Page 1 of Chasing Wildflowers
Prologue
Lane
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, make-up flawless and not a hair out of place, but I barely recognize the eyes looking back at me.
They are hollow and empty. The eyes of someone who isn’t really living, only surviving.
The dress I’m wearing is fit for a princess with its sweetheart neckline, silk bodice that spills into a flowy skirt, and delicate lace sleeves, all done in a deep burgundy.
Too bad I feel like a prisoner rather than a princess.
My fingers tremble as they brush over the bruises hidden beneath the soft lace. Small reminders in ugly shades of yellow and purple, proof of who’s in charge.
At least these will be easily hidden beneath the sleeves of my dress. Unlike last month, when Byron choked me so hard he left finger-shaped bruises across my neck, two days before a charity event for a women’s shelter. Ironic, I know.
And a bitch to cover.
Gripping the edge of the vanity, I exhale slowly, grounding myself. I close my eyes and the image of the creepy basement flashes behind my lids. Concrete walls. The stench of mildew and weed. The quick exchange of money as my heartbeat thundered in my ears.
My entire future now rests in the hands of a stranger.
It’s taken me years to find someone with his skills. Years of scouring every domestic violence forum I could find while Byron was at work. Years of planning and hiding money away. But finally I can taste freedom. Soon, I’ll never have to attend another gala, fundraiser, or dinner.
“Ceciley!”
Byron’s voice slices through the air, sharp, cold, and commanding. Any warmth he once felt toward me is long gone.
My breath catches, that familiar tang of fear clogging my throat.
I wasn’t always afraid of my husband. At first he was wonderful, everything a girl dreams of. Little by little his mask started to slip. It wasn’t until after the ink had dried that I saw the monster beneath.
I close my eyes and force a steadying breath, letting my own mask slip back into place. Giving myself one last glance in the mirror, I steel my shoulders and turn to face my husband.
Just as I reach for the knob, the door flies open, barely missing me, and bangs against the wall with a sharp thud. I stumble back, my heels digging into the backs of my ankles.
Byron fills the doorway, irritation carving lines into his perfect face. “Do you try to embarrass me on purpose, Ceciley?”
There’s no denying he’s an attractive man with his typical high society looks; bright blue eyes and perfectly styled brown hair. Twenty-one year old me thought I was the luckiest girl in the world, landing an older man from a prominent family. Twenty-seven year old me wants to go back and smack the naïveté out of that girl.
“I just wanted to make sure I looked perfect for you. Judge Matthews will be there tonight. You said how important it is to impress him.”
His shoulders drop, tension bleeding from his posture. The switch, too fast and too familiar.
He takes a step closer, and my stomach recoils when the scent of overapplied oakmoss hits me.
“You look beautiful, babe,” he says, brushing his knuckles against my cheek, his practiced smile in place.
My skin crawls, but I stand perfectly still, fighting against the urge to flinch away from his touch. I know the kind of pain those hands are capable of. I wear the bruises as proof.
I return his smile with one of my own. One so perfect no one ever questions it. “Thank you.”
Twenty minutes later we’re driving through the city, the bright lights strobing through the interior of Byron’s prized Rolls-Royce. I let the hum of the V12 relax me as I sink back into the soft leather seat and mentally prepare myself for another night of pretending that Byron is the perfect doting husband, instead of the monster who haunts not only my nightmares but my waking hours too.
“How was lunch with my mother yesterday?” he asks, his tone casual. As if he hadn’t slammed my head against the wall the second I walked through the door for being fifteen minutes late from that same lunch.
That’s his pattern. Violence followed by denial.
“It was lovely,” I say smoothly, barely hearing myself over the thunder of my heart.
