Deceitful Wife
To Have & To Hold, Book 1
Arabella Parsons has the perfect life: a devoted husband who loves her deeply, a thriving marriage, and everything she's ever wanted. But perfection comes at a cost.
She's been hiding something from Forrest. Something big enough to destroy everything they've built together. For months, she's lived in fear of discovery, maintaining an elaborate web of lies and half-truths to protect her secret. Every kiss feels like a betrayal. Every "I love you" tastes like deception.
Forrest is a man who values honesty above all else. He's built his marriage on trust, never suspecting that the woman he loves has been living a double life. When the truth finally emerges, it will shatter more than just their marriage—it will challenge everything he believes about love and forgiveness.
Now both must face the wreckage of her deception. Arabella must confront what her lies have cost them. Forrest must decide if love can survive such profound betrayal. And together, they must answer the hardest question of all: Is their marriage worth fighting for, or has the damage already become irreparable?
“I do love you. You know I do. I tell you this every single day—”
“But promise me you’ll never stop!” She was growing more agitated. “After tonight. I don’t want you to ever stop.” She nestled her cheek into the palm of his hand, which still rested against her face. Her hair was damp from the sprinkler at the club, which caused it to revert back to its curly, frizzy state.
He inclined his head in affirmation; it was an easy promise to make. She was his everything. She’d always be his everything.
She began miserably, “The baby, his name is Oshun.” She pointed briefly to the quiet guest bedroom. “He was named after the Orisha deity of love.”
He stared at her. Was she really going to give him a lesson in cultural anthropology right now?
She stepped back a pace, breaking their tenuous contact, and rolled her eyes as if chastising herself for straying from the matter, and shook herself to refocus. Her lips moved as if she was attempting to shape the words inside her mouth before giving them a voice.
“Oshun is my… he is, I mean….” She stopped and tried again. This time, the words came out in a rush. “I gave birth to him almost nine months ago.”
He stared at her, an idiotic grin twitching at the corners of his mouth, waiting on the punchline. Because this had to be a prank, a joke of some kind. A bad one, certainly, because he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what was possibly funny about this. But it was a joke, nonetheless.
She waited for him to respond, and when he didn’t she insisted, “I’m serious, Forrest. He’s my baby.”
His impending grin gave way to a look of utter confusion. “You’re pulling my leg. I would have known if you’d had a child.”
She shook her head, and he could see from her expression the tremendous effort it took for her not to look away from him again. A part of him admired that. She said, “I had him in France while I was visiting my mom and Olivier.”
