Page 1 of Lana Pecherczyk
Prologue
Blake Hartley hurried along the wharf in jewel-encrusted heels, careful not to slip.
A frigid wind cut through her short, sequined dress, but she had no time to worry about the alarming drop in temperature. She was late. Her husband, Jeff, said the yacht he’d hired was “just a stone’s throw from Coco’s.”
But when she’d turned up, it hadn’t been there.
Fortunately, herHidden Gemsfollowers went into crisis mode to figure out where Jeff had gone wrong. The yacht was moored on thenorthside of the river, near the Lucky Shag, not thesouthside. She wasn’t sure how he’d mixed up something so obvious.
“G’day, hidden gems!” Her teeth chattered as she live streamed. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in me momentous effort to get here today, it’s that nothin’s gonna bring me down. Not even the end of the world!” A flurry of chimes sounded as positive and negative comments filtered through, including one from Dirk, a long-time follower but perennially sad-sack.
“Now, now,” she said, “we’ll have none of that today, mate. What do I always say when things get tough? We still have two feet and—?”Ping. Ping. Ping.She grinned as their responsesfinished her mantra. “That’s right. As long as we have two feet and a heartbeat, she’ll be right.”
There wasn’t much Blake remembered about her mother except for that saying, pancakes for Sunday lunch, sparkling makeup, and a whooping, opera singer’s laugh. Her mother couldn’t sing to save her life, but knowing that didn’t stop her from trying. Somehow, those off-key attempts always ended in a laugh, which sounded more operatic than the tune.
A stab of emotion threatened Blake, and shequickly panned her phone’s camera to showcase Perth’s Elizabeth Quay harbor. The last thing her followers needed was to see her blubber over her long-dead mother. Especially not when she was trying to stay positive about being here instead of at home with her dad.
The usually bustling wharf was eerily quiet. Restaurants were closed. The Swan River stretched out before her, mirroring the ominous, stormy sky. In the distance, down the end of the wharf, she zoomed in on a gleaming yacht.
“Talk about razzle-dazzle,” Blake gushed. “Look at that baby shine. And … look at all those people. Wait. I had no idea it was a party.” Her initial excitement waned. She shook off her doubt and forced happiness into her voice. “Jeff must have something special planned. I reckon he’s gonna renew our vows. How romantic is that?”
A rush of pings stoked the fire of her expectations. Maybe she was wrong to worry about the address thing. Jeff would have a good reason. He always did.
“We made it, cunts!” she squealed, swinging her phone back to her face. “We fucking made it!”
She answered a few comments, making sure to use their names in her replies. Her followers loved her down-to-earth way of speaking despite her girly love of fashion and sparkling things. Growing up with three brothers and a widowed father, swearing had become as natural as breathing. She was theepitome of a tomboy until her sixteenth birthday, when she braved her mother’s old beauty queen supplies. Her family told her to throw it all away. After sitting stagnant for ten years, the makeup was rotten. The wooden brushes had flaked.
But Blake had refused to throw away something that brought her mother such joy. She’d replaced the makeup, sanded and washed the brushes, then learned to pretty herself up and proved them wrong. After that, her brothers’ friends, including Jeff, began to notice her.
A light flashed on her phone, and her heart raced. “Oh no! The battery’s about to cark it. I’d better hurry up and get on board.”
She tucked the bedazzled phone into her cleavage, wincing as the gems scratched her skin. Each stone was plucked from discarded treasures at a thrift shop. Most people didn’t know she’d had them appraised—a few actual diamonds were hidden amongst the kitsch. It was perfectly her: a bit mismatched, a lot sparkly, but with a hidden value that most people overlooked.
With the camera facing outward and one hand cupping her jiggling tits, she focused on trotting toward the yacht—toward her husband of fifteen years, her warmth and safety in this crumbling world … even though she was still pissed at him for forgetting her recent birthday, even though his apology effort was a hasty picnic in the backyard, even though he’d spent the evening on the phone. She wouldn’t dwell on it. Not now. Not when the world was ending.
Instead, she focused on the bright boat, on the words “Boss Man” painted on the hull. Something niggled at her memory. Jeff had used that term multiple times recently on a phone call, at her birthday picnic. When she’d queried it, he’d fobbed it off as work that couldn’t wait.
Shaking off her unease, she quickened her pace, heart pounding against her iPhone as she pinned it in place. The boatlooked ready to leave. What if Jeff was too busy talking to those other people that he didn’t see her coming? What if he left her behind?
“Oi!” she shouted, waving her hand. “Hun, I made it!”
The ex Aussie Rules football star caught sight of her and said something to one of the others on the yacht. Oddly, she didn’t recognize his usual crowd. None of the boys from the club were there. No other WAGs. That seed of doubt she’d denied earlier took root, its tendrils reaching around her throat.
What was with the beige suit he wore? It looked expensive. His sandy hair was always clean-cut, but now he looked … posh. Ew, gross.
Blake stopped at the boat, panting slightly, hands still supporting her breasts as Jeff strode down the gangplank to meet her. His brow furrowed in that familiar disapproving way when he realized she wasn’t wearing a push-up bra … or that she was filming.
He put his hands on his hips and stared at her. And stared.
“Hun.” Her voice was tight, hesitant. “It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here. Shouldn’t we go inside?”
“Fuck’s sake.” His handsome face twisted into an awkward grimace. “Babe, I really hoped to avoid this situation. Which is why I gave you the wrong address in the first place.”
Ringing in her ears blended with a cascade of pings on the phone, each vibrating through her breastbone.
She shook her head. “Sorry, I think I hallucinated there for a minute. I thought you said you gave me the wrong address on purpose.”
He gripped her shoulders, dipped to look at her tits—the camera lens—and then returned his gaze to her face.
