Best Kept Secrets Read online

  Also by Shelly Ellis

  Can’t Stand the Heat

  The Player & the Game

  Another Woman’s Man

  The Best She Ever Had

  Published by Dafina Books

  Best Kept Secrets

  SHELLY ELLIS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by Shelly Ellis

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1 - LEILA

  Chapter 2 - EVAN

  Chapter 3 - DANTE

  Chapter 4 - PAULETTE

  Chapter 5 - LEILA

  Chapter 6 - LEILA

  Chapter 7 - EVAN

  Chapter 8 - PAULETTE

  Chapter 9 - DANTE

  Chapter 10 - LEILA

  Chapter 11 - EVAN

  Chapter 12 - PAULETTE

  Chapter 13 - LEILA

  Chapter 14 - EVAN

  Chapter 15 - EVAN

  Chapter 16 - DANTE

  Chapter 17 - PAULETTE

  Chapter 18 - LEILA

  Chapter 19 - LEILA

  Chapter 20 - EVAN

  Chapter 21 - LEILA

  Chapter 22 - PAULETTE

  Chapter 23 - EVAN

  Chapter 24 - LEILA

  Chapter 25 - DANTE

  Chapter 26 - PAULETTE

  Chapter 27 - EVAN

  Chapter 28 - PAULETTE

  Chapter 29 - LEILA

  Chapter 30 - PAULETTE

  BEST KEPT SECRETS

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  Teaser chapter

  Copyright Page

  To Chloe and Andrew, my heart and my home

  Acknowledgments

  If it takes a village to raise a child, it certainly takes a village to produce a book—and keep an author sane while she’s writing it. In the past four years, I’ve written a total of eight books. (Best Kept Secrets is my fifth. The rest, for now, are sitting on my laptop waiting for the green light.) Though I’ve been the one at the keyboard, I’ve had plenty of help in bringing each book to fruition.

  I want to thank my husband, Andrew, for his time, for lending an ear, and for watching the little one when needed so that I can hide away, write, and follow my dreams. I want to thank my mother and father for their assistance and for giving both Andrew and me a break from the wonderful though exhausting enterprise known as raising a toddler. I know that without your help writing books would be a lot more challenging.

  I want to thank the wild and crazy little girl known as Chloe who makes Mommy laugh and helps me to keep things in perspective. (It’s hard to be frustrated with writer’s block when someone is making spitty face at you.)

  As always, I want to thank my editor at Kensington, Mercedes Fernandez, for giving my writing a chance. What started out as a contract for three books after you pulled my manuscript out of the slush pile has since blossomed to a NAACP Image Award nomination, preliminary talks of television show spin-offs, and me finally landing an agent. I will always be grateful that you took a chance on me. And thanks to my new champion and agent, Barbara Poelle. I’m shocked at how much you hustle and how you’re such a great advocate for your clients. Thanks for reaching out to me and pushing me to write even better.

  To all my fellow authors and aspiring writers who I’ve connected with online and at author events: I wish I could list you all by name, but it would be the length of a novella. Thank you for all your support, love, and encouragement. I hope I reciprocate everything that I’ve been given.

  Chapter 1

  LEILA

  Leila Hawkins paused as she mounted the last concrete step in front of the double doors of the First Good Samaritan Baptist Church—one of the oldest and largest churches in Chesterton, Virginia, her hometown. Nestled on Broadleaf Avenue across the street from rustic Macon Park, the house of worship had hosted many a baptism, funeral, and nuptial inside its brick walls in the one hundred and some odd years of its existence. And since 1968, a stark white sign had sat along its exterior, highlighting a Bible verse chosen by the honorable reverend, or the assistant pastor when the reverend was ill or on vacation. Leila stepped aside to let a couple pass as she squinted at that sign, which hung a foot away from the doors and several feet above her head.

  A FOOL GIVES FULL VENT TO HIS ANGER, BUT A WISE MAN KEEPS HIMSELF UNDER CONTROL, the sign read in big bold letters. PROVERBS 29:11.

  Her eyebrows furrowed.

  What the hell ...

  Was someone reading her mind?

  Who cares if they are?

  She grabbed one of the church’s stainless-steel door handles.

  She was on a mission today and she wasn’t going to be deterred from it. She was giving “full vent” to her anger, whether any celestial being liked it or not. Leila was crashing this hifalutin wedding, and only lightning bolts or locusts would keep her away!

  She walked into the vestibule, then tugged a heavy wooden door open, preparing herself to be met by a hundred stares, finger pointing, and indignation the instant she stepped inside the sanctuary.

  “Hey! You’re not supposed to be here!” she waited for someone to shout at her.

  Instead, she was greeted by a light melody played by a string quartet and the polite chatter of the two hundred and some odd guests who were taking their seats in the velvet-cushioned pews.

  No one stared at her. Hell, they barely seemed to notice her!

  The tenseness in her shoulders instantly relaxed. Her white-knuckled grip on her satin clutch loosened. She reminded herself that she was walking into a wedding, not a gladiator pit.

  “You’re here to talk to Evan,” a voice in her head cautioned her. “Not to fight with him. Remember?”

  That’s right. I’m just here to talk to him, to have a conversation with an old friend.

  And if Evan chose not to be polite or listen to her, then and only then would she go off on him.

  She looked around her.

  The sanctuary was filled with splashes of pink and lavender, which Leila remembered were the bride’s favorite colors. Roses, hydrangeas, freesias, and lilacs decorated the pulpit and pews, filling the space with their alluring scent. Ribbons and ivy garland were draped over anything and everything, and free-standing candelabras were along each aisle and by the stained-glass windows.

  Leila felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. She hadn’t set foot in this church since her own wedding day ten years ago. As she gazed around her, all the memories of that day came rushing back like a tsunami: the anticipation and nervousness she had felt as she waited for the church doors to open, the happiness she had experienced when she’d seen her handsome groom waiting for her at the end of the aisle, and the overwhelming sadness that had washed over her when she had looked at the wedding guests and had not seen her then best friend, Evan, among their friendly faces.

  But she had known Evan wouldn’t come to her wedding. Stubborn Evan Murdoch had told her in the plainest way possible that there was no way he would stand by and pretend that he was happy about her nuptials.

  “That son of a bitch is going to break your heart,” Evan had warned her over the phone all those years ago when she’d made one last-ditch effort to ask him to come to the wedding. “He’s going to drag you down. And when he does, don’t come crying to me.”

  Leila wasn’t sure what had made her angrier: that Evan had given her that dire, bitter prediction on the eve of her wedding—or that his prediction had come true. But today she would have to put aside all that resentment and anger if she was going to get Evan to do what she needed him to do for her mother. Her mother . . . a proud woman who had
juggled multiple jobs and saved every dime she had for decades to gather the money to put Leila through school and give her a reasonably happy life. Leila had tried to repay her by purchasing her a two-bedroom bungalow in a middle-class neighborhood where they still held summer block parties, where neighbors still waved and said hello. But now Leila’s mother would lose her home in a few months without Evan’s help.

  Leila’s grip on her purse tightened again.

  She’d argue. She’d beg. She’d do what she had to do to get Evan to listen to her.

  For Ma’s sake, she thought.

  “Bride or groom?” someone asked, yanking Leila from her thoughts.

  “What?” Leila asked.

  She turned to find an usher leaning toward her. An officious-looking woman stood behind him with the kind of pinched face reserved for those who waited at the counter at the DMV and dentists’ offices. A clipboard covered with several stacks of paper was in her hands. The woman discreetly whispered something into her headset while the usher continued to gaze at Leila expectantly.

  “Are you with the bride or groom?” He gestured toward the pews. “On which side would you like to be seated?”

  That was a tricky question. The bride hadn’t invited Leila to the wedding; neither had the groom. But Leila certainly knew the bride better. Paulette Murdoch, Evan’s sister, was someone Leila had once considered a friend—almost a little sister.

  “Umm . . . uh, bride . . . I-I guess,” Leila finally answered.

  They noticed her hesitation and exchanged a look that Leila couldn’t decipher. The woman behind the usher whispered into her headset again and waited a beat.

  What? Leila thought with panic. What did I do wrong?

  The woman stepped forward, plastering on a smile that seemed more forced than friendly.

  “I’m sorry. Would you mind giving me your name?”

  “Uh . . . why?”

  “I just want to make sure you’re seated in the proper area.” The woman then pulled out a pen and pointed down at the stack of papers. Leila could see several names listed along with check marks next to each of them.

  You’ve gotta be kidding me, Leila thought.

  They actually had a guest list for the church! What did they think? Someone was going to sneak into the wedding?

  “You are sneaking into Paulette’s wedding!” the voice in her head chastised.

  But still, this was ridiculous! Leila wondered if the guest list had been Evan’s idea.

  Wouldn’t want the unwashed masses to wander in off the street, would we? Leila thought sarcastically. Wouldn’t want the poor people to stink up the place! Only the best and the brightest for the M&Ms!

  M&Ms or Marvelous Murdochs . . . People had been muttering and snickering over that nickname for decades around Chesterton, using it to derogatorily refer to the Murdochs—one of the most wealthy, respected, and (some said) stuck-up families in town. Of course that was better than their old nickname, the “High Yella Murdochs.” That name had faded once the Murdochs became more equal opportunity and let a few darker folks like Evan’s mom into the family.

  “Well, my . . .” Leila paused, wondering how she was going to get out of this one. She most certainly wasn’t on the list. “My name is . . . my name is, uh—”

  “Leila! Leila, over here!” someone called to her. Leila turned to find her childhood friend Colleen waving wildly. Colleen sat in one of the pews toward the front of the church.

  Saved by the bell!

  “Come on, girl!” Colleen shouted, still grinning. “Sit by me!”

  “I guess my ‘proper area’ is up there, then?” Leila asked.

  The usher laughed while the woman with the clipboard continued to scrutinize her, not looking remotely amused.

  “Go right ahead,” he said, waving Leila forward.

  She walked down the center aisle to Colleen. As she did so, she ran her hands across the front of her pale yellow dress. It was an old ensemble that she had thrown on at the last minute after raiding her closet. She hadn’t worn it in years, certainly not since she had given birth to her daughter. It felt a little tight and she worried that it wasn’t very flattering. The ill-fitting dress only added to her already heightened anxiety.

  “I haven’t seen you in ages, girl! I didn’t know you’d be at Paulette’s wedding,” Colleen cried, removing her heavy leather purse from the pew and plopping it onto her ample lap. She shifted over, causing an elderly woman beside her to glance at her annoyance. Colleen then adjusted the wide brim of her sequin- and feather-decorated royal purple hat. “I saw you come in, but you didn’t notice me waving at you. What were you thinking about, staring off into space like that?”

  Leila pursed her lips as she took the seat nearest to the center aisle. “Just took a little trip down memory lane, that’s all.”

  “Memory lane?” Colleen frowned in confusion. Suddenly, her brown eyes widened. “Oh, I forgot! This was the church where you got married too, isn’t it?”

  Leila nodded.

  “Ten years ago last month! Girl, I remember,” Colleen continued. “It was a beautiful day, wasn’t it? And you had looked so pretty in your gown.” She patted Leila’s hand in consolation. “I’m so sorry to hear about you and Brad, by the way.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” Leila assured.

  I’m certainly not, she thought.

  Not only had Brad broken her heart, like Evan had predicted, but that man also had put her through so much pain during the course of their marriage—between the lies, philandering, his get-rich-quick schemes, and his all-around bullshit—that he was lucky she hadn’t thrown her wedding ring down the garbage disposal in outrage. Instead, she had pawned it to pay for a hatchback she’d purchased for her move from San Diego back to Chesterton. She’d had to get a new car after her Mercedes-Benz was repo’d thanks to Brad neglecting to mention that he hadn’t made any payments in four months.

  “So it is final then?” Colleen asked. “It’s over between you two?”

  “Almost. The divorce should be finalized in a few months, I guess.”

  Leila certainly hoped it would be. But frankly, it was no telling with Brad. He had been dragging his feet on the divorce proceedings, saying that his focus was instead on his criminal case. He faced charges for fraud and money laundering because he and his partners had bilked several wealthy clients in Southern California out of more than twenty million dollars with some elaborate Ponzi scheme.

  Thanks to Brad, his lawyer, and the California court system, Leila’s life was still in limbo. She felt like she was still swimming her way out the whirlpool Brad kept sucking her into.

  “Well, I’m glad you came back here,” Colleen said. “We missed you. I know I certainly did. I’m sorry your divorce is the reason why you came, but . . . you tried your best, right?”

  Leila nodded then turned away to stare at the front of the church, wishing desperately that Colleen would drop the topic. She didn’t want to think about Brad right now. She had enough on her plate today.

  “You put up with more than most wives would,” Colleen continued, oblivious to Leila’s growing discomfort. “It’s a wonder you lasted as long as you did. I know I wouldn’t have!”

  Leila’s smile tightened.

  “All that lying and cheating—and now that pyramid-scheme nonsense! That man has dragged you through the mud, Leila. Right on through it!” Colleen shook her head ruefully. “Girl, I would have taken a frying pan to the back of that man’s head years ago!”

  It was bad enough to have a wreck of a marriage, to find out that you were sharing a bed every night with a liar and a hustler. But it was ten times worse knowing that everyone in town also knew—and Chesterton was a town that loved its gossip. She was sure her failed marriage and Brad’s criminal charges had been gossip du jour in every beauty salon, church gathering, and coffee shop in Chesterton for months!

  Of course, Evan had discovered the truth first, but he hadn’t needed the town gossips to tell him. He had
figured it out himself. He had seen through the varnish and spotted the shoddy workmanship underneath. He had seen the real Brad back when she met the smooth-talking Casanova her junior year in college. Though Brad had blinded Leila with his sweet talk, worldliness, and charm, Evan had called him on his bullshit. But she had been too naïve and lovesick at the time to listen to her then best friend. She wished now that she had. It could have spared her a lot of disappointment, agony, and heartbreak in the long run. It could have spared her from severing ties with Evan and the humiliation she was suffering today.

  “The flowers are beautiful,” Leila said with a false cheeriness, trying to change the subject from Brad. She looked around her again, taking it all in.

  Paulette Murdoch was probably deliriously happy with how the decorations had turned out. The décor fit her to a T.

  “I knew everything would be this nice though,” Leila said. “Paulette’s dad never spared an expense, especially when it came to his little girl. I’ve been away for a while, but even I remember that much.”

  Colleen shook her head and leaned toward Leila’s ear. “Not her father, honey,” she whispered. “All this was arranged while he was sick in the hospital and after he died seven months ago. It’s Evan who dished out the money for this wedding. He controls the purse strings now!”

  Of course he does, Leila thought sullenly. Evan controlled everything. He held all the cards, which was why she was here today.

  The last note of the melody the string quartet had been playing ended and the violins started to play Canon in D Major. The chatter in the sanctuary ceased as the church doors opened. The groom and his six groomsmen strolled toward the front of the church, near the pulpit, in single-breasted tuxedos with pink calla lilies pinned to their lapels.

  The groom was a handsome man. He stood at six feet, had ebony-hued skin, and wide shoulders.

  Just Paulette’s type, Leila thought, remembering when Evan’s little sister had described her ideal man more than a decade ago as Leila painted the teen girl’s toenails.