Page 63 of The Devil's Deceit

Three dots immediately appear. Her boss mustn’t be around or there would’ve been a delay while she ducked into the ladies to reply to me.

Juliet: I got u babe. Where’s that come from?

Me: Vicky De Vil. Apparently, she and Imogen want to ‘get to know me’. Which means I need cover in case I screw up.

Juliet: You’ll be fine. You’ve got this.

Me: Your belief in me is admirable, if misguided.

Juliet: Fuck off.

I send a laughing emoji. I’m not sure what I’d do without Juliet, and I hope I never have to find out.

Standing the ironing board up, I hoist the basket of creased clothes from the top of the washing machine and snag a blue shirt off the top. Although I never loved my job, I hate not working. I feel like a spare part hanging around the house all day waiting for Arron to come home from work so I have someone to talk to.

As soon as this thing with Christian is over, I need to figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life.

First, though, I have to get through the next weeks or months, find out what or who killed Mum and Dad, lie low somewhere Christian can’t find me until the commotion dies down, then start my life over.

Easy as pie.

If only.

Still, it feels good to take control and have something to focus on after Arron and I have the answers we need. I’m stuck without them, unable to move forward without that much-needed closure.

I finish the ironing and put the clothes away. As I’m hanging my favorite jumper, a thread catches on my engagement ring. Cursing, I untangle it. I still haven’t got used to the weight of it on my finger, nor the fear that every time I leave the house I’m going to get mugged, but at the same time, I’m too scared to take it off in case I lose it.

I haven’t seen Christian since he put this ringon my finger. His regular and extended absences leave me in something of a quandary. On the one hand, if he’s away this often after we’re married, I’ll have a much freer rein to dig through his personal stuff without fear of him walking in and catching me.

On the other hand, and it makes me feel sick to admit this even silently to myself, I miss him.

Love and hate may be two sides of the same coin, but in the middle is me, squished, highly uncomfortable, and terrified that I’ll be the one left in ruins when all this is over.

To save my sanity, I need to find out what he knows, and fast. Let’s face it, the longer I’m married to him, the more of myself I risk losing. Now, more than ever, I wish he was a complete arsehole. It’d be so much easier if every time I looked at him, the word “prat” popped into my head like a bad commercial jingle.

Some days I feel as if I’m going to burst from the pressure building up inside me. I can’t tell Arron how I feel. Even Juliet gets the sanitized version. And if I let slip one word of this to Uncle Daniel, I dread to think what he’ll do or say.

I’d make a terrible spy. Best not apply for a job at MI5 anytime soon.

After a few boring days of trying to occupy myself and not go mad, Saturday evening finally comes around. Allowing plenty of time, I make my way to Juliet’s with an overnight bag and a gutful of anxiety. I’m anticipating questions subtly disguised as interest, and despite my well-rehearsed backstory, lies are always harder to keep straight than the truth, especially where alcohol is involved. I’ll have to hope I’m sitting by a pot plant and can pour my drinks away when no one is looking.

Juliet opens the door and, in her inimitable style, blurts out, “Jesus, who peed on your Cornflakes?”

Rolling my eyes, I shove past her and drop my bag in the hallway. “Very funny.”

“Relax. It’s just dinner with a couple of women. They’re not going to strap you to a chair and torture the truth out of you.”

“How do you know?” I peel off my coat and throw it over the back of the couch.

“Grace, this isn’t you. Stop trying to steal my drama queen crown, and get a grip of yourself.”

Sinking into her couch, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You’re right. It’ll be fine.”

She sits beside me. “Itwill.Plus, it’s a good idea to make friends with these women. Who knows what inadvertent piece of information they may drop.”

“That’s mercenary.”

She arches a brow. “All of this is mercenary. What do you think is going on here, Grace? You should be looking at every opportunity as a chance to get what you came for and get the hell out of there. You owe these people nothing.”