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Prologue
August 2006
Caroline Y. Isaacs
I opened my eyes and took in my bedroom to be sure I was awake this time. Glancing around, I was relieved to see everything looked familiar. Once again I wondered how many bad dreams I'd have to awaken from only to realize that I wasn't dreaming at all. I brought my hands up to my face and squeezed them together in hopes of ceasing their trembling. I turned them over for yet another inspection. My poor nails, chewed down to the cuticles, leaving the skin ragged and tender.
I turned over and lay on my stomach, my face hidden in the pillow, allowing myself to revisit that night with my eyes closed, just barely awake. I saw her lying there, her eyes bulging out of their sockets, gagging for another breath that I wouldn't allow her to take.
I'd been back home in Beverly Hills for damn near two months and still the only communication I'd allowed myself had been with the pizza and Chinese food delivery people. In the last three weeks I hadn't even bothered to lift a finger to shower, wash my grimy hair, or clean my dust-covered condo. After all those court appearances and doctor's appointments to prove that I wasn't crazy, I just didn't have energy for anything.
I rolled over and kicked back the covers. Maybe today would be the day I got my ass up and at least made it to the shower. Maybe that would help me drown out the memories of her.
Good girl. You're up, I encouraged myself. Fifteen steps into the bathroom, and onto the only other place I'd been spending time, the toilet. And that's when I saw it again, the black orchid tattooed to my ankle. With my index finger I tapped at the skin and it still trickled with blood. I'd scraped at it so bad the other night with a nail file, trying to erase the memory. Like girlfriends we'd gotten the tattoos together, before I had a clue to who she was, before she began to whittle away at my life. How could I not have known, after spending an entire summer with her, that she could be so vindictive? With an unexpected teardrop splattering onto my thigh, I was content to accept that today was not the day. I climbed back in bed.
There had to be somewhere else for me to live, some way to forget, or at least, some way to learn to live with it. If only I'd caught on to her earlier, I could've held on to what had been mine. I could've held on to Julius.
But I couldn't change the past. It was over. MarÍ Colonado was dead and I'd killed her with my bare hands!
MarÍ Colonado
I'm not leaving the world like this, on the grounds of the Isaacs' estate. I have planned too long to redeem my family to lose this fight. With my eyes I plead for mercy, but my thoughts are cut short because she's strangling the words from my throat. No! I refuse. I've come too far to give up. This bitch doesn't deserve her life -- doesn't appreciate how easy it came to her and at the expense of someone else.
I'd only been a teenager when every day I had to hear my father rave about pretty little Caroline Isaacs. It was always about what a good athlete she was, what a good student she was, and what a shame her parents had no time for her. Because she'd captured my father's attention, I had to compete with her every way I knew how. But no matter how much I tried, how many awards I received, good grades I made, it was always about Caroline. I may have been able to deal with that, but then she'd taken away my mother. For that I intended to exact revenge.
I'd done everything according to plan. I'd taken away the simple things she'd treasured: her health, her hair, her family -- who I turned against her -- and best of all, I'd taken her man. How funny when the tables are turned.
The cement pebbles of the patio dig into my back. Reaching up, I slap at her face and am even able to land a few punches. Faintly, I hear Maurice screaming at her to let me go. I knew he'd choose me over his sister; he loves me because I'd proved to him and to everyone else that I'm better than Caroline Isaacs.
Caroline's nails gouge deep into my neck, breaking the skin. I gaze at her face, covered with sweat, her eyes so wide that the lashes touch her eyebrows.
I feel myself fading. It would be easy to let go now, into that peacefulness called death. As her grip tightens, my body stops squirming, and that's when I know that death won't be so bad after all. No more scheming, plotting, or risk of being discovered.
Straining, I open my eyes for the last time and pray that somehow they reveal to her that despite everything, I'd actually grown to love her. With that I give up the fight, satisfied that she'll never forget me.
Copyright © 2007 by Brenda L. Thomas
Excerpted from Every Woman's Got a Secret by Brenda L. Thomas
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.