Cara Lockwood - Her Hawaiian Homecoming

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

PROLOGUE

THE BITTER, UNSEASONABLE, cold March wind whipped across Lake Michigan, whirling flakes of snow outside the high-rise condo in Chicago as Allie Osaka tore into one of dozens of boxes, all marked with the names of high-end stores.

She felt giddy as she dug into yet another wedding gift. Would it be the fancy coffeemaker? That crystal bowl she loved so much? She slipped her hands into the foam packing peanuts and pulled out two beautiful champagne flutes from her fiancé’s uncle. She held them up to the light, admiring their sleek, yet delicate, design, and then carefully put them aside, marking down the item and name on her notepad for the thank-you she’d be writing later. The wedding would be in less than a month, but already they’d been swamped with presents.

She always loved staying over at Jason’s swank Loop condo with the breathtaking views of the massive lake, but now it was even more special, because every Sunday morning felt like Christmas: waking up to piles of gifts just waiting to be opened, each representing some new glimpse of their future life together. The pie plates she’d use on their next Thanksgiving or the coffee mugs they’d use daily. She felt suddenly grateful for Jason’s large family. It had been just her and her mom for nearly as long as she could remember. Her grandmother lived in Hawaii, but other than that, no aunts or uncles, and just a few distant cousins she didn’t know well. Allie worried a little about how lopsided the bride’s side of the church would be, but Jason promised he’d have his family fill out the seats. That was Jason: thoughtful to a fault.

Allie whipped her jet-black hair over one shoulder and pulled another in the stack of boxes toward her as Jason wandered out of the bedroom after he’d gotten dressed.

“Are you starting without me?” Jason protested as he headed to the kitchen, grabbing a mug from the cabinet. He poured himself a cup of coffee. He’d thrown on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, the uniform she loved him in more than his usual work attire of tailored suits.

“I warned you I would if you kept on that iPad of yours.”

“Fair enough.” Jason was always busy scrolling through something or another on his tablet, usually related to his job. Allie had gotten up and dressed more than an hour before while he’d lain in bed, scrolling through emails. “I had to confirm my Boston trip this week.”

Jason traveled a lot, an expectation of working for a capital start-up firm, scouring the country for the next big thing.

“Uncle Mort got us flutes,” she said, nodding to the delicate stemmed glasses as she cut into the next box.

“Good ol’ Uncle Mort.” Jason padded over to Allie and gave her a peck on the top of her head. “Good nearly afternoon, beautiful,” he said, brown eyes sparkling as he grinned, sipping at the steaming cup. Allie beamed back up at him, and she felt so happy.

She curled a strand of her shiny black hair behind her ear as she noticed the box in front of her had no return address, only black marker with Jason’s name and address on the front. Probably someone who didn’t choose to buy something online, Allie thought. Like maybe one of Jason’s great-aunts. She glanced at Jason, who stood staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the snow.

She tore open the box and dug through wadded-up tissue paper. The minute she touched the coiled-up leather buried beneath, she knew something was wrong. This wasn’t anything she’d asked for. She pulled out the packing material and stared, dumbfounded, at the contents: a thick leather whip, a spiked dog collar and...a leather harness...and a frilly black lace thong?

Her first instinct was to laugh, a loud, braying bark, and to hold it up to Jason so they could both shake their heads at whichever of their friends had thought this was an appropriate wedding gift. Probably his best man, Stephen. All some elaborate joke. But something stopped her, a tickling doubt, a small pinprick of dread in the pit of her stomach.

She reached for the envelope neatly folded in the back. It had Jason scribbled in a feminine loop on the front. It must be some joke. Yes, something they’d laugh about at the wedding, a story they’d retell over and over again. Remember when...

But then she pulled the card out and read,

Jason,

You told me no more texts or emails because you didn’t want that bland little fiancée of yours to see them, but you didn’t say anything about snail mail. I’ve been a bad girl and need another spanking. I expect to be punished severely when you’re in Boston this week. Just like last time.

Xoxo,

Lisa

Lisa? As in Lisa Holly, Jason’s contact for the Boston project? That Lisa?

Allie’s heart pounded beneath her wool sweater, blood rushing loud in her ears. Fear and dread seized her. She wanted to run before her brain put together the clues before her. She wanted to close her eyes and hit Reverse, losing herself in the warm, safe bubble of her wedding plans.

“Wow, it looks miserable out there,” Jason said, his back still to her as he watched the snowflakes whirl. “Let’s not go anywhere today, all right, babe? Let’s stay right here and hibernate.”

Jason’s voice sounded muffled and far off, as if he was on the other side of a wall. Just like last time. Allie read the words once more. Her mind whirled. When was the last time Jason had been in Boston? Just a week ago.

Allie felt light-headed and sick, suddenly.

Bland little fiancée.

Was that what she was?

Allie blinked three more times, as if somehow she could make the words disappear from the page. They didn’t. And something else sat in the envelope. She tugged out a photo: Lisa, she presumed, a pale, freckled redhead, clad only in the spiked dog collar and a black thong, her pink nipples erect. Oh, God. She wore the same collar and thong sitting in the box before her. She wanted to fold it all up and pretend she’d never found it. But she had. Maybe there was still some way this could be made right. Maybe Jason could somehow explain this. She knew he couldn’t, but part of her still hoped.

“Jason?” Allie’s voice sounded strange to her own ears. Eerily calm as she held up the photo in her hand. “What is this?”

Jason turned, mug in hand, expecting, no doubt, to see some harmless kitchen gadget. When he saw the photo, all the blood drained from his face. That expression told Allie everything she needed to know: it wasn’t a prank. It was true. All of it was true. He’d been sleeping with this woman—no, spanking her. For God knows how long. His Boston project had been going on for... God, more than a year.

“Allie... I...” Jason put down his mug and stepped toward her. Allie jumped to her feet, hands up.

In that moment, Allie felt like such a fool. “I trusted you,” she said, and realized how dumb she sounded for saying it. What about her life had told her that trusting people ever worked out? They always found a way to disappoint. “How long?”

“What?”

“How long have you been...into this?” Allie held up the coiled whip.

“Allie, it’s... I don’t know, it just sort of happened.”

“How long ?” Allie’s voice rose, her blood rushing in her ears.

She glared at him and saw he was tempted to lie.

“I don’t know. A year, maybe more.” Jason’s shoulders slumped. “I always wanted to tell you, Allie. I just never knew how.”

Jason had proposed to her six months ago, smack in the middle of whatever twisted stuff he was doing with Lisa Holly.

“Who else?” Allie demanded, suddenly imagining an army of women wearing dog collars and handcuffs marching through his bedroom. “Besides Lisa.” If there was one thing Allie knew about betrayal, it was that it never happened just once.