Page 1 of The Perfect Wife
Prologue
Five years earlier
Reyna
Always alone.
That was how I spent my days. I could never bring myself to play with the other children. My excuse was that getting attached to anyone or anything wasn’t worth the heartache that would follow.
I had been shuffled from one foster home to another for as long as I could remember, hoping, no, praying, that today would be the day that someone would finally take me home. I couldn’t remember much about my mom, but was told that she died in some freak car accident when I was four. The only thing I have to remind me of who she was is the heart-shaped locket that she once wore around her neck with a picture of us inside. The photo must have been taken shortly before she died. It was the only thing of value given to me, other than the letter that Mrs. Brown read to me. When I turned thirteen, my foster mom, Mrs. Brown, felt I was old enough to understand the true meaning of love and the love my mom had for my father. I never had the pleasure of knowing him, but if I did, I knew he would love me just as much as my mom did. I just couldn’t understand why he left.
Hopefully, one day, I would have that again—a genuine family. Not that the Browns weren’t loving, caring people, but they had three children of their own, and two other foster kids to contend with on top of a troubled teenager. They had their hands full. So, I tried to be the perfect child and stayed out of their way and did what I was told. If I remained good, my chances of being adopted before I turned eighteen would be better than not.
Who was I kidding?Couples wanted a cute baby to adopt, not a fifteen-year-old who was too old to be molded into the child they wanted. Rainbow and sunshine dreams were no longer a possibility for me. It was time I faced reality.
Pushing from the porch swing, I was about to walk back into the house and help my foster mom with dinner when a fancy car pulled up in front of the house. A blue sedan that I recognized as belonging to the lady from Social Services followed the fancy car. I couldn’t remember her name, other than the one I gave her but never called her, since it wasn’t a very nice name but fit her perfectly. I wonder how many other kids referred to her as Mrs. Crabby-pants?
They had to be here for one reason, and that was to meet Tim or Max, who were the other two foster kids waiting to get adopted. I found it strange that an older couple accompanied Mrs. Crabby-pants. Mostly younger couples came to visit. Even though Tim and Max were six and eight, there was still a good chance for them to get adopted. Even though they too had their own set of problems, none of them compared to mine. Since the day I became part of the system, I hated not knowing what the next home would bring. Would I hate it as much as the one I was in, or would I hate it even more? There came a time when I blamed everyone I could for taking my mom away from me. Living with the Browns changed that. They gave me hope.
Mrs. Crabby-pants’ eyes met mine as she tipped her head. “Is your foster mother around?”
“Yes, I’ll show you where she is.” I opened the door and led them toward the kitchen where I was sure she would be.
Leaving Mrs. Crabby-pants and the two visitors with Mrs. Brown, I turned the corner but didn’t continue any further. Nothing could stop me from listening to their conversation. Pressing my body against the floral wallpapered wall in the hallway, I took in their discussion. Of all the social workers that visited the many foster homes I lived at, Mrs. Crabby-pants was the scariest and most intimidating. She was an older lady, one I felt should seriously think about retirement. Her hair was ghost white, and based on her wrinkled skin, I was positive that she was a smoker and should think about giving up the nasty things.
My heart thumped when I heard my name roll off Mrs. Crabby-pants’ tongue. “All the paperwork has been completed for Reyna Braxton’s adoption. Mr. and Mrs. McCall are officially Reyna’s new parents.”
It was the sweetest thing I’d ever heard. The necessary paperwork had been completed, and it appeared I wouldn’t be spending another night in this old house. I no longer needed to listen to any more of the conversation. Mr. and Mrs. McCall would be my new parents. Reyna McCall had a nice ring to it as I thought about what my life would be like from this day forward. I finally had a purpose in life. I would be the best daughter they ever had, and the name Reyna Braxton would soon be a forgotten memory.
~1~
Present Day
Reyna
I was no stranger to my father Crosby McCall’s fundraisers. At fifteen, I learned quickly what my new parents expected of me. The McCall name meant power and with that came respect. I never thought that at fifteen, they could mold me into the perfect child they wanted. Delilah McCall, my mother, was mostly responsible for that. She taught me the proper way to walk, talk, and dress. I even learned proper table etiquette. Never before did I think of using the appropriate silverware when eating was a must. I was the epitome of everything they wanted in a daughter. Even now, five years later, I am still trying to live up to their expectations.
The night couldn’t have been more perfect, at least for my father. I hated his fundraisers, and this one was no different. I wished there were more people closer to my age instead of the stuffy middle-agers that my father intentionally invited to these events. When the waiter walked by, I had no problem grabbing a champagne flute from his tray. In two weeks, I would be twenty-one. Therefore, I didn’t see the crime in getting through tonight with a little liquid help, especially after being introduced to a dozen guests who attended the event.
My father was off being the perfect host, and I had no clue where my mother was. She was probably hiding out in the ladies’ bathroom. She hated these things as much as I did. But tonight was different. Across the sizeable banquet room was a very mysterious man leaning against the bar. He sparked my curiosity, and I had to get a closer look at him without being conspicuous. I casually weaved through the groups of people carrying on conversations about politics or whoever became the newest gossip.
As I got closer, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was gorgeous. His hair was jet black, and his designer tux, perfectly tailored, fit his sculpted waist and broad shoulders. When he looked my way, my heart raced, and his eyes drew me in. I had never seen a more magnificent hue of blue. Just like the brilliant blue of the Atlantic Ocean, they made me want to dive right in.
When our eyes met, a smile graced the perfect line of his face. I wasn’t embarrassed often, but his smile left me fantasizing about how it would feel to have his lips pressed to mine. I wasn’t a stranger to foreplay, but the things this man was doing to me were beyond anything I had ever felt. Pulling my thoughts from my fantasies, I turned to face my father.
“Reyna, I’d like you to meet Mr. Cross. He is one of our major contributors.”
An older gentleman, about fifty, was standing next to my father, looking me up and down like I was his next meal. Holding out my hand, I watched my father as he glanced down at the champagne glass I was still holding, exhibiting a look of disappointment. “So nice to meet you, Mr. Cross.” I smiled, pulling my father’s eyes away from my glass.
“The pleasure is all mine, Reyna.” His eyes were dark blue and disconcerting as he pulled my hand to his lips and placed a kiss on my knuckles.
The greeting was unexpected, and he made me very uncomfortable. Thankfully, I didn’t have to make small talk. My friend Kenzi stepped up behind me and leaned over, her mouth next to my ear. “Let’s get out of here and have some real fun.”
I couldn’t hide my enthusiasm. There was a smile from ear to ear spread across my face. I wasn’t opposed to getting out of here, but first, I needed to find out more about the man standing at the bar. Looking between my father and Mr. Cross, I made my retreat. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Cross. Thank you for your contribution to this wonderful cause. I’m sure it will go a long way in stopping violence against women.”
When my father was out of view, I downed the rest of my champagne while dragging Kenzi over to the bar where Mr. Hottie stood. Kenzi was nine months older than me, and when she showed the bartender her ID, he filled our drink order, a Whiskey Sour for me, and a Fuzzy Navel for her. Even after handing us our drinks, he never requested to see my ID. If he had, I had a fake one I got when I turned eighteen.
We stood at the other end of the bar, a reasonable distance from the lust-inducing guy. Before I could take the first sip of my drink, he was walking toward us. One champagne and a sip of whiskey didn’t give me the courage I needed to talk to him. Up close and personal, he was even more gorgeous than what I had thought. He left me speechless. When he leaned in, his scent didn’t escape me as his mouth touched my ear. “Would you like to dance?”
