Page 4 of From West, With Regret (NYC Billionaires #2)

THREE

LONDON

The rain stops the second I step beside my husband’s casket.

An entirely too large bouquet of black, purple, and white roses rests on the top of the lacquered walnut. The scent of rain mingles with the polyurethane, as though the funeral home insisted on adding another layer of protection to preserve my husband’s body before lowering it into the ground.

My dress clings to my damp skin, and I cross my arms over my chest, afraid my peaked nipples will be noticed beneath the delicate fabric of my dress.

My mother-in-law stands on the other side of Heath’s casket, unable to take her eyes off her son’s final resting place.

She reaches under the toile shielding her face and dabs at the tears spilling through her lashes with her black handkerchief.

When she briefly glances up at me, I squeeze my arms around myself, worrying she’ll somehow be able to see my nipples through my dress.

I may as well be naked as she sizes me up.

Does she know this was her son’s favorite dress? Does she know he relentlessly begged me to wear it?

My mother-in-law and I haven’t formally met before, only ever speaking over the phone, but I know she recognizes me, since Heath sent her pictures from our wedding day. Or so he told me.

The corners of her mouth twitch in acknowledgement before she moves on and settles in her seat in the first row.

I take a deep breath and do the same.

After sitting in the white, fold-out chair beside Glenna Hall, I hold my breath and keep my focus on the lone lectern placed in front of Heath’s newly dug grave.

The seat is dry—they must have wiped them down as we were paying our respects to Heath—and my still-wet dress sticks to the plastic, pulling it farther up the back of my thigh when I shift in place.

“I’m sorry, Wyatt,” Glenna says to the man moving to sit in the seat on the other side of her. “This seat is reserved for my other son. He should be here any minute. Seems he’s running a little behind today.”

“Oh.” Wyatt frowns. “Of course.” He glances between us before settling back on Glenna. “I’m sorry for your family’s loss.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” She grabs his hand with her gloved one. “At least he’s with his father now.” Glenna nods to the elaborate headstone several feet away from where Heath is being buried.

I hadn’t realized Heath’s father was buried here as well. It must be why he requested to be here. To be with his father.

“Richard Hall was an exceptional man,” Wyatt says to Glenna. “You and he contributed so much to this city. You’ve raised a wonderful family.”

“Thank you, Wyatt.” Glenna pats the corner of her eye and inhales deeply. “It’s just the two of us now.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek, knowing Glenna isn’t talking about me. She doesn’t consider me family anymore. How could she when she’s never met me until today ?

Glenna squeezes Wyatt’s hand before letting it go. He leaves us, taking a seat in the row behind instead.

I force myself to keep my gaze trained on my husband’s casket but can’t help focusing on the opposite side of Glenna, to the empty seat. I didn’t even know Heath had a brother.

“Heath would have hated that it rained today.” Glenna leans into me, whispering. I turn my head and catch her sad eyes looking up at me. “He always loved it when the sun was shining.”

Her lips are perfectly painted a deep shade of burgundy, her makeup flawless. The crow’s feet at the corners of her blue eyes are barely noticeable, even if it weren’t for the mesh fabric shielding her face. It’s obvious she’s had several sessions of Botox, at least, but she’s still beautiful.

I give her a small smile, pretending to agree. I don’t know what type of weather Heath preferred, much less whether he enjoyed the sunlight. We never discussed those types of things. But the grief and kindness is Glenna’s expression makes me keep those thoughts to myself.

My mind wanders back to the bartender at The Veiled Door. My truths rest on the tip of my tongue, begging to be set free. I swallow them down. The bartender was right. The truth is easier to tell than a lie.

“He’ll still get this beautiful view, though,” I whisper back, nodding toward the river. It’s the only bit of honesty I can offer.

It is a beautiful view. The still, heavy gray clouds float above the New York skyline. The chaotic sounds of the city seem so far away, even though we’re just on the other side of the river. It’s amazing how isolating it can appear from the outside. But it’s a dream to be here for so many.

“He loved you, you know,” Glenna whispers again.

I open my mouth and breathe in, her words hitting me.

At one point, I did love Heath. I may not be broken hearted over his death now, but I don’t believe it would have always been this way.

I think back to when I married him and know what I felt for him at the time was love.

But after the honeymoon period, my love for him quickly unraveled. Now, here I am.

The only sadness I feel is for Glenna—a mother who has lost her son.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to meet until today,” I tell her.

“Oh, sweetheart.” She waves me off and pats my knee, touching the silk fabric still clinging to my skin. “What’s important is that you’re here now.”

I eye the empty lectern. “I just didn’t want you thinking I didn’t want to meet you. I asked Heath, but he never?—”

“It’s all right, London,” she interrupts me, pinning her eyes on mine. “I’m sure Heath had his reasons. It’s nothing to worry about now.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and blink back at her comment. Her stare burns a hole in my ungrieving chest.

“Welcome, family and friends.” The priest walks up to the lectern, finally taking the space behind it. He’s dressed in a black robe with a deep purple sash draped over his shoulders. I didn’t even know the Hall family was catholic.

“We’re here to mourn and remember a life cut regrettably and tragically too short,” the priest continues. “The life of Heath Preston Hall. A beloved son, brother, and husband.” The priest scans the front row before landing on me.

“Before the ceremony continues, Heath wished for his wife to say a few words about him before the rest of his family.” The priest lifts his arm and holds it out to me. “Mrs. Hall, please.”

Feeling everyone’s eyes on me, my cheeks heat against the sticky air.

It clings to my damp skin, intensifying with every passing second.

I swallow the lump that hasn’t stopped swelling in my throat and run my hands down the front of my thighs.

I can’t tell if the moisture on my palms is from my dress or my nerves.

I clear my throat as Glenna lifts her hand and grabs onto my arm to give it a gentle squeeze of encouragement. I wish my sister was able to come. Her support would be more welcome than the one I’m receiving from the mother-in-law I haven’t met until thirty minutes ago.

“Go on, sweetheart,” she urges.

I nod and breathe through my nose, leaving my purse in my seat.

When I stand, I adjust my dress, peeling it away from the backs of my thighs, and carefully walk up to the podium.

My boots squelch into the soft, wet ground.

The priest steps off to the side, and it isn’t until I’m standing directly in front of the microphone that I realize how many people are at Heath’s funeral.

The crowd stretches far back past the ten rows of seating.

When I first stepped up to Heath’s casket to pay my respects, there were only a fraction of the people here now.

My gut twists, and I look down at the wood edge of the lectern. There’s nothing but a Bible sitting there.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. I never wrote a speech.

I couldn’t even write five things I would miss about my husband.

My mind drew a blank then, and it’s drawing a blank now.

I twist my fingers in front of me—twist them until my skin burns.

Tears prick the corners of my eyes before I look down to Heath lying in front of me.

To the lacquered coffin and mountain of black, purple, and white roses.

“Um.” I clear my throat and speak into the microphone. “Heath was…”

I’m searching for the words while I search the crowd.

A sea of strangers. Just like I was in Heath’s world.

A stranger. An outsider. Heath never let me in, yet somehow, he wanted me to speak first at his funeral.

Perhaps he did this on purpose. He wants me to scramble to find the words to speak when it matters most. He’s probably getting off on this from wherever he is, watching me sweat and squirm in public.

Blackness permeates the corners of my vision. I feel myself sifting through the puzzle pieces again, lost in the darkness of an unknown sea. I’m kicking and clawing to find a way out.

My attention comes to a stop at Glenna. She’s staring at me blankly, but her wringing hands are unmistakable. She switches her crossed ankles before she shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

I clear my throat again and tuck my frizzy hair behind my ear. I run my fingers across the side of my face and lick my lips. “Heath was, um…”

Glenna’s eyes slowly widen, her own panic taking over.

I think of the first time I met Heath, outside the bank in Boston, when I’d tripped on the curb. The black car barreling toward me as I laid on all fours, frozen on the asphalt. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me back.

He saved me.

I told him it wasn’t the first time I’d been in an accident and then he played me, molding me into the wife he wanted me to become.

He took advantage of me.

“Heath was a good man,” I whisper into the microphone. The lie tastes like bitter, sharp acid.

All eyes are glued to me, and they have no idea. They have no idea how many countless personalities Heath possessed and his ability to turn them on a dime.

I fell victim to the love he offered.