Chapter 2: "Have you seen what she looks like?"

Whispers follow me everywhere I go now.

“Have you seen what she looks like?”, A low harsh rasp that comes from the elderly woman a few paces behind me.

“I heard she killed her husband.” A shocked gasp rings out as someone refutes that, “No, no,  There’s no way… women aren’t capable of killing, Mar, we know that.”

I hear whoever Mar is scoffing in disbelief before the priest begins his sermon. He clears his throat to catch our attention, but my focus is on the coffin. How beautiful and regal it looks.

Mr Clifford Earl wasn’t part of any pack. Too wealthy to bow, and too old to obey the whims of any Alpha.

The priest’s voice is weathered and raspy as he begins, “On this day, we gather here to celebrate the life of a good man, a hardworking man. Mr. Clifford Earl lived a long healthy life, 74 years of age, and we can all agree that he had things a lot of people don’t in this day and age.”

A low murmur of approval ripples across the small crowd and someone bursts into sobs, the feminine kind. Deep, Heavy, Chest heaving and lips shuddering. Her muffled cries convey her grief and sorrow and I realize that should be me. 

I should be crying.

A chill wind carries the priest’s voice over again, “I’m not talking about money when I say Mr. Earl had a lot of things.  Anyone can have money, and Mr. Clifford Earl had a lot of money, but he also had the best thing of all. A family. 

Mr. Earl had a wife he loved in his youth. He has a healthy son who is now grown, and after losing his wife, he found love again, in another woman who he was married to for five years before his death.

He is now succeeded by his widow and his son, two people who will forever carry him in their hearts, and in them, Mr. Clifford  Earl lives on. His life has shown us that even if one has wealth, family is the greatest legacy. 

So on this note, let us commit him to the earth. Let us ask that his soul be received and that those surviving him be comforted. Mr Earl will forever stay in our hearts so can we bow and say a word of prayer for him?”

Sounds of sorrow escape some of the guests attending the funeral and I clasp my gloved hands together. The cold suddenly bites and my heart feels heavy. My gloves cost three thousand dollars.

Three thousand of his dollars. 

A bitter emotion roils in me as the thought invades my head. I want to see them burn.

“May he be received and welcomed in the afterlife.”

My heart whispers an entirely different prayer and I shudder as a tear rolls down my cheek. When I raise my head, the priest is staring at me. He looks away immediately and confusion overtakes the pity I was feeling for myself.

Does he also think I killed that bastard?

The rain begins with a clap of thunder and everyone around me squeals as cold heavy pellets begin to drop. I don’t squeal.

The rain doesn’t hit me.

Someone’s scent invades my space and warmth seeps off a living body. The reason the priest looked away is clear now. I’m sure he would have kept on staring.

I turn to see men handing out open umbrellas to those attending the funeral, but they don’t hand one to me. The employer of those men is holding the one I’m under. 

Ryan Earl’s face is set in stone when I meet his eyes, all harsh angles and rigid lines, his cold orbs glow a deep blue and his forest scent makes me want to shift on my feet.

The whispers start again but this time they’re drowned out by the sound of the rain. The priest’s voice feels like meaningless mumblings but I catch words from his address occasionally as he continues.

I hear words, and “Wife”, and “Son” and “Ryan.”

Mostly Ryan. The priest clears his throat.

“Do….  you want to say any words as your father is laid to rest, son?”

Ryan looks away from me and the line of his jaw juts out as he clenches it. He shakes his head, but I feel I know some of the words he’d say if he goes up there.

He’d say “I’m glad my father’s dead. He was an aged bully who never loved me. Never valued me. He saw me as his bastard, and that’s funny because I’m 100 percent his child.”

Ryan glances deliberately at me and the priest picks up the hint immediately. He turns to me instead, his eyes bold and not like the others that’ rather be dead than caught staring, he asks “How about you Mrs Earl?”

“Do you have any last words to say before your husband is laid to rest?”

I realize again that this is the part where I should be the grieving widow.  

 

If I had any sense, I’d walk over to the casket with tears streaming down my face, and I’d crumple right onto it, saying things like “You left too early Earl!” I’d sob even more and heave, my lips trembling violently as I'd cry and exclaim, “You didn’t even have time to make a child with me!”

I would have done that if I loved him.

Despite what everyone thinks, I didn't despise Earl because of his age. I’d grieve for him if I had anything but hate in me for him, but I don’t and I won't, ever, so I decline.

My husband’s coffin is laid in the grave and the gift bags start being distributed by Ryan’s men. I want to turn and get out of here, but I feel someone’s presence mentally jostle me, his cold voice comes right after as he orders. “Go greet the guests.”

Ryan’s raspy voice sends a shiver down my spine, but that’s just the cold. My voice is low and my eyes are steady as I reply.

“You’re his son. Go greet your father’s guests yourself.”

Ryan chuckles deep and low, “Dead father, My father’s dead. But you’re his wife, his widow, aren’t you, Layla?”

I can hear the bite in his tone. The hoarse spite in his words. There’s a slight dusting of hair on his chin and Ryan Earl’s eyes are menacing when I meet them so I nod, conceding.

“I am his widow, and that makes me your stepmother. Now be a good boy and go send the guests away, and Ryan….” I step closer to him invading his space and letting the hatred in my heart make my tone sharp “Don’t ever sneak into my room again. Do I have to call the police and let them know you’re a creep, Mr. Earl?”

Ryan's gaze meets mine as a rare smile greets his lips. His face turns even colder and he leans low to whisper into my ear.

“You could have sent me out, Layla.”

At six foot two, well built, and startlingly handsome, I have to tilt my head upwards if I want to look at Ryan's face, but it’s a price I’m willing to pay.

I crane my neck upward lightly, boring my gaze into his and letting the ice all my pain has left me seep into my bones.

“I have a headache, so give the guests my regards Ryan.”

I walk away and wait for him to stop me.

The rain patters heavily on the stone hedges and the interlocked pathways. The fur coat I wear gets heavy with water each step I take. My heart slams in my chest as my heels clack against the stone floors, but I keep my head high, and I walk past all of them.

I walk until I get to the car and I slip in. I nod to the driver and immediately we’re on our way to the mansion.

The image of Ryan in the rain assaults me. The open umbrella still in his hands and his emotions clearly locked away from his face.

I feel my stupid heart do something stupid at the sight of that so I push that image away and contemplate how cold I feel inside instead. I scoff under my breath.

I don’t need anyone to hold an umbrella for me.

A tear slides down my cheek and my lips wobble but I push the emotions away. I can’t cry.

I won’t cry. Not anymore.

That bastard’s dead, and I'm a full-grown woman now, so I'm free. I’m free to go wherever I want.

And I will. I’ll go as fast and as far away from here as I can.