Page 34 of The Awful Truth

She let out a chuckle she didn’t mean. “You know what, Miguel? I have always hated my name.”

“Really? I think it’s lovely.”

“It’s terrible. It’s not a name, it’s a directive. Be merciful. Be kind. In other words, be a doormat. My little sister’s name is Faith. When we’re alone, we call ourselves the ‘walk all over us’ sisters, but there’s really only so long a person can keep giving, you know?”

His face fell. “I take it you’ve reached the end of only so long?”

“Yes, Miguel. To be completely honest with you, lately, I’ve been having more ‘I’m going to snap and kill someone’ days than ‘do unto others’ days. Actually, now that I think about it, I can’t remember the last day that went by without me thinking of strangling someone.” Specifically, her husband. Some days it was his parents. Often it was all three of them. Occasionally it was one of those awful gossipy moms at school drop-off, and let’s face it, every time she was obliged to go to the River Oaks Country Club to play tennis with a wife of some important executive, Mercy was tempted to beat someone to death with her racket— mainly the other women who looked down on her because they knew she had ‘married up’ whereas they’d been born to rich daddies. As if that was their own doing.

“I see.” He stood up and began folding the blanket. “I should leave you to relax. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

Immediately, her sense of guilt kicked in. “Oh Miguel, I’m sorry. I’m just…tired today.”

“Yes, which is why I should leave you to rest.” He offered her a small smile, but she could tell he was panicking.

“Look, here’s the truth,” she said, not sure what the truth actually was. “Travis is…well, he’s a very powerful man. Extremely busy making million-dollar decisions all day long. He’s got thousands of employees relying on him to keep things running so they’ll all have jobs next week. Which means he can’t just say yes to everyone who wants something. Those employees and their families are counting on him. And no offense, but their needs have to come first. And they certainly come ahead of someone as privileged as you, who said yes when he should’ve said no.”

Miguel ran his tongue over his teeth. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry to have bothered you.” He turned to leave, but once he reached the door, he spun around again. “Wait. I do have one last thing to say, and then I’ll go. I am privileged, yes. But only because I’m with Winslow. Without him, I have nothing.”

“Then do the show and you’ll have more than enough.”

“But I’ll lose him, Mercy. And he is the love of my life.”

Oh lord, he was piling on the guilt. “Listen, here’s how I see it. You did the wrong thing by lying to your husband, but he did the wrong thing too, by saying no to you like that. It seems to me he backed you into a corner by refusing to consider the idea. And in my book, that gives you a leg to stand on. If I was you, I’d tell him the truth, but also make it clear that you never would have done it if you felt like you had a voice in your marriage.”

His eyebrows drew closer together, and he looked anything but convinced by her mediocre attempt at a pep talk. “That’s good advice. Thank you.”

He pulled open the door, but Mercy stopped him with her voice. “Miguel, if I could change his mind for you, I would.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sure Winslow will understand. He might be upset at first, but then he’ll⁠—”

“No, he won’t.” Miguel shook his head. “But that’s okay. I’m a big boy who messed up his bed. Now I have to lie in it.”

He walked out, leaving Mercy alone again. Only this time she was too upset to read. And it wasn’t because Miguel had interrupted her solitude to ask for a favor. It’s because even if she had wanted to, there was literally nothing she could do or say that would change her husband’s mind. It was she who had no voice in her marriage. And now that the thought had popped into her mind, she knew it would follow her everywhere she went.

THE DAY AFTER THE INCIDENT

“Any man can make mistakes, but only an idiot persists in his error” ~ Marcus Tullius Cicero

8:45 A.M. — THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 13

PETRA

Petra got to the office fifteen minutes early, which was something she’d never done before. She was the sort of person to slide in right on time. Well, usually a couple of minutes late, if she were to be honest about it. But today she decided to get there early so she wouldn’t miss anything that might help Luka.

The Director, an early riser who she knew showed up around eight in the morning even though their office didn’t open until nine, was already at his desk on a call with his door closed. His eyes narrowed slightly when he saw her and she hoped showing up early wasn’t going to look suspicious.

Her nerves were raw. She’d barely slept last night. It was all too thrilling. Too scary. Too romantic.

She’d found one very important clue shortly after she had gotten home from their date—the yacht was owned by Travis Bishop, an American who owned the Summit Broadcasting Network. He was married to a famous actress, Mercy Devereaux, and when she Googled them, she found a blog post called The Real-Life Beauty and the Beast by a woman who suggested theirs was a miserable marriage. This would be perfect for Luka. An unhappy, rich couple. There would be secrets, scandals, and best of all, it really must be a murder. If she had to guess, she’d say Mercy was dead, and Travis Bishop had killed her. It was always the husband, after all.

Petra was so excited, she called Luka right away, whispering into the phone because her parents were still awake.

“I found out who owns the yacht.”

“What?”