Page 1 of The Secrets We Bury

PROLOGUE

JULIET

3 years ago…

Iam raw. Emptied of all thought and feeling save for one:shame.

My insides are no longer my own. I live in skin that feels as if it doesn’t belong to me. The mind inside is wrong. It doesn’t match the limbs attached. Warped dreams wrap clawlike hands around my head, burrowing into my brain with flashes of something I don’t want to see.

A nightmare.

The click-clack of heels on marble has me jolting out of my head and I turn as my mother strides into the kitchen and holds her hand out for Chef Barker’s perfectly steamed mocha cappuccino. One manicured hand closes around the oversized mug as the other types away on the screen of her phone.

“Don’t think I didn’t hear about you drinking in the hotel bar, Juliet,” she snaps without ever lifting her head. “I’m very disappointed in you.”

Chef Barker moves away from the counter and back towards the stove where he continues to clean away the remnants of thebreakfast spread currently set in front of me. Belgium waffles, fluffy omelets, and an array of fruits and cold veggies chopped and shaped into fancy flowers.

It’s only half past nine in the morning and I’ve been home for less than thirty minutes—having jumped into a waiting car straight from the hotel to home—but it feels like a million years at this point. Words form in the back of my throat.

“Your father is heading off on another business trip this afternoon, and we will be discussing your behavior at the party and after before he gets back.”

“Mom.”

“Don’t ‘mom’ me, young lady.”Taptaptap. She takes a sip of her cappuccino and moves towards the breakfast table without ever looking up from her phone.

My skin crawls with sensation. The waft of air pushed about by the sluggish spin of the fan above our heads lifting a strand of my hair and sliding it over my back. I look down at my hands. They look different to me somehow, not like they did last night. Mom looks different too. Everything does.

“I understand that drinking at your age seems like such a grand sign of adulthood,” Mom continues. “The Donovans have a reputation to uphold, and I’ll not have you ruining any of your father’s deals with prospective investors with your attitude.”

She finally sets the phone down and as she lifts her drink to her lips, turns her head in my direction. Mom pauses. “Juliet?”

I swivel to face her. My plate sits in front of me. Empty as it has been since she entered. A glass rests to the side, equally unfilled. Mom’s brow dimples, just enough to tell me that she’s probably ready for her next Botox appointment.

A sinking sensation grabs hold of my gut and tugs. “I…” What do I say?

Mom puts her mug down. The sound is loud to my ears, clacking against the flat surface of the table. “Chef, please leave us alone for a moment.”

Chef Barker doesn’t say another word as he dips his head, despite the fact that she’s not looking at him, before he slips from the room. It’s not the first time she’s demanded one of the staff leave our presence even when they’re in the middle of their workday. Usually, though, it’s to pitch a fit or chastise me for something more severe. God, I hope that’s not what she’s planning.

Mom waits until Chef Barker’s footsteps have faded and the only sound that fills the room is the distant rumble of the landscaping company mowing the back lawn. My lips part, but nothing escapes. Silence stretches, winding around and around the room, squeezing me until I think I’m going to pop.

Something’s wrong with me. It’s as if someone else woke up in my body today with memories that I shove into a deep, dark corner of my head. They keep peeking out at me, asking if I’m ready to see them now.

I’m not. I don’t know if I ever will be.

What did I do?

“Juliet.” I blink and lift my head at my mother’s prompting. For a moment, I think she’s going to reach for me. That she’ll take my hand in hers, tell me something good. Her brow creases further, as much as it can anyway, which is to say not much at all.

Then she closes her mouth and swallows before getting up. I follow the movement with my gaze, confused as she turns away from me and walks out of the room.

Click-clack. Click-clack. Click-clack.I’m left alone in the cold breakfast nook, dressed in last night’s clothes. Despite the fact that I’d showered at the hotel the second I’d woken up and that I’d scrubbed my skin until patches of red had formed, I stillfeel… grimy. As if something grotesque has crawled under my skin and found its home in my pores.

Wrong. I feel utterly wrong.

Click-clack. Click-clack. Click-clack.My mother returns after a few minutes, preceded into the room by the sound of her heels. I look up as she stops next to the table. An orange pill bottle appears before my eyes as she carefully sets it in front of my empty plate. Then, she sets down a small bottle of what looks like lotion.

Quiet surprise enters me. Pills and… lotion?