Chapter 16 – Morgan
Sixteen
Secrets Are My Cardio
Morgan
There was nothing quite like keeping the secret that your husband faked his death. Oh and that his murderous family wants you both dead. Yes, that but also having to pretend everything was fine.
Fuck Kansas Dorothy, this is the Twilight Zone.
I pushed through the co-op doors, plastering on what I hoped was a convincing "normal widow getting on with her life" expression.
The space buzzed with its usual creative chaos, sewing machines humming, fabric shears snipping, the occasional frustrated curse when someone's thread tangled.
All perfectly ordinary sounds that should have been comforting.
Instead, they felt like white noise against the roar of secrets in my head.
Just act normal, Morgan. You're a grieving widow who's slowly learning to live again. Not someone whose supposedly dead husband is very much alive and probably planning creative ways to murder his psychotic grandfather.
I made my way to my workstation, threading burgundy silk through my needle with hands that only shook a little. Progress, really. A month ago, I would have been a complete mess trying to manage this level of deception.
Now? I was threading needles while keeping secrets that could get people killed.
Character development at its finest.
"Hey, stranger."
Oh, good. Social interaction. Just what I needed to complete this performance.
I looked up to find Amber approaching with her usual bright smile. She looked effortlessly chic in distressed designer jeans and a vintage band t-shirt, her now dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Knowing her, she’d be a red head next week.
God, I wish I could tell her the truth.
The urge was overwhelming. To grab her hands and whisper that Lance wasn't dead, that we were dealing with one of the most dangerous crime families in Europe, that I was terrified and exhilarated and completely out of my depth.
But I couldn't.
Because Charles DuLac didn't leave witnesses. Anyone who knew the truth became a liability.
"Hey," I managed, forcing a smile that came easier now than it had weeks ago. Back when I thought I was actually grieving instead of just... whatever this was. "How's the latest piece coming?"
"Slowly but surely." Amber perched on the edge of my cutting table, careful not to disturb the fabric.
"Mixed media is always a process. Right now I'm working with reclaimed wood and metal, trying to get the balance right.
" She paused, studying my face with that intense way of hers, like she was reading something written in a language only she understood.
"But look at you; you look so much better than you did a few weeks ago.
There's actually color in your cheeks again, life in your eyes.
I was starting to think you might never recover from losing him. "
Heat crept up my neck. Of course, I looked better. I'd gone from thinking I was a widow at twenty-two to being reunited with my husband. The past several days had been the most intense emotional whiplash of my life.
Again.
"I've been processing things differently," I said, which was technically true. Processing the fact that my husband had faked his death, that I was now part of whatever came next with his homicidal family, that my entire understanding of my life had been turned upside down.
You know. Normal stuff.
"Good for you." Amber's expression softened with genuine concern. "I was worried about you for a while there. Since the funeral, you looked like you might just disappear entirely."
The memories of that time still made my chest ache with a confusing mix of betrayal and understanding.
He'd done it to protect everyone, but that didn't make it hurt less. What ached the most was knowing that during the days he lay ill. Lost in a coma. I never had the chance to be there for him. I hadn’t held his hand, whispered comfort, or let him know he wasn’t alone. That absence haunts me.
"I'm stronger than I thought," I said, which was becoming more true every day. A month ago, I wouldn't have been able to handle any of this. Now I was casually lying to my friends while pretending to be a grieving widow.
Personal growth, ladies and gentlemen.
"You really are." Amber watched me work, tracking the precise movements of my hands through the delicate fabric.
"You know, I've been thinking, maybe it would be good for you to start getting out more.
Meeting people. Not dating," she added quickly when she saw my expression.
"Just... socializing. Remembering that there's life beyond these four walls. "
Oh, honey. If only you knew how much life I'm dealing with right now.
The suggestion made my stomach clench. Getting out more. Meeting people. Like I was some hermit who needed to be coaxed back into society instead of someone actively hiding one of the biggest secrets of my life.
"I'm not ready for that," I said, perhaps a little too sharply. "It's still too complicated."
And by complicated, I mean my supposedly dead husband would probably kill anyone who looked at me sideways. Which should bother me more than it did, but honestly? After weeks of thinking I'd lost him, Lance's possessive tendencies felt almost comforting.
Nothing says "I love you" like homicidal jealousy.
"Of course," Amber said quickly. "I didn't mean to push. It's just—you seem different lately. More settled. Like you've found some kind of peace with everything that happened."
Peace. Right. If by peace she means 'actively trying not to think about the murderous crime family while pretending to grieve,' then sure.
I was saved from having to respond by the front door chiming.
Sam.
Oh, for fuck's sake.
"Morgan?" Sam's voice carried across the studio as he spotted me. His face lit up with that eager expression I knew too well. Like I was exactly what he'd been hoping to find.
Of course, he's here. He said he'd be back today.
"Hey, Sam," I said, setting down my needle with hands that I hoped looked steadier than they felt. The text from yesterday flashed through my mind. I'm back tomorrow want to grab a coffee when I'm back?
Lance had encouraged me to do everything that I would do if he wasn’t back, but the last thing I wanted to do was go for this coffee.
Or maybe you’re making too much of this. He’s harmless.
"I took a chance you might be here," he said, approaching my workstation with determined casualness. "I hope it's okay that I stopped by."
He's being sweet. Just awkward and sweet and completely oblivious to how complicated this is.
"What brings you by?" I asked, though I had a feeling I already knew.
"I was hoping we could grab that coffee I mentioned yesterday." He shoved his hands in his pockets, affecting that shy demeanor I remembered. "Been thinking about you a lot."
God, this was going to be painful. Sam was a perfectly nice guy who genuinely seemed to care about my well-being, and I was going to have to sit through coffee while pretending to be a grieving widow when I was just desperate to get home to my very much alive husband.
"I'm doing better," I said carefully. "Taking things one day at a time."
One lie at a time, more like.
He shifted his weight like he was working up courage for something bigger. "The coffee thing. I know it might seem forward, but I just thought it might be nice to get out of the studio for a bit.”
My first instinct was to say no. I wasn't interested in Sam romantically, and I definitely wasn't in the place to handle well-meaning sympathy from someone who thought I was actually grieving.
Before I could formulate a polite rejection, Amber spoke up.
"That sounds perfect," she said brightly, appearing at my elbow with sudden enthusiasm that felt aggressive in its cheerfulness. "Morgan's been working too hard. She could definitely use a break."
I stared at her, genuinely surprised by the intervention. "Amber—"
"Coffee is exactly what you need," she continued, completely ignoring my attempt to speak. Her hand landed on my arm with just enough pressure to feel significant. "When were you thinking, Sam?"
What the hell is she doing?
There was something in her tone that I couldn't quite identify. An urgency that went beyond normal friendly concern.
"Um." Sam looked between us, clearly picking up on the weird dynamic but not sure what to do about it. "Now? If you're not too busy, I mean. I know you're working, but—"
"I really should finish this," I said, gesturing to the half-beaded dress. It was a weak excuse, but it was all I had.
"It'll still be here when you get back," Amber said firmly. "And the fresh air will do you good. You've been cooped up in here all morning."
But looking at Sam's hopeful expression, I realized there was no way to get out of this without being rude. He was being genuinely sweet. "Your bodyguard can even get a coffee. My treat," he said, Indicating Alex.
I sighed a plastered a smile on my face. "Okay," I heard myself saying before my brain fully caught up. "One coffee. But just for an hour."
Sam's face lit up like I'd just told him he'd won the lottery. "Great! There's this place around the corner that makes amazing lattes."
It’s just coffee.
Amber was already helping me pack up my work, her movements efficient and strangely purposeful. Like she'd been expecting this conversation to go exactly this way.
"Go," she said, pressing my bag into my hands. "It'll be good for you to get some air."
As Sam held the door open with a flourish that felt more eager than smooth, I managed to catch Amber's eye. She gave me a look that was equal parts encouraging and proud.
My phone was already in my hand as we stepped onto the sidewalk, Sam chattering about the weather and how glad he was that I'd agreed to this.
I typed quickly, using the code Lance had taught me years ago when we were just friends and I was still living with my controlling father.
Me: Out for coffee with Sam. Needed fresh air. Corner of Spring and Mercer.