The alarm went off. My husband, Mark, slammed his hand down on the snooze button before snuggling around me even tighter. I fell into him, also happy to stay where I was.
Our mornings usually started like this. The alarm would start blaring and we’d just lay in bed, neither of us wanting to let go and face the world. Not that the world was so bad for either of us. He was Mark Monroe, sports agent to the stars. I, of course, was Kelly Ross, one of those ubiquitous 90’s supermodels and the founder and CEO of a thriving cosmetics company. We lived in a luxury high-rise condo in Chicago’s swanky Gold Coast neighborhood. Our three-year marriage was as passionate and exciting as the day we walked down the aisle, the envy of everyone around us. We were wealthy, healthy and charmed.
In short, our life was perfect.
The alarm went off again and I groaned, tapping his hand. “Come on baby, we should really get up.”
“Let’s just stay in bed all day.”
I turned around and looked at him, stunned as always by how beautiful he was. Lean, muscular, smooth caramel-colored skin and chocolate brown eyes, the perfect complement to my own 5’9″ frame, light brown hair, champagne complexion and hazel eyes. I kissed his nose and sat up. “It’s Friday. We’re almost off the hook.”
He snorted. “Speak for yourself. I have to work all day tomorrow.”
“Alright, so we’ll make up for it tomorrow night.”
Mark opened his eyes and pulled me back down. “Or, we could make up for it now.”
As my husband folded me into his arms and we began to make love, I had no way of knowing that tomorrow would be the day I would murder him.
I smiled at our receptionist as I breezed into the lobby of my Michigan Avenue offices, still floating after my ardent morning with Mark. I said hello to everyone I passed in the hall on my way to my office, my mind already racing to the day ahead; back-to-back meetings to discuss marketing campaigns, product development, merchandising, not to mention Fashion Week was coming up in September and there was a lot to do to get ready for the shows. Still, I planned to take tomorrow off, a rarity for me. I’d get a fill and a pedicure, then meet my girlfriend, Shelia, for lunch at Tavern on Rush. We’d probably spend the afternoon shopping, something we always seemed to find time for. A great way to fritter away a Saturday and I couldn’t wait.
I booted up my computer and smiled as I always did at one of the two pictures of us I kept at the office (the other being our wedding photo). It was from our trip to Brazil last year. It was the beach at sunset, both of us shiny and brown, patches of white sand smudging our legs. We held onto each other and smiled for the camera.
I was lost in thought over Mark when the phone on my desk rang.
The phone went dead in my ear. I frowned and replaced the receiver. The hang up calls were back. There had been a lot of them at the condo about a year or so ago, which was odd since we had an unlisted phone number. Then they had started at the office, but they tapered off around of the time of my car accident.
In fact, that was pretty crazy, too. I was making a right onto Clark one afternoon after a meeting, when some beater car came out of nowhere, T-boned me and kept going. My Mercedes spun around and rammed into a utility pole. The airbags deployed and I sprained my wrist and suffered a mild concussion, meaning a stay in the hospital for a few days. The police never did track down whoever it was. I’d never seen Mark so freaked out. His skin was green and it looked like his bowels were churning overtime beneath his thousand dollar suit. I started to think he was the one who should have been hospitalized.
Like I said, things started to settle down after that and we got on with life; working and playing hard. Our social calendar was always packed with invitations, except we’d kept this weekend and the next few open. I was trying to dial back on all of that, because I wanted to start trying for a baby before long.
My calendar dinged reminding me of a meeting, the first of many that day. By the time five o’clock rolled around, I was done. I just wanted to get home to my husband and make him the dinner of chicken, green beans and potatoes I’d promised him that morning. I was looking forward to a nice relaxing weekend, just the two of us.
As I got up to turn off the light and leave my office, I had no idea of the horrific weekend waiting around the corner.
Bianca is giving away one (1) kindle copy of “Sweet Little Lies.” Leave a comment to be included in the giveaway. Contest ends August 31.
Meet the author
Bianca Sloane is the author of the suspense novels, “Live and Let Die,” chosen as “Thriller of the Month” (May 2013) by e-thriller.com and “Sweet Little Lies.” When she’s not writing, she’s watching Bravo TV, Investigation Discovery, reading or cooking. Sloane resides in Chicago. Visit her at www.biancasloane for more information.
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