The Lying Kind

By C.B. London

A lie might hurt, but the truth can kill.

 

On the eve of her wedding to Mark, Carmen's world is shattered into a million pieces. Forced to make an impossible decision that will determine the rest of her life, she dares to chart her own course. While trying to start over again, she finds herself alone and far from the home she knew in Nova Scotia.

 

When she meets Liam, a handsome carpenter and business owner in Boston, her world is once again flipped on its axis. The attraction is undeniable, and the unimagined possibilities of her life tempt her into happiness again. But things that seem too good to be true, usually are.

 

As if there isn't enough on her plate, she's forced to deal with an ex-fiancé who won't give up and a violent attack that lands her in the hospital. Unravelling the truth behind this seemingly random attack and Liam's past proves to be far more than she bargained for. She's now forced to face the truth, that everyone has secrets. Some are hurtful, and some are downright deadly.

 

When their old and new lives collide, Carmen desperately wants to protect everything she's gained, including Liam, but at what cost?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Champagne Book Group
• Release date: Apr 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9781959036081

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The Lying Kind

C.B. LONDON

CHAMPAGNE BOOK GROUP

The Lying Kind

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Published by Champagne Book Group

712 SE Winchell Drive, Depoe Bay OR 97341 U.S.A.

~~~

First Edition 2023

eISBN: 978-1-959036-08-1

Copyright © 2023 C.B. London All rights reserved.

Cover Art by Melody Pond

Champagne Book Group supports copyright which encourages creativity and diverse voices, creates a rich culture, and promotes free speech. Thank you for complying by not scanning, uploading, and distributing this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher. Your purchase of an authorized electronic edition supports the author’s rights and hard work and allows Champagne Book Group to continue to bring readers fiction at its finest.

www.champagnebooks.com

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Chapter One

I turn the lock on the door and slump against it, sinking to the old oak floor. My sweaty thighs suction to the hardwood so that every time I shift, my skin peels and springs back, leaving me stinging. The phone falls to my side and clatters on the floor. The noise sounds out of place, snapping my brain awake and forcing me back to awareness. Resting my head in my hands, I attempt to steady my breathing and stop my body from shaking. I close my eyes, trying not to think. It doesn’t work.

Through the windows across the room, the moon reflects off the lake like a mirror. There’s an outline of a loon adrift on the water. Its soft, sorrowful cry fills the silence. My dress hangs off the curtain rod, the epitome of femininity, reaching to the floor and billowing in an opulent cloud of white. Hundreds of hand-stitched Swarovski crystals glisten elegantly in the moonlight.

Even at this moment, such beauty isn’t lost on me. A bitter taste fills my mouth, like the tip of a tarnished spoon lingering too long on the tongue, sending a dull ache all the way to the pit of my stomach. I’m frozen.

The throbbing lump in my throat swells painfully, and I can’t fight it anymore. Tears fall freely, and I sob as quietly as I can into my hands. I gasp, but it sounds like someone else. A disembodied intruder. A lost soul, grieving in such a way that should only be done in private. Vulnerability rolls through the air, thick like fog, permeating my lungs and heaving my stomach.

My muscles tense at the thought of their prying eyes and saccharine sympathy. At least I have the refuge of this room. No one will try to find me until morning. I glance at the clock on the dresser, 11:43 PM. I have, at best, seven hours to figure this out. How can I decide what I’m going to do by morning? The simple task of moving from this spot is daunting. My body’s unsteady, and my mind’s foggy from the storm of emotions whirling through me. Shame surges above the rest like a rogue wave.

How could this be happening? Now? Why now?

My stomach dances, vying for center stage. I dig my nails into my scalp, curling my fingers around fistfuls of hair and tugging. I’m so angry at him but also at myself for how pathetic this devastation is.

Resolving to get up from the floor, I stumble to the large four-poster bed. At its foot is a long cream-colored ottoman. It reminds me of a gymnast’s vault. Like I should take a running leap and spring onto the pillows in Olympic form. I slip off my shoes, leave my dress on, and clamber over the ottoman and onto the bed.

Wrapping the duvet around me, I shield myself from the world like a child hiding from pretend monsters that aren’t so imaginary anymore. The crystals on my gown wink at me one after another, assuring me that it belongs in a fairytale.

Vainly, I wish time stood still for me. Or maybe it could rewind a few hours, to ignorant bliss. Better yet, go back ten years to before Mark. The loon continues his mocking song. In the lull of its calls, the chirping of crickets fills the silence, then its cry rings out again.

I’m trying not to be drawn in by the splendor of my dress hanging in wait, fearful of its lure. Its beauty entices, and with it, holds a promise of a life I thought was mine to unfold. Perhaps my life isn’t created by my choices, not mine to shape at all. Instead, it reveals itself to me, and I bow to it.

I close my eyes to shut out the dress and all it symbolizes. This promise is broken.

Chapter Two

Six Hours Earlier...

I stand before the grand mirror in the bathroom, running the brush through my hair, pulling at the loose brown curls. It’s so long and much lighter than normal, a result of my pre-wedding preparations to transform myself into the bridal version of me. My sun-kissed skin’s luminous and youthful. My body’s toned and slender, thanks to my vigilant health plan and regular workouts. I hardly recognize the confident, manicured woman before me.

Within the slight unfamiliarity of my reflection, I catch a hint of uncertainty in the dark blue eyes staring back at me. I push it aside, not letting any doubts creep in. It’s too late for cold feet. I give myself a reassuring smile and switch to happy thoughts.

I’m ready for the ceremony and formalities to be over so we can head off to our honeymoon. I need an escape from this mundane cycle we’ve been stuck in. I can’t recall the last time we spent romantic time together. Travel has always been good for my soul. I’m hoping it’s the medicine we need.

As much as I love to travel, returning home to Nova Scotia is the perfect comfort to me. I’m not blinded by the lure of the big city lights. There was never a doubt that Meg and I would choose to open our restaurant here. We saw ourselves having families and growing old together in the same place we grew up. Meg’s my best friend, business partner, and an amazing chef. She’s the talent behind our enterprise. I bring my degree to the table and manage the business because she can’t stand dealing with logistics.

I also brought the investment capital, thanks to my Aunt Sarah, who passed away from breast cancer at the early age of thirty-nine. I was eighteen and an only child. I’d spent many summers with her in Boston. She lived there when I was young, coming home to Nova Scotia when she got sick.

I was born in Boston while my parents were visiting with her. I came three weeks early, resulting in three panicked adults, unanticipated hospital expenses, and best of all, dual citizenship for me.

Mark slinks up behind me and wraps his thick arms around my waist, meeting my gaze in the mirror.

Well, this is the last time you’ll have me alone before you become Mrs. Mark Bernard. Is there anything you’d like to do with me before I make an honest woman of you? He grins and kisses behind my earlobe.

That does sound tempting. I smirk at the mirror. But our guests are waiting on us for dinner, and I don’t want to disappoint.

His expression changes with tension narrowing his eyes. He’s impressive in his navy suit and white dress shirt, open at the collar. Looking dashing with his thick, dark-brown hair, styled messily, and his sometimes hazel, sometimes green eyes. They’re hazel tonight. He’s a handsome man, even with his vaguely distracted expression.

Everything okay? I try to smother the apprehension blooming in my gut.

It’s not the first time I’ve been wracked with this trepidation. Our path here hasn’t been easy. For a time, I thought we might not make it. I’ve accepted that his career comes before me. His hot and cold behavior is just part of his personality, and we all have our moments. I’ve even forgiven him for that time he strayed outside the relationship. We’ve been together since high school. He’s only human. Those obstacles are all behind us now. It would be a hard pill to swallow if, after all the things I’ve moved past, he was the one with cold feet.

He slides on his signature smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Before answering me, he works a swallow down his throat. Just looking forward to this being over. I want to take you away. He sways us gently and drags his mouth down my neck. Let’s skip this part and go straight to the honeymoon. I can find a little courthouse on the way, still make it official.

Our families would be a bit put out, considering there’s only one more sleep to go. I force a smile. You’re not getting cold feet, are you? It’s normal, so I’m told.

He gives a dismissive chuckle and turns me to face him, cocooned in his arms. "You’re a beautiful woman, Carmen. We’ve lasted all these years, and you still want to be my wife. We’ve grown up together, and now we are going to grow old together." Something dark crosses his eyes.

His words are a confirmation, meant to soothe, and I accept it, not focusing on what his expression might mean. He smiles sweetly and kisses me, lingering on my lips in a familiar way. I’m so comfortable wrapped in his bear-like embrace, I’m tempted to forget all about dinner and my…nerves.

I’m not getting cold feet. I’m getting hungry. He releases and spins me, then smacks my behind, pointing me at the door. "You could persuade me to be late if there’s something you need."

Need? Ha. I grab my pumps and clutch them to my chest like a shield. I told you, last night was all the sex you get until after the wedding. We shouldn’t keep them waiting.

He pouts, but I slip out of the room before he can stop me.

~ * ~

Dishes clink and crystal pings as voices rise and fall in exaggerated tones around the table. It’s a calamity of noise for my tired head. Alcohol flows, and everyone appears looser at this point in the evening. I sit quietly, mentally removed from the conversations, taking it all in. Our families are engaged in animated banter. They’ve grown to know each other well after our long relationship. I was seventeen and in my last year of high school when Mark and I started dating. Still, I wouldn’t call our families close. It’s nice to see everyone getting along. Amazing what an open bar tab can do.

Now, ten years later, I’m ready for the next stage of the life I’ve been envisioning and patiently waiting for. Waiting through university and new business start-ups, and him passing the bar.

Mark’s wisecracking with his good friends, Andrew and Sean, and his brother Chris. Typical male bravado. They’re talking about sports. It’s the only thing they get this worked up about.

On the other side of me are my girls, Meg, Kristen, and Rachel. They’re a bit giddy from the alcohol. Meg personifies sex in her tight red cocktail dress, legs for days, and tousled curls of long and layered blonde hair.

We’re so lucky our fifteen-year friendship has survived the risk of our business venture. Thankfully, our little restaurant on the waterfront has been turning a profit since the second year we opened, and we’re gaining momentum in our third year. I’ve never been so proud. But if things go south one day with the restaurant, Meg and I will be okay.

Rachel and Kristen are discussing what they should do with their hair tomorrow. Kristen picks up half of her shoulder-length, glossy, mahogany hair and pulls it off her face. She has gorgeous olive skin and dark brown eyes. She’s striking in a petite and feminine package. Looks can be deceiving though, because she’s a firecracker and far more athletic than most guys I know.

Oh, you should put flowers in your hair, Meg. Rachel leans over Kristen and pushes a lock of Meg’s hair off the side of her head. I mean, you are the Maid of Honor, you should stand out.

That’s a good idea. I smile at Meg.

She shrugs, not feeling it, not when her default reaction has been to disagree with Rachel. Mark met Rachel through law school, and over the years, she became more my friend than his. We have fun whatever we do. She’s a party girl, and while she isn’t half as beautiful as Meg, flirting’s second nature to her. Meg thinks she’s too much, but we’ve had some good times, and Rachel and I’ve been close for the last few years.

Even though dinner’s over, the drinks continue to flow. Jazz music fills the space with its instrumental accompaniment to our symphony of sounds. Mark leans on his brother, laughing and carrying on so that his voice cuts through the noise. It’s good to see him unwind. He’s been tense from dealing with work demands. That’s why I ended up handling everything related to the wedding without him. Not that he wanted to be involved anyway. Most men probably don’t.

It took him so long to prepare for and pass the bar after earning his Law degree at Dalhousie University, then articling for the past two years at The Department of Justice in Halifax. After a couple of attempts to get in with the Crown Attorneys in Public Prosecution, he found success two months ago.

Thank God. I don’t know if I could’ve handled him if he had to keep trying. It had to be Criminal Law for him, so there was never an option of where he wanted to do his articling. It’s highly coveted, and those kinds of opportunities don’t come by often. He’s so driven and doesn’t handle setbacks well. Living with him through that was nothing short of a trial itself. We all deserve a break, but I would like him to be able to stand at the ceremony tomorrow, and it’s already after eleven. Stress has zapped me of my energy, and all I want to do is crawl into bed. When there’s a break in the conversation, I make my move.

Well, it’s getting late, and I have a big day tomorrow. I grin at Mark. I’m going to call it a night everyone.

My mother and Mark rise at the same time. His parents follow mine around the table to say goodnight. As I hug my mother, her hair covers my face. She smells fancy and feminine. It triggers pleasant and calming sentiments, reminiscent of my childhood.

Please don’t get sappy. She has that pinched expression, and I’m trying to beat a hasty retreat. Don’t cry. Do not cry. I square my shoulders and twitch my lip up in defense. She takes the cue, and my muscles loosen.

After we say our goodnights, Mark and I stroll hand in hand out of the restaurant, finally alone again. The night’s warm, but there’s a welcome cool breeze coming off the water. We meander across the grass to our rooms at the inn. He sways. Oh, he’s drunker than I thought. He holds the door open for me, and we amble along the hall to the room he’s sharing with his brother. I don’t want him with me tonight. Tradition, you know.

Are you going to be okay? I can’t hide the disapproval in my voice, and I hope he’s too drunk to hear it.

I’m fine, he scoffs. I want to give you something. His face lights up with a rare boyish smile.

Oh, yeah? I hardly think you’re up for that.

He flashes me an intoxicated grin, but his eyes spark at the challenge. I’m always ready for sex, Carm.

Charm and liquor ooze from his pores in equal measure. Yes, he’ll make a fine lawyer. He pulls me close for a kiss but it’s hardly enticing. His breath stinks of alcohol, and I’m not buying what he’s selling tonight.

He breaks the liquor-soaked kiss and mumbles, One sec.

Fumbling through the contents of his pockets, he produces the room key with a victorious cackle. After two missed attempts, he unlocks the door and ushers me inside. I plop down on the bed, tired now that we’re in the quiet room. After rummaging through his suitcase, he stretches beside me on the bed, facing me. The same sheepish grin is still plastered on.

I want you to have this. He hesitates, biting the inside of his lower lip. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was nervous, but Mark doesn’t do nervous, especially not with me. I didn’t know if I would give this to you or not.

He places a small soft-cover book in my hands. It resembles a pamphlet, but bigger, and with more pages. I don’t have a clue what it is. Pictures are all over the cover of Greece and its beautiful ancient locations. I frown, slicing glances between the book and him. It’s not a travel brochure. All dog-eared and stained, it’s seen better days.

What’s this? I’m intrigued by the mystery and his shy expression. I turn it over and flip the pages through my fingers, picking up the cover.

No, he places his hand on mine, read it when you’re alone in your room.

He’s chewing the inside of his cheek, making his dimples disappear and reappear in the most adorable way.

Okay. I smile, trying to ease his nerves, but I twitch my lips into more of a smirk.

It’s amusing to see him vulnerable. I clutch the book to my chest and lay in his arms, sinking deeper into the bed, my limbs growing heavy. I’m too cozy wrapped up in him. Tucked against his chest, the comforting scent of his skin mixed with his cologne lulls my senses, pulling me into relaxation. My mind slides into that drowsy state on the verge of slumber.

You better get to sleep, I whisper. I don’t want you hungover in the…

His soft snore makes me smile. All right then.

I shimmy out of his embrace before I succumb to my fatigue. He’s so handsome all dressed up. I can’t wait to see him tomorrow. I slip off his shoes and empty his pockets for him: keys, gum, a crumpled receipt, and his wallet.

I pry his work phone from his hand. Even tonight, he couldn’t resist checking emails. I place everything on the nightstand cluttered with a lamp, phone, alarm clock, and his cellphone. Still holding the mysterious book of Greece, as I give him a kiss, I knock his keys and a phone onto the floor. Ugh. I need to get to bed.

I pick them up and place them on the table. The phone screen’s on. Normally I wouldn’t pay attention, but something catches my eye—a notification for an email from Rachel.

They haven’t been working together since school finished, and he doesn’t use his work phone for personal conversations, too much of a risk for the confidential information he deals with. Now I’m curious. I would ask him, but he’s down for the count. I glance at him, then at the message. I’m crossing a line, but my gut compels me to click on the notification, so I do.

My heart plummets to my stomach. I raise my trembling hand to my open mouth, and all the air vanishes from my lungs in a single exhale.

What the fuck?

Chapter Three

When I open my eyes, the clock on the dresser reads 5:47 AM. My heart skips a beat. I fell asleep after returning to my room last night. Before all my senses awaken, I marvel at the thought that it was all a nightmare. Perhaps brought on by cold feet? A whimper pushes up my tight throat, and I blink at his stupid phone clutched in my hand. I toss it to the floor like it’s a hot coal.

Reality settles deep in my heart, and my mind resumes its state of dismay. My eyes are stinging, dry and swollen. My lips taste of salt, and the skin on my face is tight with dried tears. My body aches, and my stomach’s still rebelling.

The morning sun has taken the moon’s place on the lake, and its colors are glorious, stretching as far as the windows will share. The loon is gone. This new morning holds promise. My dress is less welcoming in the rising sun, like it belongs in a fairy tale and not to me.

It’s over, and it’s not my fault. I’ve had no part in this wreck. I didn’t ask for it.

The more I awaken, the more panic sets into my veins. I need to decide and fast. My family and friends will arrive at my room in an hour. She will be among them, unaware that I know. Unaware that I loathe her, unable to say her name. This is it. Sink or swim? Fight or flight? What am I going to do?

So many people have invested in us today. They’ve given their time, money, support, and they expect me to uphold my end. I can’t consider that now. I can’t ignore it either. There’s no way I can face him, let alone profess my eternal love and lifelong commitment to him in front of our dearest family and friends.

Vomit rises up my throat. This can’t be happening. I’m shaky and sweating.

This isn’t even his first offense. How many other indiscretions am I unaware of? All those little rumblings of doubt were warnings, intuition I ignored. I knew we weren’t all right. It hasn’t felt good in a long time. What was I thinking? Why did I agree to marry him with a tendril of doubt as my constant companion?

A knock at the door steals my breath. I freeze.

I can’t face anyone. Why the hell would they be here this early? I study the window. Could I climb out and escape without hurting myself? I plan each step, sliding the window up, and swinging my leg out. Meg’s muffled voice through the door snaps me out of my thoughts. Oh, thank God.

Carm. Wake up. Let me in, she whisper-yells from the hall.

I scramble to my feet, not worrying about what kind of disheveled, sorry face will greet her. When I reach the door, I stop short of opening it.

Meg? Are you alone? My voice sounds desperate—cracked and hoarse.

Yes. Let me in, she whines.

I picture her leaning on the wall, rolling her eyes at me.

I open the door and drag her in, shutting and locking it behind me. In her yoga pants and a workout tank top, her hair is pulled back haphazardly, and she’s holding coffee in her hands. One for her, and one for me. Concern and confusion wash over her face when she runs her gaze over me.

What’s wrong? She pauses for me to explain.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I hold my voice to stop the tears from starting again.

What’s going on? You look awful. Tell me what’s wrong. Are you backing out? Why did she sound hopeful with that last question?

I choke on another cry. I can’t… I truly can’t say the words.

Sit, take a deep breath. Do you want coffee? She waves the cup.

Silence.

Help me out here. Is something wrong with Mark? Did he call it off? Her face twists in fear. She wants to take charge and fix this.

Another knock on the door makes me flinch. Meg whips her head toward my mother’s muffled voice from the hallway. Carmen, open up.

Doesn’t anyone sleep in?

Meg eyes me as she sets the coffee cups on the desk and sidesteps to the door, yanking my mother inside the room, the same way I did to her. Mom stumbles, but her smile doesn’t falter until her gaze lands on me.

I didn’t think I could feel any worse. There’s a certain way a mother can see everything going on inside your head in an instant. She snaps straight, squares her shoulders, and flattens her brows into a hard line.

What did he do this time? She slides her gaze to Meg, then to me.

I was just trying to figure that out, Meg mutters.

There’s a fresh sting of embarrassment. They assume Mark’s fucked up. Can everyone see it but me?

My mother’s lips press together, then spring open. Do I need to give someone a stern talking to or have a getaway car ready? You’re not supposed to be sad on your wedding day, and you can’t lie to us. Those aren’t happy tears.

I blow out a shaky breath and pick up Mark’s phone laying on the floor. The screen is locked, but that’s not a hindrance. For someone with much to hide, he wasn’t clever about passwords.

The screen opens to where I left it last night. The message from Rachel stares me down, awakening the rage that had partially subsided. It was only a quiet reprieve.

I can’t stand this vulnerable wilting flower of a girl. I’m twenty-seven years old. I should be stronger.

I hand the phone to Mom. Here. I found this last night.

Meg leans over Mom’s shoulder to read. I analyze their faces, waiting for their reactions.

From: Mullins, Rachel

To: Bernard, Mark

Subject: Decision

Mark,

I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t say this while there’s still time for us. Don’t marry Carmen. Don’t do it. We can make this work. You don’t have to be trapped for life because you’ve been together for so long. You don’t think you have options at this point, but you do. I love you. This hasn’t been easy for me either.

This situation is awful, but I want you to know you have choices. Please talk to me before tomorrow. Text me, and we can meet. I’ll make it happen. Please, think about it. I’m not ready to end this.

I love you.

Rachel

Meg’s eyes narrow. Her brow furrows.

In contrast, Mom’s eyes widen. Her eyebrows shoot to her forehead.

Fucker, Meg breathes the word in a quiet whoosh of air. Sorry, Evie, she mumbles to my mother.

Mom snarls, Fucker is right. Do you know anything more than this email, Carmen? She smacks a hand on her hip and waves the phone between us.

No. My anger burns hotter. I clench my hands into tight fists at my sides.

Did you ask him what this is? Meg tries to snatch the phone from Mom. He can’t sweet talk around this.

My brain tacks the word again onto the end of her sentence. He doesn’t know I have it. He fell asleep, then I saw the email. I took the phone with me.

All right, honey, what do you want to do? Mom shoves the phone at Meg. Do you want to go to his room and throw it in his face, let him try to explain, or what? What do you plan to do? She squeezes my fist, reminding me to loosen it.

I— A gentle rapping at the door steals our attention.

My chest is on fire. Meg’s eyes widen, and Mom fixes me with an urgent stare.

Okay, say the word. Meg cracks her knuckles and stretches her neck. "Am I cleaning house or playing