The Lying Kind
C.B. London
Publication date: April 25th 2023
Genres: Adult, Romance,
Suspense
A lie might hurt, but the truth can kill.
On the eve of her wedding to Mark, Carmen’s world is shattered into a million
pieces. Forced to make an impossible decision that will determine the rest of her
life, she dares to chart her own course. While trying to start over again, she finds
herself alone and far from the home she knew in Nova Scotia.
When she meets Liam, a handsome carpenter and business owner in Boston,
her world is once again flipped on its axis. The attraction is undeniable, and the
unimagined possibilities of her life tempt her into happiness again. But things that
seem too good to be true, usually are.
As if there isn’t enough on her plate, she’s forced to deal with an ex-fiancé who
won’t give up and a violent attack that lands her in the hospital. Unravelling the
truth behind this seemingly random attack and Liam’s past proves to be far more
than she bargained for. She’s now forced to face the truth, that everyone has
secrets. Some are hurtful, and some are downright deadly.
When their old and new lives collide, Carmen desperately wants to protect
everything she’s gained, including Liam, but at what cost?
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EXCERPT:
Chapter One
I turn the lock on the door and slump against it, sinking to the old oak floor. My
sweaty thighs suction to the hardwood so that every time I shift, my skin peels and
springs back, leaving me stinging. The phone falls to my side and clatters on the
floor. The noise sounds out of place, snapping my brain awake and forcing me back
to awareness. Resting my head in my hands, I attempt to steady my breathing and
stop my body from shaking. I close my eyes, trying not to think. It doesn’t work.</
p>
Through the windows across the room, the moon reflects off the lake like a
mirror. There’s an outline of a loon adrift on the water. Its soft, sorrowful cry fills the
silence. My dress hangs off the curtain rod, the epitome of femininity, reaching to
the floor and billowing in an opulent cloud of white. Hundreds of hand-stitched
Swarovski crystals glisten elegantly in the moonlight.
Even at this moment, such beauty isn’t lost on me. A bitter taste fills my
mouth, like the tip of a tarnished spoon lingering too long on the tongue, sending a
dull ache all the way to the pit of my stomach. I’m frozen. The throbbing lump in my
throat swells painfully, and I can’t fight it anymore. Tears fall freely, and I sob as
quietly as I can into my hands. I gasp, but it sounds like someone else. A
disembodied intruder. A lost soul, grieving in such a way that should only be done in
private. Vulnerability rolls through the air, thick like fog, permeating my lungs and
heaving my stomach.
My muscles tense at the thought of their prying eyes and saccharine sympathy.
At least I have the refuge of this room. No one will try to find me until morning. I
glance at the clock on the dresser, 11:43 PM. I have, at best, seven hours to figure
this out. How can I decide what I’m going to do by morning? The simple task of
moving from this spot is daunting. My body’s unsteady, and my mind’s foggy from
the storm of emotions whirling through me. Shame surges above the rest like a
rogue wave.
How could this be happening? Now? Why now?
My stomach dances, vying for center stage. I dig my nails into my scalp, curling
my fingers around fistfuls of hair and tugging. I’m so angry at him but also at myself
for how pathetic this devastation is.
Resolving to get up from the floor, I stumble to the large four- poster bed. At its
foot is a long cream-colored ottoman. It reminds me of a gymnast’s vault. Like I
should take a running leap and spring onto the pillows in Olympic form. I slip off my
shoes, leave my dress on, and clamber over the ottoman and onto the bed.
Wrapping the duvet around me, I shield myself from the world like a child
hiding from pretend monsters that aren’t so imaginary anymore. The crystals on my
gown wink at me one after another, assuring me that it belongs in a fairytale.
Vainly, I wish time stood still for me. Or maybe it could rewind a few hours, to
ignorant bliss. Better yet, go back ten years to before Mark. The loon continues his
mocking song. In the lull of its calls, the chirping of crickets fills the silence, then its
cry rings out again.
I’m trying not to be drawn in by the splendor of my dress hanging in wait,
fearful of its lure. Its beauty entices, and with it, holds a promise of a life I thought
was mine to unfold. Perhaps my life isn’t created by my choices, not mine to shape
at all. Instead, it reveals itself to me, and I bow to it.
I close my eyes to shut out the dress and all it symbolizes. This promise is
broken.
Author Bio:
C.B. London lives in Nova Scotia with her husband and two young boys. Her
love affair with words began with poetry at a very young age. She still finds great
inspiration in written work that has a rhythmic quality, a cadence to the words that
begs to be read aloud.
When she’s not busy with her family or work, you can find her trying to avoid
the endless chores of adulthood, curled up under a blanket (yes, even in the
summer) with a cup of coffee, reading or writing. She absolutely loves a rainy day!
Romance always finds its way into whatever she’s writing, and almost always,
whatever she’s reading. If there’s kissing, she’s in.
With degrees in Psychology and Sociology, she’s intrigued by the analysis of
social interaction, particularly, attraction, falling in love, and the complexities of
intimate relationships. As a contemporary romance and women’s fiction author, she
explores these concepts while torturing her main characters as much as she can,
still affording them a happily ever after at the end.
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