Wife Number Seven by Melissa Brown

Author:Melissa Brown [Brown, Melissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction, Coming of Age, Romance, Romantic Suspense, Mystery & Suspense, Suspense
ISBN: 9781500416089
Amazon: B00LYLHUNE
Barnesnoble: B00LYLHUNE
Goodreads: 20958061
Publisher: CreateSpace Publishing
Published: 2014-07-08T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Seven pairs of eyes fixed on me as Lehi delivered the news. Despite the storm developing inside me—the guilt that threatened to demolish any hope or happiness I had for a future with Porter—I did my very best to appear happy to my sister wives. If I didn’t seem elated about the blessing that was to be my first child with our husband, the other wives would know it was all a lie, the most foul form of deception.

And so my lips curled up, and with every ounce of strength within me, I forced “happy” tears to build in my eyes.

“This is new,” Lehi boomed, his voice bursting with pride at his ability to impregnate the one wife who had always been a challenge in that regard. “So we must be cautious. But it is also worthy of much celebration. Please join me in prayer.”

The wives joined hands, Aspen’s squeezing mine tightly, and we bowed our heads as Lehi led our prayer.

“Heavenly Father, we thank you for the continued blessings of this household. We are especially grateful for the new life inside Brinley. May you keep her well so that she may produce a healthy child for our family.”

When I heard the words “new life,” my gut clenched in disgust. At myself.

Lies.

So many lies were mounting. Higher and higher they climbed.

How would I ever keep up with all them?

• • •

When our meeting came to a close, Aspen followed me to my bedroom. It was a Saturday morning, and I was hoping to sneak away to the free clinic and to Porter’s apartment. He’d greeted me this morning with an invitation.

P: Please come by. I’ll wait all day. But hurry. I miss you.

Despite the anger I felt toward myself for my lies, my feelings had not changed for Porter. I understood his reasons—he couldn’t share me, wouldn’t share me because of the intensity of his feelings. It was flattering and wonderful and scary. I knew that I was falling in love with Porter, stolen moment by stolen moment, text message by text message. I knew that if I were brave enough to leave Lehi’s home, Porter would welcome and support me, no questions asked, no hesitation whatsoever.

I was the problem . . . the roadblock . . . the bump in the road.

Because I wasn’t brave enough to go.

And so the lie I told my husband was mine alone. I owned it, claimed it as my own deception. Porter might have thought of the lie, but I was the sole reason it had to be announced.

So his text messages gave me just as many butterflies in my belly as they did before I informed Lehi of my pretend pregnancy. And I hoped that Aspen wouldn’t prevent me from seeing him that day.

“I’m so happy for you, Brinley,” Aspen said, picking up pieces of laundry from the wicker basket on my floor, and laying them flat on my bed. “I’ll do your ironing today.”

“Really?” I asked, surprised. “That’s so nice.”

“You’ll need to rest as much as possible.

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