The Saint's Wife Read Free

trophy wife—with many of them volunteering for the role—or called her a gold digger. Never mind the fact that she and Chris had both been broke when they met and barely making ends meet when he scrimped and saved for the modest little engagement ring she still had in a jewelry box somewhere.
    Somewhere between the proposal and the wedding, the company he and David founded took off, and suddenly there’d been a three-carat emerald-cut diamond and a white Vera Wang dress and first-class tickets to a honeymoon in France. She was the multimillionaire tycoon’s wife, the blushing bride with the giant rock, and that was all the public knew of her. The woman who’d hit the jackpot.
    If she’d ever divorced Chris, she would’ve been a rich whore who’d made off with the wealth of a man who’d been too naively trusting and in love to make a bitch like her sign a prenup.
    The more likely scenario, though, was that she wouldn’t divorce him. Instead, she’d be the rich young widow.
    Groaning softly, Joanna rubbed her forehead. Shame burned in the back of her throat, especially at the memory of David’s dark eyes narrowing with anger and judgment. “I’m serious. I don’t want his money. I just… I just want to be able to breathe again.”
    “So what are you going to do? Are you going back?”
    Joanna shuddered. “I’m not sure. But I should probably decide soon.”
    “Well, you’ll be in the doghouse for a while no matter what. Waiting a few more days probably won’t make much difference.”
    “Yeah, true.” She closed her eyes. “On the other hand, the longer I stay here, the less likely I am to go back.”
    “Then don’t go back.”
    “And if I don’t, I—”
    “Jo. Honey.” She could almost see her sister squaring her shoulders and putting on the “listen up and listen good” look. “That man has treated you like shit for years. Hell, he’s such a toxic bastard, his own body is killing him.”
    Joanna didn’t laugh. Neither did Kaylie—she wasn’t kidding when she’d suspected from the beginning that Chris’s own venom had turned against him and played a role in his cancer.
    Kaylie went on. “You owe him nothing. I don’t care what other people say, especially people who don’t even know you or that asshole you married. You owe him nothing .”
    “But what kind of person am I if I abandon him on—”
    “Are you listening to yourself? If he’s alone on his deathbed, it’s his own doing, not yours. Anything you do is self-preservation, and if someone thinks less of you for that, then fuck them. Chris’s cancer doesn’t negate all the things he’s said and done to you.”
    “And I’ll be the one who’s a social pariah.”
    Kaylie didn’t respond right away, but then exhaled. “Yeah, I’ll give you that.”
    “I don’t know which is worse, honestly. Divorcing a terminally ill man, or pretending to stay married to him.” Joanna let her head fall back against the wall. “I should’ve divorced him when I had the chance.”
    “You couldn’t have known he was going to get sick.”
    “I think we all knew he was going to get sick,” Joanna whispered.
    “Still.” Kaylie sighed. “Honestly, fuck what everyone else thinks. You know your marriage. You know him. If going back there is going to make you miserable, then don’t. Let people talk.”
    “That’s easier said than done.”
    “So is going back and pretending to be the asshole’s adoring wife.”
    Joanna stared up at the skylight. Her sister had a point.
    “Give it some thought, okay? And call me any time. I’ve got your back.”
    Joanna managed a slight smile. “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”
    “Okay.”
    After they’d hung up, Joanna set her phone on the landing beside her but didn’t get up. She just kept staring at that rain-battered skylight, her mind going a million miles an hour in a thousand different directions.
    Stay? Go?
    If only it were that simple. Just the thought of walking back through that