Deceit: A Friends to Lovers Standalone Romance Read online

  DECEIT

  R.C. STEPHENS

  Copyright © 2020 by R.C. STEPHENS (Irene Cohen)

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Editor: Shauna Stevenson

  Cover Designer: Wicked by Design

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  46. CHAPTER 1

  About the Author

  Also by R.C. STEPHENS

  Chapter 1

  Knox

  “Grace, come here.” I wave her over. Her auburn hair blows in the wind as she watches me, unsure of her next move.

  I’ve known her all of two weeks. And in that time, this young angel hasn’t mouthed a word. Despite her timid demeanor and quiet tongue, I can tell through her intense gazes and eyes that dance with curiosity, that I intrigue her. Holding on to her white dress, she hesitantly takes a few steps toward me. Her trust in me makes me feel important. I don’t want to lose her attention.

  Pointing up to the sky, she follows my instruction, lifting her gaze. Her head tilts to the side and her jaw slightly slackens. The twinkle in her eyes can’t be missed. Deep in the forest, where the silence is so stark you can hear air rustling the leaves of the lush trees that give off the scent of nature, I watch a beautiful eleven-year-old girl as she takes in what I assume is her first sunrise. Dawn breaks over the undulating hills of my beautiful hometown—a place this quiet angel will now call home.

  The peach and pink swirls running through the horizon remind me of sherbet ice cream, and I wonder if she likes sherbet or maybe she’s more a chocolate lover. As I gaze at her watching the sunrise, I notice her pouty lips are turned down. Her sadness bothers me. What’s troubling you, quiet angel? I don’t push, though. I’ve heard Mama and Papa whispering at night. Something bad happened to her.

  “Isn’t it beautiful? The dawn of a new day brings with it so many possibilities. Let’s go on an adventure, have some fun,” I say, waiting for a response. Nothing. I don’t know what else to do. The girls at school don’t leave me alone. They want to talk at recess, in class, on my way home from school. Sometimes I just want quiet and they don’t give it to me. And the one girl whom I want to actually speak to doesn’t breathe a word.

  Grace was the daughter of my mama’s best friend, Lena. According to Mama, Lena moved away from Iowa in her mid-twenties, finally settling in New York City many years ago. Upon Lena’s death last month, she left the care of Grace to my parents. Poor Grace spent days in foster care back in New York while the paperwork was processed, and now she’s living in Sade, Iowa, population: 2,500. I don’t know much about New York, but I looked it up online one night when I snuck into Papa’s home office. My searches showed a bustling city center with a population of eight million people. My mind couldn’t wrap around a population that large or a city that could house so many people. It was definitely a far cry from the simple, quiet life in Sade.

  At thirteen, I understood change wasn’t easy, especially when it came in spades, and especially when you were an eleven-year-old who had just lost the only parent you’d ever known. I thought of how it would feel if one of my parents died, and I immediately felt a pain in the center of my heart. Grace must have been experiencing that exact same pain.

  Grace arrived to Sade four weeks ago, wearing a simple pair of jeans and a T-shirt that had a picture of a half-dressed girl named Britney Spears. Her mother must not have been a devout Hamshean like Mama and Papa. I picture Grace’s mother to be something like the photos of the New Yorkers I’d seen on the internet, wearing fashionable clothes, high-heeled shoes, and bright smiles. Grace never smiled.

  Sade was a quiet town, and my parents are completely different than the people in the pictures. Mama’s long, simple dresses and Papa’s plain old slacks and white button shirts make them look like they are from a different time period. It must have been hard for Grace to say goodbye to her worn-in jeans and T-shirt in favor of long skirts and simple cotton shirts with no logos. The only glimpse I’ve ever had of another town was when I snuck into Des Moines on my bike some evenings to meet kids who weren’t members of the Hamshean church and small town. Although Des Moines was only thirteen miles away, it was like another world because those kids weren’t forced to learn the Bible every night. Those kids were allowed to be friends with girls and didn’t have to follow everything their priest ordered. Just last week, the priest asked me to come over and cut his grass for free. It was a ridiculous request. I should get paid for my work, so I said I’d do it for a fee. The priest sent me home and told my papa. Instead of defending me, Papa called me a foul-mouthed boy who was up to no good. Then he grounded me for two full days. Two lonely days spent in my room with the religious readings Papa insisted I memorize. I opened the book once and cracked the spine so Papa would think I listened to him. When I lost focus, I did the thing I always did to bring me solace, I grabbed my notepad and wrote songs about leaving this place. Later that night, I snuck into Papa’s home office where the only internet and computer could be found in the house. The Hamsheans believed technology was bad and would corrupt us, so my siblings and I were banned from his office. That didn’t stop me. Searching the internet was an exhilarating experience. It’s where I discovered the real world of music and art. Using my Papa’s headphones, I watched music videos on Napster. During these few stolen moments, my own dreams came into being. My destiny was to become a musician.

  As the sun slowly rose above the horizon, I watched Grace intently. The twinkle in her eyes, her even breaths and slow smile only enhanced her beauty. This was a rare moment to remember… Grace content and at ease. Most of the time she looked frazzled and unsure. I figured it was because she probably found the change of scenery and the slow, easy pace of life in Sade to be very different from New York. I wondered if our large family overwhelmed her, since she was an only child. I always wondered what it would be like to be an only child. I loved my sisters, but my twin, Jacob, was a thorn in my behind. Since my sisters were years older, I didn’t interact with them much except for chores. I mostly kept to myself. Getting lost in my head. Thinking of the day I would leave this small town—until Grace made an appearance at our front door. I’d immediately took on the role of gracious host as I’d been taught.
Mama checked my head for fever but didn’t get involved, since I was being polite. Problem is, Jacob also set his sights on Grace and wanted to play the same role. There was only room for one host, which I assumed should be me, since I could tell Grace wanted it that way.

  Mama and Papa didn’t explain much to us about Grace’s arrival. All of us were given little information about Grace other than our mamas were childhood friends, and now she would be a part of our family. Mama explained Lena Roberts, who was Grace’s mom, once lived in Des

  Moines, but she never did say why they lost touch. Mama also said that Lena had always been the artsy type and didn’t enjoy country life, and that was why she left for the big city.

  With such little information to go on, I had reached two conclusions: Grace was suffering the loss of a mother she adored, and she was definitely intrigued by me—or else I wouldn’t have caught her watching me on so many occasions. She certainly didn’t look at Jacob in the same way. I had a knack for detail and for reading people. Under the grief blanketing Grace, there was a happy girl full of life, a wild soul like me. Grace and me, we were kindred spirits.

  My connection to her was organic as nature, like a rainbow after a summer shower. Maybe I was drawn to her because my siblings viewed her as different because she wouldn’t speak. I’d heard them on several occasions, speaking in hushed tones, trying to guess why an eleven-year-old girl chose to be mute. When I eavesdropped on a conversation last night, my sisters were gathered in the bedroom of my two older sisters, Greta and Ida, whispering. I stood in the doorframe of my room, the door halfway closed, and listened. Minutes ticked by when I noticed Grace standing in the hall after all my sisters so graciously presented their judgmental opinions about her. At that point, Grace’s eyes filled with tears, and some weird feeling took up residence in my chest. It was like I was made of clay and someone took a hammer and cracked me in two.

  Greta, my eldest sister, and Ida, my middle sister, left no prisoners as they went on and on about my quiet angel. They commented on her clothes when she first arrived and how awkward she seemed in Father Joseph’s church. They may have thought they were gossiping harmlessly, but Grace was hurt by their words, and I, of all people, knew that words were stronger than sticks and stones, despite the nursery rhyme. I understood what it was like to be an outsider, because my family treated me like one my whole life. My father berated me on numerous occasions, calling me the black sheep of the family. I wasn’t religious enough, or interested in their church or the teachings of a man they called a priest. To me, the guy was a phony. A man who wouldn’t know fairness or morality if it hit him on the head. So, yes, I understood Grace’s anguish in that moment. I even whispered “kindred spirits” to myself as I watched her from afar. When Grace took off, I grabbed my notebook, instantly inspired by the events, and wrote lyrics about a girl who lost her home and found solace in a new friend. In my mind, I was her new friend.

  The strength of our bond became clear one evening last week when my father had just come down on me hard. I had fire burning in my veins as I burst from the house, headed toward the chicken coop. My legs took long, harsh strides against the gravel path, feet kicking up a storm of dust as I cursed under my breath. I hadn’t known she was out here. I didn’t notice her until she walked straight up to me, tilting her head and glaring at me through sad eyes. She placed a hand on my cheek and nodded her head. Even without words, her caring touch seeped through her warm fingers; it meant everything. That was why I forced her out of bed so early this morning, even though it was Sunday. Because I was sure the breaking dawn would put a smile on her face. It was another smile to add to the list of smiles meant only for me.

  My plan had worked. She looked radiant. It was a breathtakingly beautiful moment. She looked to me and made a ‘snapshot’ movement with her finger, as if she was taking a picture with a camera. I hoped her mind was indeed like a camera and she would press ‘click’ so she could savor the moment in her mind forever.

  “You like the view, huh?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  I was dying to hear her voice. After interacting with her for weeks, my curiosity was growing and my need to hear her laughter began to consume me. If only I could break through the wall she’d erected, then I would know I had done something right. I wouldn’t feel like the loser my father assured me I was.

  “You’re going to talk again, Grace. I just know it.” I smiled down to her, my voice a gentle, reassuring whisper. Didn’t we all need some encouragement once in a while? I knew I needed someone to lift my spirits.

  Grace drew her brows together and pulled her gaze to the ground. When her eyes lifted back to mine, they were wide and shimmering, and a small smile curved her lips. Victory.

  My heart buzzed with a warmth I wasn’t accustomed to. The burden of being the black sheep in the family had been something I couldn’t escape. My father told me he’d tried everything he could to make me into a good Hamshean son. He formed me and sent me to the right schools, and yet something dark deep inside me wanted to rebel at every turn. The reason being that this wasn’t the life I wanted to live.

  The disconnect in my family didn’t matter much because the Duncans had strong roots in Sade, Iowa. My grandfather owned the farm we lived on and the Duncan children grew up tending to it. The hundred-acre farm had been in our family for one hundred years. A picturesque piece of land with a pond at the edge and a beautiful forest thick with trees. Despite feeling trapped by my family, I loved the land. At the edge of the property there was a place I cherished, almost like my own Eden. Probably because it gave me peace and time away from my father and brother. The forest breathed inspiration and freedom. Papa’s strict rules became a distant memory for a short time as I took in the beauty of my surroundings. Before Grace, I never brought anyone with me to this special place.

  She was the exception to my rules. Gazing into the depths of her emerald eyes reminded me why. Staring into each other’s eyes, a common understanding passes between us. No words are needed, yet there is a tug inside me that says it isn’t right. She needs to talk. She needs to use her voice to say what she’s been through, what’s caused her silence.

  “Why don’t you speak, Grace? Maybe I can sing a song… just for you?” I offered, hoping to win her over. I didn’t have much going for me, but I knew I was blessed with a deep, raspy voice that made even the animals in the forest still for a moment just to listen. Grace’s eyes turned bright like the sun, and I knew that was exactly what she wanted. Her lips parted and she took a soft breath the minute I began to sing.

  With a palm over my heart, I recited the first words that came to mind.

  Green-eyed angel, eyes so bright.

  Don’t look sad tonight. The stars are shining in the sky.

  Your dark hair flows and it’s such a sight.

  Don’t stay quiet anymore.

  Please, angel, speak to me.

  Because your green eyes they shine so bright and your dark hair is now catching the light, and if I am being honest here, I’d say that you literally just took my breath away.

  As I finished the last words to a melody I had just made up, I noticed Grace’s eyes dancing with delight. Then it happened. Her lower lip began to quiver, and she looked as if she wanted to say something but was struggling.

  “It’s okay.” I placed a soft hand on her shoulder and spoke with a quiet voice. My family thought poorly of me, the misbehaved son always getting into trouble. They would never believe it was me who would break through to the silent angel.

  Grace’s lips continued to quiver as she opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  “Breathe. Just breathe.” She was trying so hard. I just wanted her to relax. She paused and took in a long breath followed by a shaky exhale. I nodded to her in encouragement. “It’s okay, Grace. I’m here and I’m very patient,” I said with conviction. Life in my hometown was slow. People had time on their hands, and so did I. I could spend hours on end in the forest or sw
imming in the pond.

  “You promise?” Grace’s words were hoarse and choppy, but they pulled at something deep in my heart. I hadn’t realized what she meant at first, but then I realized I’d told her I was patient.

  “I promise, Grace. I promise to always be patient,” I reassured her.

  Then she did something unexpected. “That song was beautiful. My mama used to read poems to me. You’re talented, I know it.” Her lip curved on one corner, and my heart burst just a little bit more. My family always put my songs down and accused me of blasphemous things, but the angel in front of me liked what she heard.

  “Why thank you, Grace. It was easy to make something up when looking at you,” I responded. Her cheeks flushed a rosy pink, and I liked having that effect on her. At thirteen, I knew a pretty girl when I saw one, and Grace was purely divine; she was an angel, after all. Looking at the pond in the distance, I got an idea. “Hey, Grace, why don’t you come for a swim with me in the pond? On a muggy spring day like today, you’re going to enjoy the cool water. I love playing in that pond.”

  She nodded her head again, and I reached down and took her hand, guiding her to the small pond. She followed willingly. As we approached the small body of still water, she looked down at her white dress. It was a hand-me-down from one of my sisters, but it showed no signs of yellowing from the wash. I could tell she was unsure about her decision to swim. Mama would be angry with me for sure, but this was my special place, and now I shared it with Grace. I pushed thoughts of my mama aside. It didn’t matter what my family thought or did. I’d never be like them. During their free time, they read the Bible. They didn’t take walks through nature or enjoy the cleansing and refreshing pond. The pond was mine. A place I could be me. Where I wrote songs, poems, and anything else that came to mind.