cocks her eyebrow at me and I know I’d better watch my attitude. “I think I might get a B in biology, but everything else I have A’s in.”

  “Good, you’ve got a couple weeks left before grades come out. Maybe you can find a study buddy or something.”

  “Well, there is this guy in my class that offered to help me,” I beat around the bush a little. I’ve never taken an interest in boys before. They’re all so dumb and immature. The popular guy in our school’s major accomplishment is that he can burp the alphabet. Eww. The thought alone creeps me out.

  “A guy, huh? Is this guy cute?” she asks. Her eyes stay on my nails so she doesn’t see the blush that creeps across my cheeks, but I guess my silence gives me away. Glancing up at me, her eyes widen. “Do you like this boy?” I still don’t answer. “Oh my gosh! Your first crush! Oh, Elizabeth, I remember my first crush.” Mom gets a faraway look on her face, as if she’s reliving the memories of him.

  Still red in the face, I reply, “He’s kinda cute. He’s not immature like the other boys, and he’s smart.”

  “Tell me more. Where does he live? What do his parents do?” She screws on the top to the nail polish while waiting for my answer.

  “He lives not far from here. I think Dad works with his father.” The happy expression on Mom’s face falls.

  “I don’t want you seeing that boy, Elizabeth.” Her voice takes on a stern edge, and normally I would never argue or question her when she uses that tone with me, but she doesn’t know anything about Eric. How can she judge him?

  “Why not? You don’t even know him. Is it because our dads work together?” Shaking her head, she pats my knee with her hand.

  “Oh, honey. When you date a man you have to think about the long-term effects. What kind of future does he have? How will he provide for you?”

  “Mom, I’m only, like, fourteen years old. I’m not looking to marry the guy.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I look the other way. She’s being absolutely ridiculous. Just because I think he’s nice and cute doesn’t mean I’m going to spend the rest of my life with him.

  “You’d be surprised how it works out. I met your father when I was fifteen. Don’t get me wrong, I love him more than anything, but we’ve struggled all our lives.” She gives me a sad smile that doesn’t reach her pale-blue eyes.

  My lips part in stunned silence. Finally, I find my voice. “But . . . I thought you and Dad were happy?”

  “We love each other very much, but we live paycheck to paycheck and that’s stressful. I just don’t want that for you. It’s an extra burden that you shouldn’t have to carry. You need to find a man who can take care of you so you never have to worry about paying electric bills and buying food. You’ll see as you get older that stability and security are two of the most important things in life. They’re essential to being happy.” She looks straight into my eyes, almost like she’s trying to stamp her advice straight to my brain.

  Looking at my mom’s face, I see the tired expression like I never have before. Lines I hadn’t noticed before mark her beautiful face. The frown lines around her mouth are especially prominent. Her chestnut brown hair is no longer full and shiny like I remembered as a child. Now it is dull and graying. The fact I never noticed the gradual change from a youthful mother into her now weathered appearance is shocking to me. How could I not see the toll life is taking on her? Was she always hiding it from me and only letting her guard down to prove her point? I know we aren’t wealthy, but I never realized how much she and my father struggle to make ends meet. If I don’t listen to her advice, is this the life I’m headed for? A life full of constant worry and strain?

  My head starts to spin with all these thoughts and questions running through it. I always assumed the key to a happy life was to find someone you loved and spend forever with him. When I was younger I always dreamed of finding my prince charming and living happily ever after. Never in my dreams did I think to check his bank account. Then a question hits me.

  Locking my light green eyes with hers, I ask, “But what if I, like, meet a guy that doesn’t have a lot of money and I fall for him? Am I just supposed to leave him because he’s not rich?” I might not have ever been in love, but I know that you can’t help what the hearts wants. If you love someone, there’s no stopping it. No matter how much money they have.

  “Just remember one simple thing: If you never date a poor man, you never risk falling in love with him.”

  I think on that sentence and roll it around in my head for quite a while. Mom gets up and puts the nail polish away before starting dinner. Once Dad gets home from work, we all sit down and eat. Sitting next to him, I really study his features like I did with Mom earlier
. The same wear and tear is evident on his body as well. He works a labor-intensive job doing construction. Business isn’t always steady and he often works long hours to compensate for when work is slow. I catch Mom glancing at him throughout dinner. It’s evident she loves him just by the way her eyes warm when she sees him. But today, she almost looks sad, as if it pains her to love him so much.

  After dinner is cleaned up, I retreat to my bedroom and flop down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. I can hear my parents’ hushed voices down the hall from my room. Getting up from my bed, I walk to my door and listen.

  “I can’t put in any more overtime, Lisa. I’ve worked seventy hours this week as it is.”

  “I know. I just don’t know how we’re going to pay this water bill. We’re already two months behind.”

  “Why didn’t you pay it last month?”

  “Because it was either the water or electricity. We couldn’t pay both and I decided electricity was more important.”

  Walking away from my door, I return to my bed and lay in it like before.

  I learn a valuable lesson today.

  Marry for money.

  Because in the end, love doesn’t pay the bills.

  Present ...

  GLANCING AROUND AT the audience in front of me, a small, confident smile grazes my lips as I listen to my husband give his speech. My eyes travel back to where he’s standing at the podium in his perfectly pressed suit standing tall, the audience eating up every word he says. I’m not really paying attention to what he’s saying, of course, I’ve heard him rehearse this speech a million times before. It’s the same one he gives any time he needs support from a large group of people; mainly, his constituents.

  “That’s why, with your help, I know we can get the American people working and send a message to Washington that we mean business,” my husband says as he finishes up. The crowd cheers excitedly, all of them believing in him. Each person in the crowd having faith that Cal can help turn this disastrous economy around and get them back to work. I smoothly rise from my chair as I applaud him and walk to his side. He wraps his arm around me, gives me a chaste kiss on the cheek, and I smile up at him. The faint sounds of shutters clicking from the cameramen in the front row registers in my ears. Turning away from my husband, smile still firmly in place, I wave at the crowd taking in all the “Clean up America” and “Callahan Fitzgerald 2016” signs.

  2016.

  Seems there are a few who want Cal to run for president. I know his advisors have been running the numbers to see if he’s a viable candidate, but he hasn’t mentioned it to me. Of course, he usually doesn’t until a decision has been made. The thought of him running for president makes me cringe slightly. Senatorial elections are tiring enough, I can’t imagine what his schedule will be like when he’s having to tour the country. Plus, there will be the added pressure to keep up appearances twenty-four/seven for the public, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to do that.

  I’m snapped out of my thoughts when I feel Cal lean into my ear and say, “You ready to get out of here?”

  “I’m ready when you are.” Cal’s warm gaze travels all over my face before guiding me off, his hand on the small of my back. At the bottom of the stairs, we’re met by Cal’s chief advisor, Aaron.

  “Great speech, Cal.” Aaron claps him on the back a few times as we walk toward the Town Car waiting for us.

  “Thanks. Do you think it’ll affect the polls any?” The driver of the Town Car spots us and opens the back door. Cal gently guides me in before shutting the door and continuing his conversation with Aaron without me. Early in our relationship, I didn’t take his unwillingness to include me in his business matters personally. Now that we’ve been married for a while, it pisses me off. Internally, I’m fuming that Cal feels like he can’t talk about this stuff in front of me, but on the outside I’m poised and calm, waiting for him to join me. He does this often, but I think it’s just the way he was raised and I have no choice but to accept it.

  Soon, the door is opened and Cal slides into his seat before the driver gets into his up front. He gives me a smile and plants a small kiss on my lips. Returning his smile, I place my hand in his as the car starts to move.

  “I know I’ve been working a lot lately, but I’m all yours tonight,” he says to me with a warm smile.

  “That sounds ama—” I’m cut off by the ringing of his phone. Pulling it out of his jacket pocket, he looks at the screen and sighs.

  “I’m sorry, love, but I have to take this.” He looks apologetic and I give him a reassuring smile before he slides his finger across the screen to accept the call. “Fitzgerald here,” he says into the receiver.

  My attention turns to look through the window as I watch the buildings pass by. It won’t be long until the buildings are replaced by trees and we’ll almost be home.

  “No, that’s fine. We’ll go over it all first thing in the morning to see if we have enough votes to pass the bill. If we don’t, then we’ll throw in some extras to sweeten the pot for those who are on the fence.”

  Cal, always the strategist.

  Bringing my gaze back to him, I look at our hands that are still joined, his thumb slowly gliding over the back of my hand. I’ve always marveled at how soft his hands are. They’re the hands of a man who has never done hard labor, hands that have only seen the inside of a desk and grasped nothing larger or heavier than a pen. Hands that are used to the finer things in life. Hands my mother would approve of.

  Lifting my eyes up to his face, I study his profile. He’s a handsome man in the stereotypical well-bred kind of way. His face is angular and masculine with dark-brown eyes and brown hair with a reddish tint with some gray at the temples. There’s a slight age difference between us. I’m twenty-nine to his thirty-six. It certainly doesn’t bother me, but Cal made a comment in passing about him looking like he could be my father when the gray started coming in. I suggested coloring it if it bothered him, but that idea was quickly shot down by Aaron. Apparently, graying was a good thing. It makes him look older, wiser, and more trustworthy to his constituents, so the gray stayed. Everything has a strategy. It’s actually quite ridiculous.

  “Alright, bye.” Cal hangs up and turns toward me. “Sorry about that. I’m all yours now.”

  “That’s okay, I understand.”

  “You’re always so understanding. What do you say when we get home, we have a glass of wine and I’ll run you a bath?”

  “That sounds lovely.” Leaning in, I place a small kiss to the corner of his mouth, causing him to smile. We spend the rest of the way in a comfortable silence. Something that has become the norm in our marriage.

  Our home is located outside of our nation’s capital in McLean, Virginia. The house is incredible, and as a child I couldn’t fathom living in such a spacious and extravagant place. But, as I got older, it became a goal of mine. A goal that was nurtured and encouraged by my mother.

  As we travel through the massive wrought-iron fence and up the long driveway lined in trees, the house—more like mansion—comes in to view. The circular driveway comes around to the front of the house, and the first thing that stands out are the four large columns that are the height of the two story home. The pillars give off a plantation feel and hold up a balcony that extends off the roof. There are a dozen or so windows adorning the front, which let in a lot of natural light. White brick dresses the entire home and is set off by a gray roof and a bright-red door. It’s the type of home I always dreamed of when I was younger; a home I never thought was actually obtainable. The lawn is manicured to precision with perfectly-pruned shrubs and gorgeous flowers framing the walkway leading up to the door. Inside, there are seven large bedrooms upstairs, each having its own bathroom. The master suite is located in a separate wing that connects to the side of the house.

  No expense was spared and every luxury I could have imagined is located within these walls. From a state-of-the-art kitchen, home gym and theatre, to a room that’s sole purpose is
to entertain Cal and his friends while they discuss business, drink brandy, and smoke cigars. It doesn’t get more lavish than this. The house screams money and elegance, but a senator’s salary is pennies compared to the money Cal and his family has. In fact, his income as a senator wouldn’t be enough to cover the expenses of this home.

  Cal’s family comes from old money. There’s not a Fitzgerald alive who can tell you about a family member who didn’t have more money than they knew what to do with. As if a poor—or even middle classed—Fitzgerald has never existed. The idea is almost unimaginable to me since I’m on the opposite side of the spectrum. They invested everything they had into steel when they came to America in the late seventeen hundreds. Soon, they had one of the fastest growing steel factories in the country, which led them into the railroad business. The Fitzgerald family not only provided the steel for the expansion of the railroad system, but they started building them as well.

  Each new generation added more and more to the net wealth and found ways to adapt to changing economies and technologies. While they’re still a major steel producer, they dabble in everything from contracts with shipbuilders, to investment banking. They’re one of the few who have managed to maintain their status as “old money ” while making new money to increase their prosperity. Each son has mastered in something new, bringing in a lot of money and prestige to the family name. This is a sense of pride among his family and a story that gets told so often at functions that I can recite the details word for word.

  Cal helps me out of the car and guides me to the door, always the gentleman. After unlocking and opening it, he places his hand at the small of my back, gently guiding me through the threshold.

  “Do you want to head upstairs and run a bath? I can bring a glass of wine to you.”

  Standing up on my tiptoes, I kiss him softly on the lips. “That sounds great. I’ll see you up there in a few.” His hands travel down my back to my ass where he gives a little squeeze before releasing me. I throw him a coy smile over my shoulder as I walk up the stairs. I know what he’s expecting from me tonight, and even if I’m not up for it, I’ll still give it to him. A few years after my mother taught me that security and stability were more important than love, she gave me tips on not only how to meet and date rich men, but how to keep them happy as well. ‘If you’re not keeping him satisfied, he’ll trade you in for someone younger and prettier who can,’ she used to tell me. That’s why I’m about to slip into the hot bath I have running, lather my body in lavender body wash to make it soft and fragrant, and shave so that I’m nice and smooth to the touch.