Chapter 1 - FOURTEEN HOURS AFTER “I DO”
Fourteen hours after I married Julian Carter, he threw a filthy cleaning rag into my face.
It smelled like bleach, grease, and whatever had been scrubbed from the marble floor after our wedding reception.
I caught it against my cheek.
For half a second, I thought he was joking.
Then his mother laughed.
“You're not my wife now,” Julian said. “You're the maid. Earn your keep.”
Victoria Carter stood behind him on the grand staircase of the Greenwich mansion wearing the lavender dress she had slept in after the reception.
She looked delighted.
I was still wearing my red after-party gown.
My hair was half curled, half falling apart.
My wedding ring had been on my finger for less than a day.
“Excuse me?”
Julian pointed toward the foyer.
“There are glasses everywhere. Catering left the back kitchen disgusting. Mom’s staff doesn't come Sundays.”
“Then call the cleaning company.”
Victoria smiled.
“Employees cost money, Elena.”
I looked between them.
“I'm leaving.”
Julian’s face changed.
“Don't be dramatic.”
“I’m going to the hotel.”
“The honeymoon suite is canceled.”
That stopped me.
“What?”
“We're not going anywhere until this house is back in order.”
Our honeymoon flight to St. Lucia was supposed to leave that afternoon.
I grabbed my handbag.
Then the rose-gold suitcase I had packed three days earlier.
Julian moved in front of the staircase.
“You're staying.”
“Move.”
“Where are you going with that?”
“Anywhere you aren't.”
I stepped down.
He grabbed the suitcase handle.
I yanked it back.
“Let go.”
“You're my wife.”
“That isn't ownership.”
Victoria descended two stairs.
“Walk out that door and you leave with nothing.”
I almost laughed.
“Nothing here belongs to me.”
Julian’s eyes moved to the suitcase.
“That’s not true.”
The way he said it made me pause.
He reached again.
I pulled the suitcase behind me.
The zipper caught against the railing and opened several inches.
My passport slid into view.
Then our marriage certificate.
Then the cream envelope containing the $45,000 cashier’s check I had obtained three days before the wedding.
Victoria saw it.
Her eyes sharpened.
“There.”
Julian moved toward me.
“Give me the envelope.”
“No.”
“You said that money was for us.”
“It was supposed to be for our house.”
“It is.”
“Then show me the closing statement.”
His jaw tightened.
He had spent weeks telling me the check would be my contribution toward the down payment on the townhouse we supposedly planned to buy after the honeymoon.
I had never seen a purchase contract.
Julian always had an explanation.
His broker was still negotiating.
The seller wanted privacy.
His lawyer was handling everything.
After six months of wedding planning, I had accepted delay because I trusted the man I was about to marry.
That trust had lasted fourteen hours.
Julian grabbed the suitcase again.
This time I jerked hard enough to pull him off balance.
He dropped to one knee on the marble stair.
He caught my ankle.
I reacted before thinking.
My heel struck his cheek.
One clean defensive kick.
He recoiled.
Victoria screamed.
I stepped down another stair.
Julian touched his face.
“You crazy—”
“You grabbed me.”
“That money belongs to this family now.”
Something inside me went completely still.
I opened the suitcase.
Removed the cashier’s check.
Then the marriage certificate.
Behind it was another folded document.
Victoria saw the letterhead.
All color left her face.
“Where did you get that?”
I looked at her.
That was interesting.
Julian didn't know what it was.
His mother did.
I pulled it free.
It was a letter from First Atlantic Bank’s fraud and identity-verification department.
I had received it the morning before my wedding.
I had planned to ask Julian about it after the ceremony because I had been too frightened of blowing up a five-hundred-person wedding over something I didn't yet understand.
The letter referred to a loan application carrying my name.
I had never applied for any loan.
Victoria stared at it.
Then whispered:
“Elena, give me that.”
For the first time that morning, I smiled.
May you like
“No.”
And suddenly the woman who had been laughing while her son called me a maid looked more frightened than I felt.
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