Book 1 of the new INFIDELITY series is coming on October 13th...
Are you ready for BETRAYAL?
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Prologue
Present
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.
Biting
the inside of my cheek, I gracefully made my way up the cement path.
Why did I come back?
Welcome to the world of Infidelity...be prepared to ONE-CLICK on October 13 EVERYWHERE.
Exclusive pre-sales and sample available on: iBooks
