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
CUNNING
WHAT TO DO NOW…
STAY CONNECTED WITH ALEATHA
BOOKS BY ALEATHA ROMIG
ALEATHA ROMIG
BETRAYAL
Book 1 of the INFIDELITY series
Copyright @ 2015 Romig Works, LLC
Published by Romig Works, LLC
2015 Edition
ISBN e-book: 978-0-9863080-4-8
Cover art: Kellie Dennis at Book Cover by Design (www.bookcoverbydesign.co.uk)
Editing: Lisa Aurello
Formatting: Angela McLaurin at Fictional Formats
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any informational storage and retrieval system, without the written permission from the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book is available in print from most online retailers
2015 Edition License
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the appropriate retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
The Infidelity series contains adult content and is intended for mature audiences. While the use of overly descriptive language is infrequent, the subject matter is targeted at readers over the age of eighteen.
Infidelity is a five-book series. The series is a dark romance. Each individual book will end in a way that will hopefully make you want more.
The Infidelity series does not advocate or glorify cheating. This series is about the inner struggle of compromising your beliefs for your heart. It is about cheating on yourself, not someone else.
I hope you enjoy the epic tale of INFIDELITY!
To every one of you who has purchased my books and given me the even more valuable commodity of your time, thank you! You have allowed me to share the make-believe people who wake me at night and talk to me during the day. To each one of you, I’m grateful.
I hope you enjoy the new world of Infidelity!
To my agent, Danielle Egan-Miller, my publicist, Danielle Sanchez with Inkslinger, my editor Lisa Aurello, my formatter Angela McLaurin, and my cover artist Kelly Dennis, thank you for your patience and constant encouragement and support. If it were not for each of you, the world of Nox and Charli wouldn’t have come to life.
To my wonderful family, Mr. Jeff and our children, thank you for indulging my passion. I love you more than life itself.
To my author friends, I learn from you every day. Your support and encouragement is a daily blessing. This community is amazing and I’m honored to be a part of it.
To the wonderful bloggers who found me either through Tony, Victoria, or Nox, I thank each of you for every mention. I know that if it were not for you, no one would know my name.
I hope you all enjoy!
THE GIANT OAK trees parted, giving way to the flood of sunlight. If it weren’t for my sunglasses and the tinted windows, the saturation would be blinding. The effect was undoubtedly the intention of the designers and architects when they mapped out the plantation centuries ago. The shadowed lane—quiet, secluded, and draped in Spanish moss—was a prelude to the crescendo of Georgia blue sky spotlighting the splendor of the manor. Each inch up the cobblestone drive tightened the muscles in my neck and back, reminding me of the appropriate posture for a Montague.
No matter how many times I told myself that I was no longer the child trapped within the iron gates or that I was a competent woman who’d recently graduated summa cum laude, the little girl’s voice inside of me repeated the mantra I’ve known since the beginning of time: some things never change. The closer we got to the giant house, the more I tensed, my years of separation slipping away as my confidence threatened to dissolve.
The original structure had burnt in the late 1800’s. According to family lore, though it was considered stately in its heyday, by current standards the original home would barely suffice for a guesthouse. The current Montague Manor was now one of the most admired mansions in the Deep South. Where others saw beauty, I saw a prison and loss of innocence.
Willing my jaw to unclench, I reminded myself again that this was only a visit—temporary at that. It had been almost four years since I’d graced Montague Manor with my presence, and if it hadn’t been for my mother’s invitation—correction, summons—I wouldn’t be here now.
“Miss Collins?”
Lost in my own thoughts and memories, I’d missed the stopping of the car and the opening of the door. Turning toward the sound of my name, I saw, framed in sunlight with his hand extended, my stepfather’s driver, Brantley Peterson. The older gentleman had worked for my family for as long as I could remember. Though I barely recalled a time before my mother married Alton, I knew from stories that Brantley had been here then too. He’d worked for my father just as his father had worked for my grandfather, Charles Montague II.
“Miss Alexandria?” he said. “Your parents are waiting.”
Taking a deep breath, I moved my legs outside the car, purposely avoiding his offer of help. “Just Alex, Brantley.”
“Not forever, miss. In no time you’ll have ‘counselor’ in front of your name.” A hint of a smile emerged. The rarely visible emotion threatened to crack the façade of his aloof veneer as his cheeks rose and the deep-set wrinkles brought on by age multiplied near his gray eyes. “Your mother is very proud. She tells everyone how you were accepted to both Yale and Columbia to study law.”
Rubbing my moist palms against my jeans, I looked up—and up—at the pristine walls, spotless windows, and large stately porches. In another place, another time, I would have thanked Brantley for his compliment. I may have even confessed that I was also proud of my accomplishments, but more than that, I would admit to being pleased to hear that my mother still spoke about me, acknowledged that I was her daughter.
The relentless Georgia sun upon my skin and humid air within my lungs confirmed that this wasn’t another place or time. The years of Montague training suppressed any advancement I’d since made in becoming Alex Collins, a real individual with thoughts, feelings, and dreams. In merely the time it took to pick me up at the Savannah airport and drive me into the past, I was once again, Miss Alexandria Charles Montague Collins, the flawless proper lady, pretentious to the help, and people pleaser—the well-bred Southern belle who wore the mask of perfection because no one wanted to see the truth underneath.
It didn’t matter that this was the twenty-first century—not to the bluebloods. This was and would always be the world where appearances were essential. The secrets that darkened the corridors and doorways were forever left unspoken
.
The movement of the curtain on the second floor caught my eye. It was so fast that I could have easily missed it. I may have, were it not for the interior location of the window: it was my old bedroom—a place I loathed more than any other.
With his stoic poise returned, Brantley asked, “Shall I take your bags to your room?”
I swallowed. “Not yet. I haven’t decided if I’m staying.”
“But, miss, your mother—”
I lifted my hand dismissively—something I would never have done in California. “Brantley, I’ll let you know my plans once I know them. In the meantime, keep the car in the drive and leave my bags in the trunk.”
Nodding, he murmured, “Yes, miss. I’ll be here.”
He always was.
Did that make him part of the problem or solution?
Biting the inside of my cheek, I gracefully made my way up the cement path.
Why did I come back?
“DON’T LOOK SO guilty. We deserve this!” Chelsea’s hazel eyes sparkled from the glow of the setting sun. We were standing at one of the many railings along the resort edge, overlooking the Pacific Ocean.
Inhaling the salt air, I nodded. “We do. We’ve worked hard. I-I guess, I’ve never…”
“Let me help you,” she said with a smirk. “You’ve never let yourself have fun.” With more seriousness, she added, “Your grandparents left you that trust fund. Tell me, when have you ever used the money for anything other than education and essentials?”
I shrugged. “I’m sure if you asked my attorneys, I haven’t always made the best financial decisions regarding either of those.”
“To hell with them.”
That was part of what I loved about Chelsea. No matter the situation, she said exactly what she thought. Granted, sometimes it was too much information, but nonetheless, you knew exactly what you were dealing with.
“Besides,” she went on, “in two years the money will be all yours. You won’t have to answer to some stuffed-shirt lawyer.”
“Hey!”
“You know what I mean. And in three years you’ll be someone else’s lawyer. Then you can tell whomever what they can and can’t do with their own money.”
I scrunched my nose. “I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think civil law is for me. It seems boring. I want something more exciting.”
My best friend’s arms dramatically spread toward the horizon. “I can see it now. Some high-profile case and there you are, on the steps of a big courthouse somewhere.” She spun toward me. “I know! That one on the T.V. show—Law and Order. It’s in New York.” She nudged her shoulder against mine. “The perfect place for a Columbia graduate.”
I didn’t want to think about law school, not yet. I’d just graduated from Stanford and the four years I’d spent in California were undoubtedly the best of my life. I loved everything about the West Coast, from the beautiful campus nestled in the Palo Alto valley to the winding beautiful coastal highway. The idea of heading back east made me physically ill.
“Stop that,” Chelsea said with her hand on my arm. “Stop thinking about it. You know applying to East Coast schools made the most sense.”
“I know. But I would’ve loved to have stayed here.”
“Just like Professor Wilkerson told you, you’ve made your mark here. Summa cum laude. California knows you. Now it’s time to make your mark back east. In three years you’ll be the most sought-after attorney from coast to coast. Every big firm will want you.”
“Chels, I really don’t want to think about any of it. Not this week. This week is for us.” I grabbed her hand and squeezed. “I don’t want to think about being without you next year. I want us to have the time of our lives.”
“You know I’d love to pick up and move with you. But when it comes to right now—I couldn’t agree more. For this one week, let’s forget about everything. Let’s be the opposite of ourselves.”
Let’s be each other?
I stopped myself from saying the thought aloud. Instead, I looked out over the gorgeous view. The setting sun was casting shadows over the cliffs in the distance, as rolling white-capped waves crashed against the rocks and shore. This was one of the scenes I’d miss on the East Coast. There may be an ocean, but never on the beaches of Georgia had I ever seen waves or felt the refreshing breeze as I did here.
“I’m in. As a matter of fact,” I whispered with a grin, “no more Alex or Alexandria. For the next week I’m Charli.”
Chelsea’s eyes narrowed.
“It’s short for Charles, one of my middle names.” I lowered my voice, but before the pounding surf and murmuring voices around us could dominate, I added, “I think Alex needs a break.”
Locking our elbows, Chelsea sighed. “Girl, that’s the best thing I’ve heard since we’ve met. If you ask me, Alex has needed a break for a long time!”
As we made our way to our suite, I contemplated the possibilities of leaving Alex behind, if for only a week.
Can I do that?
I could. I’d done it before.
I’d put away the pretentious snob I’d been raised to be when I left Alexandria Charles Montague Collins in Savannah. The minute I’d stepped off the airplane in California and made my way to my freshman orientation, I’d vowed that Alexandria had been left behind and I became Alex.
She was a clean slate, with no demons on her back or skeletons in her closet. I had the rare opportunity to reinvent myself into someone I liked to be, and I did.
Alex was everything I’d wanted to be growing up: a hard worker, a good student, and someone who refused to stay trapped in the cage created by the Montague name. After my mother shared a secret with me right before I left Savannah, I had the confidence to do what she was never able to do.
For that one evening, with her husband Alton out of town on business, I had a real mom. It’s a night I’ll never forget. She even looked different. Instead of her normal designer clothes, when she came to my room she wore shorts and a t-shirt. I hadn’t known she owned regular clothes. With her hair pulled back in a ponytail and little to no makeup, she knocked on my bedroom door. The knock had been so faint that over the sound of my music, I almost didn’t hear it.
For a change, the sound didn’t alarm me. I knew Alton was away and I knew I’d be gone before he returned. When I peered around the door, I almost gasped. Adelaide Montague Collins Fitzgerald looked like she could have been my sister instead of my mother. With her large blue eyes, she looked at me with a mixture of love and regret. Though everything within my eighteen-year-old self wanted to tell her to leave, I couldn’t.
There was something final about that night. Though neither of us came out and said it, I think she understood I didn’t plan to return. I sometimes wonder just how much she knew.
Instead of saying anything, I opened the door and welcomed her into the chaos. My bed was covered in suitcases. The drawers to my dressers were in all stages of openness while my closet doors were spread wide. Not once did she use the tone I’d come to expect and admonish the disarray. Instead, she gracefully sat on the edge of my bed and asked if she could help.
Though years of secrets and regrets momentarily swirled about us, as I listened to her sincerity they disappeared. For one evening we were more than mother and daughter. We were friends. Time passed as we packed, laughed, and cried. She told me that she was proud that I was going to Stanford. It wasn’t only that I’d been accepted—which was an accomplishment—but she was also proud that I was moving away. She confessed that her parents didn’t want her to move away. After all, she was the last Montague. Even though she wasn’t a male, continuing the bloodline was her responsibility. The way my grandparents saw it, her only purpose in higher education was to find a man worthy of fulfilling that role of husband. Of course that meant a man who understood the heritage.
That night, in my room, she did what she always did and spoke favorably of my father. She said he was a good man, a revered businessman, and a man of whom my g
randfather approved. It wasn’t until I was in high school that I realized she never mentioned the word love. Not in relation to her affection for my father or for Alton. The only time she mentioned love was to remind me that my father, Russell Collins, loved me.
For the first time I could recall, she admitted to wanting a different life. She confessed that when she was my age she wanted to leave Georgia and find a life away from Montague Manor. Holding tightly to my hands, with tears in her blue eyes, she told me to do what she couldn’t. She told me to go and discover life beyond Savannah.
My entire life, I’d been told that even though the Montague assets were now handled under the name of my stepfather, Alton Fitzgerald, and my name was Collins, one day I would be expected to take my rightful place. It was what my grandmother, grandfather, and mother had told me since I was old enough to remember—I was the heir to a prestigious name. Since my father was killed in a car crash while out of town when I was only three, I couldn’t remember him ever telling me about my future.
On a late August afternoon, when I stepped off the airplane in San Francisco, I chose to do what my mother never could: discover life—not Alexandria’s, but Alex’s. The blue sky was my encouragement. For the first time in my life, it seemed as though the clouds that loomed around Montague Manor couldn’t reach me. On the West Coast I could breathe.
As if being reborn at nearly nineteen years old, I put Alexandria behind me and became Alex Collins. Since my tuition was paid by my trust fund, neither the name Montague nor Fitzgerald was associated with the new me. I suppose if someone dug into the fine print my past could be found, but no one needed to do that. My grandparents’ law firm handled all my monetary needs. Even now, ascending the heights of the Del Mar Club and Spa in the glass elevator, it was only the law firm of Hamilton and Porter who knew my whereabouts. They’d been the ones to wire me the money for our excursion, not my mother or her husband.
For four years I was able to live a life free of anyone’s expectations but my own. I created the perfect persona with real personal edges. I put away the ghosts from the past and discovered what life had to offer. Though Alex was different than Alexandria, I sometimes wondered if either one was really me.