The Truth
Authors: Katrina Alba
The Truth
By Katrina Alba
Copyright © 2015
Katrina Alba
The Truth
By Katrina Alba
Cover Design by
Cassy Roop with
Pink Ink Designs
Editing and Interior Design by
Rogena Mitchell-Jones Manuscript Services
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
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Table of Contents
For my tag team, Ginger and Norma.
Without you, no one would even know my books exist.
For anyone who has ever had a broken heart,
this one’s for you.
“Please, you don’t
have to do this.”
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up and turn around!”
“Please, please—I’m pregnant.”
“I know. That’s exactly why this has to happen. Getting rid of you can fix things. I can make amends.”
“I’ll just go away. You don’t have to do this. No one will ever have to know. I’ll take care of this on my own. I promise. Just let me go.”
“Yes—you will go away. I plan to make sure of it. Then maybe I can be forgiven.”
When she is grabbed by the hair a second later, she screams before she is pushed to a kneeling position.
“Please, please don’t do this,” she sobs over and over. Two gunshots echo through the small space, immediately followed by the sound of shattering glass when a vase full of flowers is hit by a bullet. Glass shards and water fly everywhere. Then there is just silence. She slumps over to the ground as a pool of blood grows around her. I watch one stray flower petal as it glides through the air and lands in the sea of red.
Not taking even a moment to think about it, I pocket the gun and flee, making sure to close all the doors behind me.
On the way back, I drop the gun in the river. Goodbye evidence. There is nothing to tie us together, and the murder weapon will never be found now.
Problem solved.
* * *
PART I
From The Outside
“Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored.”
~Aldous Huxley
“Cheer up, Whit.
You know what they say. The best way to get over someone is to get
under
someone new.” This at least elicits a chuckle from her, which is exactly what I was hoping. “The party will be fun. Besides, it’s New Year’s Eve. There was no way I was letting you mope at home alone. So, plaster on your perfect smile and let’s go mingle with the trust fund brats.”
“What am I going to do with you, Lys?” She laughs.
“You’re going to drink and dance with me. Come on,” I say pulling her up the walkway to the ridiculous mansion in front of us.
Whitney Goldstein has been my best friend and my other half since we were five. Her parents are loaded. My family, on the other hand, is what I call comfortable or upper-middle class. Fortunately, rather than send their kids to expensive private schools, the Goldstein’s thought their children should grow up as they did—with humble beginnings, learning to earn the things you have, and all that good stuff.
I met Whitney the first day of kindergarten in public school. It was a sunny day, and I was drawing a butterfly on the blacktop in blue sidewalk chalk.
“Butterflies should be pink or purple, not bluuuue,” a little dark, curly-haired girl said as she scooted me out of the way to color over my blue wings with pink. “Much better.” She stood back, hands on her hips, admiring her handy work.
“Hang on.” I leaned down and used her pink chalk to make the wings match. “There.” I smiled. “Butterfly wings are suposta to be the same on both sides. Now it’s perfect.”
“We make a good team.” Whitney and I went on to create a whole collage of caterpillars and butterflies during recess, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.
The saying ‘opposites attract’ is true, at least in our case.Whit and I couldn’t be any different if we tried. She is athletic while I would rather cheer from the sidelines. I am the academic one while she just barely skates by. Whit is boy crazy and jumps into relationships head first. Me? I prefer to keep things casual, never letting myself become attached. I’m the one who always does the right thing, while Whitney has always been the rebel. Although you’d never know it by looking at her. Even our appearances are opposite. I have long blonde hair and blue eyes. Whit, she has short dark curls and almond shaped eyes so dark they’re almost black.
The party we’re attending is at the Kennedy mansion. The Kennedy family basically owns the entire town of La Perla. I’ve never met them, but I have heard the tales of their wealthy, entitled heirs. I live on the more modest side of town. Whit lives on the beachfront. The Kennedys? They live in another dimension. Their estate is a compound of multiple mansions. They don’t just live in a gated community—they own the gated community.
Living in La Perla, mansions are common and don’t faze me, but even I can’t deny this one is spectacular. A man, who I assume is the butler, ushers us past the entryway, which has not two but four grand staircases. We are guided to the right through a hallway to the second huge, beautifully carved wood door. The butler opens the door to a ballroom that a few of my house could fit in. He then stands back smiling, sort of bows holding his arm out, and guides us into the biggest party I’ve ever seen.
I offer a small, slightly intimidated smile back before Whitney pulls me in. “Come on, let’s go find Liam and grab a drink.” I am in awe of the entire scene in front of me, but I do my best to slap on my ‘I hangout in mansions the size of a town every day’ face. “There they are,” I say pointing across the crowded room.
“Wow, I can’t believe we would even find them in this crowd.” I push my shoulders back, grab two glasses of wine from a waiter walking by, and then strut confidently with Whit over to Liam and Keith. Liam is Whitney’s twin. He is in every way the male version of her—tall, dark hair, dark eyes, and a jock. Keith is his best friend.
“It’s about time you got here. Always with the taking two hours to get ready, sis.”
“Shut it, William. Hi, Keith,” Whitney greets Keith sweetly. She is the only one allowed to call Liam
William
outside of his parents.
“Alyssa,” Keith speaks my name softly and leans in to kiss my cheek.
“So, how’s the party, boys?” I ask.
“Typical rich party, just in a bigger house. Haven’t seen any decent snatch running around yet,” Liam says crudely. Keith just chuckles by his side.
“Nice, very classy.” I roll my eyes at them. “Let’s go troll and see if there are any doable guys here.” I nudge Whitney.
Liam chokes on a sip of his drink. “Nice, very classy.” He winks at me.
Keith inhales deeply, and I can tell he is holding his tongue. Keith is attractive and fun, but I’ve never gone there with him. At the end of the day, he’s Liam’s best friend and it would just change the group dynamic and make things awkward. The four of us have always been really close and I wouldn’t want anything to mess that up. For that reason, I like to keep my encounters outside of my group of friends. Sort of the ‘don’t shit where you eat’ rule of thumb.
Almost immediately after walking away from Liam and Keith, two young guys walk up to chat. “Dance, ladies?” trust fund brat number one asks.
Whitney looks over at me with a pleading look. “Sure,” I answer with a smile. I’ll take one for the team if it gets Whit over the loser she was dating. Trust fund brat number two crooks his arm, and I reach mine through it following him to the dance floor. We dance and he talks my ear off about who knows what. I’m not listening. I couldn’t care less and this is going nowhere. He’s not at all my type. At a few inches shorter than I am in my heels, I feel like I’m dancing with a little boy. I know, in the pits of my subconscious, this is shallow. I don’t really have a type to be honest other than big. I like tall, big guys who make me feel small. Dark, fair, fit, husky makes no difference as long as he’s tall.
After a few songs with chatty Kathy, I excuse myself to the ladies’ room. When I come back from the little girl’s room, I head out to the terrace to avoid having to endure anymore rich kid ramblings. I’m looking over at the beautifully manicured grounds below when a hand on my shoulder startles me.
Keith hands me a glass of wine. “You scared the shit out of me,” I gasp, taking the glass he’s offering.
“Sorry,” he apologizes, but looks amused. “I saw you come out here. I thought I would grab you one, too. Sometimes these parties require a little extra to bear them.”
“You aren’t having fun?”
“Nah, I’ll probably call it a night early.”
“Maybe you could meet a nice girl here.”
Keith lets out a chuckle. “Yeah, rich debutants are always running away with guys fresh out of the police academy.”
“You never know. You could find a Debbie Darling looking to piss off Daddy.” I laugh.
“I’m good.”
“Seriously though, Keith—don’t sell yourself short. Money isn’t everything. You’re a great guy with a lot to offer.”
“Says the beauty of the ball, who does nothing but sell herself short. Lys, why don’t you date?”
The one subject I don’t like to discuss. Why don’t I date? Because it can only end badly. I don’t ever want to be my parents.
“Just haven’t met the right guy, I suppose.” I shrug in an attempt to brush off the conversation.
“I bet it would be easier to meet a nice guy if you opened your eyes and looked around,” he teases.
“Maybe. Not like I have time for a boyfriend anyway until I finish school. Besides, you know I’ve been waiting all these years for you. Keith, oh, Keith, when will you notice me? Marry me, Keith!” I deflect the conversation back to joking. Humor is my go to in order to get out of talking about anything serious.
“Watch it or I just might.” He looks thoughtful for a moment as we watch the beautiful grounds below us in silence. Keith then slugs back his drink, gives me a kiss on my cheek, and announces his departure. “Have fun, behave.”
“Always.”
He stops in his tracks and turns back to me like he is going to say something. He doesn’t. Instead, he just smiles and turns back toward the exit.
“Thanks for the wine. Goodnight, Keith.”
I’m watching out over the grounds in a trance when I hear, “There you are.”
Crap.
I turn and smile a bright, fake smile. “Ah, I just needed some air.”
“Want some company?”
“Um, sure?” An excuse escapes me at the moment. Chatty trust fund brat resumes his assault on my ears, and I contemplate cutting them off. Then I imagine walking around the rest of my life without ears simply because someone was boring me. It would make an interesting conversation piece, but it certainly wouldn’t land me any dates. Trying to focus on anything but him, I notice movement on the other end of the terrace in the shadows. I hadn’t known anyone else was out here.
A tall, handsome man steps into the light and walks over to us. “Duncan, can’t you tell you’re boring this beautiful girl to tears?” Ouch. Wait. Did he just call me beautiful? This guy is confident. His voice is smooth and sexy. The way trust fund brat responds to him is unexpected. He almost cowers and then looks at me apologetically.
I shrug my shoulders and smile guiltily unsure what to say. “It was nice talking with you, Alyssa. Have a wonderful night,” is all he says before darting back into the party.
“Beautiful night out,” mystery stranger says.
“It is and the grounds here are also beautiful all lit up at night.” We are both silent for a moment. I continue to take in the view. The music from the ballroom can be heard through the double glass doors leading back inside. “What are you doing out here? The party is inside,” I ask smiling over at him.
He smirks before responding. “Probably the same thing you’re doing out here. I find these parties can be a little stuffy. I tend to try to escape them.”
“Yeah, I could see that. They’re not all bad, the trust fund babies, I mean. My best friend is one of the good ones. She’s down to Earth. Some of them just seem to feel entitled because mommy and daddy are rich.” I stop rambling and look back over to this gorgeous man smirking at me. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“No, I get it. They can be obnoxious. Money doesn’t agree with everyone.”
“How do you know the Kennedys?” I ask casually. I watch his mouth carefully. He has this perfectly square jaw. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone with such a perfectly symmetrical face. All except for one scar throwing it all off when you look closely. Just above his lips, in the crease in the center that connects to your nose, there is a scar. The most perfectly placed scar. It’s strange how a scar could, in some way, enhance someone’s appearance, but this little scar takes his almost too perfect, too pretty face and gives it the exact touch of masculinity.
I’m thinking about nibbling that scar when he responds. “I’m their accountant.”
“Wow.”
“What about you? What do you do?”
“I’m just finishing med school, currently.”
“What is your focus?”
“Obstetrics and gynecology,” I say watching him for a reaction. Most guys eyes get wide and you can tell they’re picturing dirty things when I tell them what I’m studying. He has a total game face.
“That is very—interesting.” His tone is genuine.
“Couldn’t think of anything better to do with my life than delivering babies.”
“I bet it is more exciting than accounting.”
“Oh, but you work for the elite. I’m sure that’s pretty exciting,” I add sarcastically.
“Well, I do have all kinds of dirt on them.”
“Yeah, but I bet they pay you to keep all their dirty little secrets.” I nudge his arm as I laugh, which turns into a giggle when I catch his eye. I am not the type of girl who giggles. He makes me feel giddy. The way he’s looking at me as if he can already see what is under my dress is unnerving.
“That would be correct.” He winks.
We are chatting comfortably when the lights on the grounds suddenly shut off. The three sets of glass doors swing open. It’s pitch black outside with just the slightest tinge of light filtering out from the ballroom doors as partygoers start to file out onto the terrace. I feel the handsome stranger reach out and grab my hand, lacing his fingers with mine. “Don’t worry. This is awesome. They do it every year.”
Then something I never could have expected happened. Fireworks started exploding, each one shaped like a number and counting down to the new year. With each explosion, the crowd screamed the countdown. At the stroke of midnight, a finale of fireworks exploded and the party went nuts before a scene of people kissing played out. I turned to look back at the gorgeous man next to me who I could only make out by the light of the beautiful explosions. He leaned in, catching me off guard, and kissed my lips so sweetly. I let him.
After a moment, he pulled away. “Happy New Year.” He smiled down at me before diving back at my lips. Fireworks? What fireworks? All I was aware of was the soft, but firm lips melding with mine. I’d never been kissed like this. I’d never felt the world fade away and wanted it to never end. And the strangest part? I didn’t even know his name and couldn’t have cared less at that moment.
His expert kiss evoked a small involuntary whimper causing me to open my lips just enough for him to take it as an invitation. He slipped his tongue into my mouth slowly, but it was my undoing. I lost all sense of anything rational and wrapped my hands in his hair pulling him closer. I wanted more. I needed more.
