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The Secret Of Us
Liesel Schmidt
When your other half leaves you…After her fiancé breaks up with her in ‘their restaurant’, leaving her with no explanation other than an apology scrawled on a napkin, Eira no longer feels at home in North Carolina. So she leaves for the Florida coast, hoping that rebuilding her life will be easier somewhere new. But while her new home may hold no trace of the past, life doesn’t always turn out the way you planned…and suddenly, a chance meeting turns Eira’s life upside down.…how do you know who you are?Finally faced with the opportunity to ask her questions about love, lies, and the life she thought was hers, Eira realises that hearing the answers is going to hurt. Yet if she is brave enough to listen, finding the missing piece of the past might lead her to a brighter future than she ever thought possible…The Secret of Us is the bittersweet new novel from Liesel Schmidt, perfect for fans of Cecilia Ahern, Lucy Dillon and Jojo Moyes.
When your other half leaves you…
After her fiancé breaks up with her in ‘their restaurant’, leaving her with no explanation other than an apology scrawled on a napkin, Eira no longer feels at home in North Carolina. So she leaves for the Florida coast, hoping that rebuilding her life will be easier somewhere new. But while her new home may hold no trace of the past, life doesn’t always turn out the way you planned…and suddenly, a chance meeting turns Eira’s life upside down.
…how do you know who you are?
Finally faced with the opportunity to ask her questions about love, lies, and the life she thought was hers, Eira realises that hearing the answers is going to hurt. Yet if she is brave enough to listen, finding the missing piece of the past might lead her to a brighter future than she ever thought possible…
The Secret of Us is the bittersweet new novel from Liesel Schmidt, perfect for fans of Cecilia Ahern, Lucy Dillon and Jojo Moyes.
Also by Liesel Schmidt (#udc479be4-d12d-5852-b787-df2e41aecf00)
Coming Home to You
The Secret of Us
Liesel Schmidt
Copyright (#ulink_8ab79661-02cd-5b1d-b152-e61d456d5de0)
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2015
Copyright © Liesel Schmidt 2015
Liesel Schmidt asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © June 2015 ISBN: 9781474033589
Version date: 2018-07-23
LIESEL SCHMIDT
lives in Pensacola, Florida, where she spends her time writing, drawing, and reading everything she can get her hands on. She is currently working on her next novel and spends most of her days busily writing freelance for a list of local magazines that sometimes makes her head spin in a dizzy attempt to keep all the deadlines straight! When she has a few free moments, Liesel plunks away at her blog, Finding Words (http://fyoword.blogspot.com/ (http://fyoword.blogspot.com/)), where she posts product reviews and offers her readers a peek at the inner musings of a writer slogging her way through the challenges of living a creative career and early-widowhood.
Having harbored a passionate dread of writing assignments when she was in school, Liesel never imagined that she would ever make a living at putting words on paper, but life sometimes has a funny way of working out…When she’s not writing, reading, or drawing, Liesel likes to indulge her guilty pleasure of watching competition television shows like Top Chef, Chopped, and Project Runway. Follow her on Twitter at @laswrites (http://twitter.com/laswrites)
Acknowledgements (#udc479be4-d12d-5852-b787-df2e41aecf00)
To my editor, Clio, thank you for giving my words the chance to find life in other people’s hands and in their hearts. Thank you for believing in me!
Dedication (#udc479be4-d12d-5852-b787-df2e41aecf00)
This book is dedicated to my family, who showed so much faith in my dreams of writing and never once doubted that I could do it. I love you and thank God for you everyday! Thank you for believing in me, for encouraging me, and for supporting me––in so very many ways. Always always, always remember how much I love you.
Contents
Cover (#u550240f6-b71b-5fa3-a1b3-fc9c38e409c8)
Blurb (#u92905f59-a53e-53a7-af10-c73b05d979af)
Book List
Title Page (#u3c139c89-149e-5a02-bc26-2005f7ecc72b)
Copyright (#ue35b5855-c5eb-5e96-8999-0e62eb1f5666)
Author Bio (#u9ccba427-ac45-5074-beff-305876943d2e)
Acknowledgement
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#udc479be4-d12d-5852-b787-df2e41aecf00)
November 2005
I burned them all when I got home that day, a thick stack of bridal magazines that were dog-eared and flagged with a rainbow of Post-its that peeked from the edges of the pages. It’s strange, the acrid smell that comes from burning magazine pages – glossy and slick and heavily coated in ink. The pile seemed to burn painfully slowly as I watched, perched on the couch in my darkened living room, staring unblinkingly until the blaze became an indefinable blur of angry oranges and reds.
It was over. He was gone, and I was alone.
It sounded so simple, but it wasn’t. The situation was far from simple, at least for me. For Matt, it seemed the most uncomplicated decision of his life, one even easier to make than his decision to propose. The words slid from his mouth smoothly, almost silkily, as we sat across from each other at the table in the restaurant.
Our restaurant. The one we had eaten at on a weekly basis for the past three years.
Matt looked up from his nearly empty plate of cheese tortellini and said it as though he was telling me he was disappointed by the consistency of the sauce.
I think this engagement is a mistake.
I felt the floor falling out from under me as I sat in my green vinyl-padded cafe chair.
I think this engagement is a mistake. I need some time to figure things out, to know what’s best for me.
The handsome man sitting across the table from me suddenly seemed a stranger, a soulless replica of someone I loved and trusted. The face I knew – every angle, every freckle, every line etched by time – became an unfamiliar arrangement of features dulled by those crushing words.
Words that I didn’t even have the presence of mind to answer. How could I? The man I loved, the man who was supposed to love me, was now sitting across from me and saying words that eradicated every confidence I had in that love. There was a sick desperation growing in the pit of my stomach, a roiling mix of panic and anger that seemed to make speech impossible.
It was incomprehensible, this sudden revelation that the past five months of his life – of both our lives – were a mistake.
A mistake.
The words echoed in my mind like the report of gunfire in a tunnel.
He shook his head and expelled a puff of air, suddenly seeming aware of the effect of his words.
“This isn’t to hurt you, Eira. Please believe that,” he said, almost pleading. He reached out a hand and splayed it, palm down on the tabletop near me. A gesture of supplication, an attempt to bridge the distance between us that now seemed to be thousands of miles instead of the mere inches that it truly was. My gaze dropped from his eyes to his hand as I sat silently, feeling diminished and cold.
A hand that was so capable, so strong, yet so able to communicate tenderness. And so able to destroy things, just as his words had done. His hand continued to rest on the table while I stared at it, my eyes losing focus as tears stung them and threatened to escape. I blinked rapidly to clear them away, thoughts darting through my mind with the sharpness and speed of arrows. And just as painful.
A mistake.
I looked down at my own hands, resting limply in my lap, and saw a glint of platinum from the band of my engagement ring. The room seemed to darken as pinpricks of blackness danced in front of my eyes, threatening to shut out everything else and steal the air.
I couldn’t breathe.
“Eira?” The voice seemed distant, hollow and tinny, as though it was being telegraphed along string between two soup cans.
“Eira?” It sounded more urgent now, but still so distant.
I shook my head and shot up from my chair, barely clearing the table in my haste to rise to my feet. I had to get out of there, had to get some air. I had to be able to breathe.
Breathe.
I had to consciously think about it as I lurched frantically towards the ladies’ room, each rasping gulp of air a struggle.
I stumbled into the bathroom, reaching desperately for the nearest sink and clinging to it for support. I fought against the bile rising in my throat, the suffocating absence of air. How could this be happening?
When had the man who was supposed to love me fallen out of love?
How had I missed the signs?
Come to think of it, where had the signs been?
I gripped the white porcelain sink, my knuckles and fingertips turning ghostly under the pressure. I was never going to be able to go back out there and face him. How could I? I shook my head and clamped my eyes shut against the unbidden tears that burned them.
This wasn’t happening, I thought again. This was not happening.
“Are you okay, honey?” a small voice behind me asked.
“Uh huh,” I managed, sounding unconvincing even to myself. I sniffled and nodded, my eyes still clenched tightly. “I’ll be fine.” It came out like a squeak, resonating harshly off the black and white subway tiles that lined the walls.
“Are you sure? Do you need me to get someone for you?” the voice offered.
