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  Marrying the Millionaire

  The Brides of Hilton Head Island

  Book 2

  ISBN: 978-1-5075245-0-3

  Copyright © 2014 by McAfee Publications & Entertainment

  Cover Design by Niina Cord

  Formatting: Inkstain Interior Book Designing

  Editor: Curtis Baker, Ghostwriter Extraordinaire

  Sabrina Sims McAfee can be contacted via her website:

  www.sabrinasimsmcafee.com

  To my dedicated readers: Once again, thanks for your support. Because of you, I’m able to fulfill my writing passion. From the bottom of my heart, I can never thank my readers enough.

  For my son, Anthony.

  I’m so proud of you and the man you’re becoming.

  Every time I look at you, my heart warms.

  Thank you for being a wonderful son.

  Love you more,

  Mom

  THE FULL MOON GLOWED BRIGHT in the dark sky, casting a downward circular light over the brown brick mansion at the Spauldings’ estate. Crickets chirped outdoors on the many acreages of emerald grass. Bullfrogs burped, hopping about the slender grass near the wide marsh. Other than the sounds of small animals, a quiet stillness eased throughout the small town of Hilton Head Island this calm, late evening.

  Rays from the moon perched around sparkling stars spilled through the sheer curtains to the inside of Salina Spaulding’s master bedroom suite. As Salina lay deathly ill on her back with her eyes closed in her mahogany, four poster bed, draped with ivory sheer scarves, her bedroom door opened with a resounding creak. With death closing in on her, she peeled open her droopy eyes as the rusty hinges of the door assailed her ears.

  Struggling to inhale her next breath through the thin, clear oxygen tubes inside her nose, Salina looked across the pitch dark bedroom toward the entrance to find the tall silhouette of the man she’d been waiting for there.

  Thank God you came. You’re going to help me. Dear God, please forgive me for what I’m about to do. I’m. So. Tired.

  Wearing an ivory, silk nightgown, Salina struggled to bring her aching arms from by her sides to rest them in her lap beneath the cotton comforter. With a portable ventilator positioned beside her king-sized bed, she inhaled oxygen through the tiny tubes inside her nose.

  “Please,” she whispered, then swallowed. Pain rippled inside her dry, crackly throat. “Come in.” She struggled to convey the two words. He’s here. He’s really going to do it.

  Slithers of moonlight shined on the man as he stalked toward Salina, looking like a tall, dark shadow. Reaching her bedside, he paused and stood over her for what seemed like long minutes.

  Please, don’t change…your…mind. You have to help me.

  Standing over her bed, glowering down at her, he pulled the beaded string of the lamp positioned on the nightstand, and the gloomy room vaguely brightened. A weary expression settled on the gentleman’s stubbly round face. Remorse dulled his eyes.

  “Oh, Salina.” He shook his head. “My dear, sweet Salina.” A sharp breath expelled from his lips.

  Honing in on her face, his head tilted. His dark gaze wandered over the ivory silk comforter down to the foot of the bed, then back up to her face. Watching him watch her, Salina’s heart grappled inside her aching chest.

  Shaking his head profusely, his shoulders sagged. He swiped his bearded face, placed a black medical bag on the wooden nightstand, then sat on the mattress next to her.

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Salina?” His deep baritone voice flowed over the cold room.

  Salina’s bones pulsed as she sucked cold air into the sacs of her fluid-filled lungs. She nodded. When she inhaled a deep breath, even her lungs hurt.

  “I’m positive. I can’t do this anymore. Tired.”

  Her lids lowered, then reopened. Thinking about her situation, she turned her head and stared at the window.

  Stricken with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, Salina had lost a great proportion of her ability to initiate and control voluntary movements of her bodily functions. Once a very active and vibrant person who loved to indulge in outdoor activities and exercising, the disease had now turned for the worse, leaving her with aspiration pneumonia and severe weight loss, not to mention her extraocular muscles were affecting her eye movements and the doctors now felt she needed a tracheotomy.

  This is no way to live. I’m alive, but not living. I’m dying. Salina’s mind shifted to her husband. Oh, Richmond, I hate to do this, but it’s time. It’s my time to go home and be with the Lord.

  Dying a slow death, Salina’s entire body pained against the white, soft cotton sheets. As her trusted, dedicated friend sat beside her on her bed, she blinked at the tears teetering on her eyelashes. With a soft pillow propped beneath her head, Salina turned her head to capture his sullen gaze. A single tear streamed from her right eye down over her cheek. Using the pad of his thumb, he wiped the water from her face.

  The muscles in his hairy jaws clenched. “Don’t cry, Salina. I’m sorry, I can’t do this,” he said in a shaky voice, shaking his head. He tore his gaze away from hers to stare at the wall over his shoulder.

  Salina slid her hand across the linen toward him and circled her fingers around his wrist, and he returned his sullen gaze back to her face. In a whispering tone, she reminded him, “You promised. Please. I. Hurt. Bad. I want,” she squeezed her eyelids together, “to die.” Her misty eyes slowly reopened.

  Her husband, Richmond, would undoubtedly hate her if he ever found out that she’d taken her own life. That with assistance, she’d committed suicide. Her little girl, Isabelle, would hate her, too. But tired of living in severe pain…she had to do what was best for her.

  Not wanting to be a burden on Richmond, her death would be a blessing for him, she rationalized. She loved her husband more than anything in the world, and it was unbearable for her to watch him as he watched her die. Thank God she’d convinced him to attend his first cousin’s wedding in Virginia so she could partake in this insanely hideous act.

  Oh, Isabelle, I’m going to miss you, my sweet, precious angel, Salina thought, depressed because she wouldn’t live to see her daughter grow up and graduate from high school. She wouldn’t get to see her walk down the aisle and get married, nor would she be there when she’d had her first baby. A tear trickled down her right cheek.

  “God, forgive me for letting you talk me into this,” his shaky voice descended down over her.

  Tears streamed down her friend’s face onto his dress shirt. Cupping her hand, he hefted it to his mouth and placed a tender kiss on her knuckles. His lips trembled. Salina’s chest tightened. She swallowed.

  “God will forgive us both.”

  The man Salina loved so dearly reached into his medical bag and pulled out a syringe and a tiny, clear bottle. He stuck the tip of the needle into the bottle and filled the syringe with the poison.

  Giving his head a hard shake, he lifted her arm from her side, inhaled harshly, and pricked her skin with the pointed tip of the needle. The cold poison coursed through her veins.

  “Thank you,” she cried. Discontent hardened the lines of his face as he gently lowered her arm to her side. “The letter. Don’t forget the letter,” she reminded him.

  He lulled open her drawer, pulled out the letter addressed to her husband Richmond, then slid it into the pocket inside his blazer. Tears puddled in his eyes. He grazed her cheek with his knuckles. Tender. Gentle.

  “I hope I never have to give Richmond this letter.”

  I hope you don’t either. If he ever finds out I killed myself, he’ll hate me for all eternity.

  Suddenly engulfed with nausea, the dr
ug shot through Salina’s veins like hot gasoline. Her lungs constricted and expanded and constricted. Her breathing labored.

  “It’s working. Thank. You.”

  Quick, shallow breaths rushed through the small circular opening of her pursed lips.

  I’m losing my breath. Can hardly breathe.

  Bright headlights from outdoors in the driveway streamed through the sheer drapes and spilled inside the bedroom. Tires rolling over thick gravel punctuated her eardrums. A car engine hummed.

  Salina’s friend hastened to the window, stood to the side of the wall. Wary, he stuck two fingers between the cracks in the blinds and scissored them open to peer out the window into the dark night.

  “Richmond’s here.” He cursed. “You’re husband’s home.” Shock was laden in his voice. His shoes shuffled across the carpet as he rushed back over to the bed where she lay dying. “Apparently, he changed his mind about going to the wedding.”

  Tears of grief drenched Salina’s face. “Go out,” she inhaled harshly, “back door.”

  Mercy darkened the gentleman’s eyes standing over her bed. “Dear God. Look what I’ve done. This is murder.” As Salina fought to breathe in her next breath, he bent over and gently kissed her hot forehead. “I’m sorry things had to be this way. Ask God to forgive me when you get to Heaven,” he mumbled. Grief-stricken, he snatched his medical bag from the bed, then hastened out of the room like a thief in the night.

  Suffocating, Salina inhaled deeply. Her lazy eyes drifted closed, then her vision turned black.

  I’m coming to meet you, God.

  The rhythmic beating of her heart slowed. Harsh wisps of air squeezed from her slightly-parted mouth. Feeling life slip from her banged-up body, she crossed her hands across her breasts.

  My soul’s slipping. I’m sorry, Richmond. Sorry, Isabelle.

  “Salina.”

  Keeping her lids sealed, Salina heard her loving husband, Richmond, call out her name. Submerged in a sea of blackness, she sank further into death.

  When Richmond sat down beside her on the bed, she felt the mattress sink with a resounding squeak. Gently wrapping his large hand around hers, he grazed his knuckles against her cheek with his free hand. Oh God, she loved him more than she loved herself.

  Richmond cleared his throat. “I decided not to go to the wedding. I just couldn’t leave you, darling. You’re so beautiful when you sleep, my sweet, precious wife.” Hearing her husband’s deep baritone voice, her heart clenched.

  Suddenly, a hot pang shot through Salina’s veins, zapped to her heart. Her eyes sprang open. She gasped for air.

  “Uhhh.”

  Her lungs constricted harshly. Feeling as if she was having a heart attack, pain stabbed her heart. Muscles contracted. Bones ached. Having no control over her bodily functions, she shook violently. Like an evil spirit had entered her body. Like an exorcist had gripped her soul.

  Fear widened Richmond’s chestnut eyes. “Oh my God, Salina!” He leaned into her, clutched her biceps. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” Panicked, he scooped her up in his muscular arms and squeezed tight.

  I’m so sorry, so sorry. I’m leaving.

  As she quaked against his solid chest, he reached over to the nightstand, snatched the phone off the receiver, and dialed 911. Dying within her husband’s strong embrace, Salina’s limbs stiffened. Her fists balled. Trying not to swallow her tongue, she clenched her teeth.

  Gazing at her handsome husband’s face, her vision turned pitch black.

  Goodbye, Richmond. I. Love. You.

  Her eyes wide open, Salina inhaled one final breath. Her soul spiraled from her body up toward the night sky and floated past the glowing moon. Salina died in the arms of the only man she’d ever loved—her wonderful husband—Richmond Kenard Spaulding.