Enchanted By You
Hilaria Alexander
“If you are brave enough to say goodbye, life will reward you with a new hello.”
Paulo Coelho
Contents
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
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Bonus Content
The Art of Us - Prologue
The Art of Us - Chapter 1
Also by Hilaria Alexander
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If you’d like to listen to the music that inspired me while writing this story, you can find it on Spotify!
Enchanted by You
Copyright © 2018 Hilaria Alexander
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Published: Hilaria Alexander 2018
[email protected]
Editing: Alchemy and Words
Proofreading: Judy’s Proofreading
Created with Vellum
Chapter One
“Ines, why aren’t you eating your green chile burger? You went on and on about how hungry you were and how you were dying to check this place out.”
For once he’s right. I had raved about how excited I was to come to El Chile Verde for our last dinner in Albuquerque, but all I could do was stare at my burger for the last few minutes. I was hungry, but I’m not anymore, all thanks to his last few remarks.
Another stupid argument, and it’s always for nothing. This time it was to bitch about why I didn’t book an earlier flight back home. After all I’d done for him. After I’d planned this trip meticulously so that his secretary wouldn’t have to do it.
I’d taken care of everything. But just like so many times in the past, it wasn’t enough. It’s never enough with Brad.
And to think he wanted to take me on this work trip so we could try to get back on track, so that we could reconnect.
Things have been off between us for quite some time and I was happy he was ready to acknowledge it, because for one, I’m tired of his constant bickering.
Does he think I find it attractive?
He sounds like a petulant child most of the time, and a cruel one occasionally.
Cruel, childish Brad is the one who accompanied me on this trip.
I take a deep breath and my chest hurts, heavy thanks to his many, heartless jabs.
You don’t have to keep putting up with this, I chide myself.
I’ve had enough. The words bubble up in my chest. I know why they’re right there, on the tip of my tongue. The same sentence has looped in my head for hours, if not for the past few days. The words tumble out of my mouth before I can even consider what I’m doing.
“Brad…I’m not going back with you. I think I need space.”
My voice shocks me as I hear those words spoken out loud. His eyes widen, slowly. The bigger his eyes become, the more his jaw locks in anger. His shoulders rise, and I watch as the slow transformation takes place. My beloved husband transforms from Jekyll into Hyde.
His disbelief vanishes and is replaced by the cool, angry demeanor that is often directed at me. I wince internally, already regretting what I’ve said. I carefully look around us, wondering if anyone heard me. I know that I’ve done it. I’ve provoked him, and he’s not going to take this the right way. He’s going to take it as a blunt provocation, as if I would purposely mess with him in a public place.
As if I could be cruel like him.
All I want, all I wish for, is to go back to the old us, to the couple we were in the beginning, silly and carefree. I wish I could make him understand how different he is now from the man I fell in love with. I wish I could hold up a mirror and show him the look of fury on his face, the expression he gets entirely too often. I know it’s wrong. This bewildered, twisted grimace that takes over the face of the man who’s supposed to love and honor me.
But now that I’m about to witness another one of his angry bouts, I must admit to myself that I haven’t felt truly loved or honored in years. In the beginning, Brad must have known how to pretend playing the part of the caring boyfriend and husband. As time went by, something in our marriage changed. I realize that I haven’t seen that version of him in a very long time. I’ve been wondering for a while if I deluded myself with thinking he was the right one for me or if he pretended so well that I fell for it. The emotional connection between us has been missing for a while. As for the physical one…well, we still have sex, but it has become mechanic, at least on my part, and I find it hard to feel anything for him…in or out of the bed.
Even though I run my own freelance business and I’m far from being a trophy wife, a lot of times I feel like my life revolves around him and keeping him happy. An unhappy Brad is a sure way to get into whatever argument he sees fit. I swear sometimes he acts like a spoiled only child, but he isn’t. I know his parents haven’t raised him like that and they don’t favorite him over his siblings. Irony of all ironies, I’m the one who’s an only child, and I surely don’t behave as capriciously as he does.
I swallow past the knot in my throat, trying to forget about all the things that made me start doubting the solidity of my marriage, especially the trending topic on Twitter that ignited my doubts about our union like gasoline thrown on a wildfire.
Over the last year, I’ve seen the hashtags #MeToo and #Timesup taking over social media. While I’m not surprised by the number of women who have been sexually harassed or sexually assaulted in their lifetime, and it hurts to see that while women have made progress when it comes to equal rights, we still have so much work ahead of us. When I was younger, I truly believed women were emancipated in this country, but now more than ever it’s clear to me that women still don’t have the same rights or privileges men have. Most of us get paid less than their male counterparts, even in the most lucrative industries, and unfortunately men get easily off the hook when it comes to issues like sexual assault and domestic abuse.
Sure, my situation was nothing like some of those I’d recently read about. I wasn’t a victim of domestic violence. My marriage wasn’t perfect, and we hadn’t been happy for a long time, but I didn’t think I had an abusive relationship.
My realization happened a few days ago
as I scrolled my Twitter feed. I read comments from women sharing their experiences to raise awareness about a subtler type of domestic abuse. Abuse that didn’t involve physical contact. Abuse that didn’t bruise your skin, but your soul. One that made you feel worthless and unloved. One of the tweets read like this: #Maybehedoesnthityou but he fucks with your mind and your heart so bad that you feel like dirt.
I read hundreds of similar tweets, and I couldn’t believe how much I could relate to them.
Some of them felt like they had been written with me in mind.
Brad didn’t hit me, but his constant criticism of my actions or my appearance left me broken and bruised.
Brad didn’t hit me, but his remarks made me feel unworthy more than once.
Brad didn’t hit me, but quite often he went on and on about how difficult I was to deal with and how no one else was ever going to love me.
I lift my gaze to meet his, and as I glance once more at his angry face, another quote comes to mind.
“We accept the love we think we deserve.”
I’d come across this quote from The Perks of Being a Wallflower many times, but it never stung as much as it does right now.
Problem is, I know I deserve more. I’ve always known. Whenever he made me feel worthless, I knew I wasn’t the problem. I knew I was kind, smart, and beautiful.
I knew I had a good soul. I didn’t need Brad’s validation to believe I was a good person.
I knew communication was key in every relationship. In the past, I’d tried to confront Brad about this. I’d tried to point out to him the way he made me feel, the way he’d struck me with his words, trying to make me feel small and weak.
And like those husbands who hit their wives, Brad apologized.
He always apologized. He knew he’d said the wrong words, he’d say he didn’t mean them. And then he’d reaffirm by saying he loved me.
It’s strange how we allow ourselves to be stuck in certain toxic situations.
It’s also strange how suddenly you come to realize you must break the endless cycle to get out of it.
Why is this realization hitting me so hard right now? Why do I feel like I need to break free from him right here? Why couldn’t I wait to go back to LA to confront him?
I’ve felt stuck in our marriage for years, but the truth is, I could have left anytime.
Brad and I don’t have children. I have a job and I don’t depend on him. I could have walked away from this marriage whenever I’d wanted.
Yet, until now I have been avoiding it. I’ve been unable to leave my awful marriage. Am I the only one stuck? Am I the only victim? Am I making Brad as miserable as he sometimes makes me? From time to time, I believed that maybe Brad would be happier without me, and I without him.
While I might have underestimated this in the past, right now I know I could go on, completely fine without him.
There’s no twinge of sadness in my heart at the thought of breaking up. Is our relationship really this damaged? Is this the end of us? A heavy, dull ache spreads in my chest, creeping to my stomach. I feel defeated, but not in the way I would expect.
I just want to be done, once and for all.
Tears pool in my eyes but I don’t feel any regret when I tell him, “It’s over.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I-I think I want to stay here in Albuquerque.”
He barks out a laugh and shoots me a look of disbelief. His eyes are questioning, and I can tell he’s assessing if this is another one of my crazy ideas.
“Just for a little while. I need some time to think.” Maybe if I make it sound like a temporary situation he’ll understand? Maybe he won’t get angry?
“You’re not making any sense, Ines. We’re going back to California tonight. What the hell are you talking about?” His voice gets louder, and his puzzled expression turns into rage. Brad’s cheeks redden in anger, and he purses his lips in frustration. If his brown eyes could incinerate me, I’d burn to ash where I sat.
I need to soften the blow. I need to make him understand where I’m coming from...but how? My timing is certainly not the best.
I look around the quaint, busy family restaurant and I’m relieved when I see that no one is paying attention at us. Yet. That is, until my eyes meet with the guy at a cash register who’s counting money and then hands a check back to a waitress. He’s dressed pretty casual, different from the waiters and waitresses that buzz around the place. From where I'm sitting, I see he's wearing a dark blue short-sleeve button-down shirt. He stares at me for a couple of seconds from across the room, and as his lips press in a straight line and his brows furrow, I swear he knows.
I quickly look away, because causing a scene in this establishment is the last thing I want. Me and my stupid mouth.
“Did you just say it’s over? Do you really think you can make it on your own?” Brad raises his voice once again.
“Why couldn’t I?” I reply as calmly as I can manage.
I sense the stranger observing us and my hands curl into fists, my nails digging into the palm of my hands. I need to keep my head on my shoulders, as much as I can. What’s done is done now, but I need to try not to make it worse. I close my eyes and I take a deep breath, praying that somehow Brad can keep his fucking cool until we’re alone.
And then he can direct his rage at me.
No. What are you doing, Ines? You said it yourself. It’s over.
I find my resolve once again, and I lift my gaze, holding my head up high.
“I-I think I need some distance.” From you. I lock eyes with him for a second, and I can’t stand the idea of sitting here as he turns into a furious bull. His anger is boiling under his skin, moments away from exploding. “Yes, Brad. I need some distance from you. We…we haven’t been happy for a long time, admit it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “You’re only saying this to make me angry, aren’t you? You’re trying to make me mad so I’ll make a scene in here, aren’t you?”
There it is. The accusation.
If I had to sum up my feelings in a tweet like the ones I read online, it would probably be, “#Maybehedoesnthityou, but he blames you for everything.”
“I’m not,” I reply in a voice so low I barely hear my words. I wonder if he’ll really go all the way and explode in public the way he does at home, or when we’re alone in the car. I wonder if he’ll lose control so much that someone will have to intervene, or worse, call the police on him.
Maybe this was a mistake.
I don’t want him to humiliate me in front of everyone.
Please, God, let him calm down.
Chapter Two
I can’t believe our vacation has come down to this. We’d been planning this getaway for so long. We were both excited to spend a few days away from the madness of Los Angeles in favor of the more low-key Albuquerque, a place we both love. Brad had a speaking engagement at a conference, and he told me I should go with him.
We’d make a vacation out of it and spend some quality time together, he’d said.
Our trip had a few good moments, but those didn’t counterbalance everything that had gone wrong. It’s true that my husband’s job as an attorney at a law firm made him stress-prone, but as far as I knew there was nothing going on at the moment that would justify his overly moody behavior our entire time in Albuquerque.
There you go again, making excuses for him, I thought, berating myself.
The entire vacation he’d peppered me with mocking jabs, corroborating my confusion about our precarious marriage.
So many things went wrong this weekend, but if I had to pinpoint the exact moment when I feared our marriage had gone adrift and I shouldn’t take it anymore, it was when he berated me for what I had chosen to wear on our night out around town. I came out of the hotel bathroom wearing an elegant maxi-dress that highlighted my best assets, and makeup that made my features look even more exotic. It had taken time, but I’d finally mastered the art of
eyeliner at the ripe age of thirty-one. Furthermore, the bronzer my friend Lily recommended smelled divine and made me feel like one of those pretty girls on Instagram. I’m not one of those women who required showering with compliments, but every once in a while, I’d like to hear a compliment or two from my husband. Instead, when Brad saw me dressed up, he told me I looked stupid.
According to him, my outfit was too dressy for our night out, and I was going to look ridiculous walking into the places we intended to go. Because of his job, Brad was a sharp dresser during business hours, but as soon as he was off the clock, he was all about his expensive, trendy casualwear. I, on the other end, worked from home, and I usually looked forward to any occasion to dress up and feel good about myself.
That night, he’d decided to wear his perfectly calculated hipster outfit of distressed tee, white shorts, and expensive limited-edition Nike Air Jordans.
However, in his opinion, I was the one who was going to look ridiculous, not him.
Not hot, or beautiful, or even overdressed. Ridiculous. The word still stung days later.
If I was ridiculous in my favorite summer breezy dress, so be it. Brad was capable of poisoning my mood like no one else, but he couldn’t succeed when it came to something like good taste and style, which I knew I possessed—something I’d inherited from my mother. We didn’t have much growing up, but my mother always managed to look stylish even with inexpensive clothes and jewelry.
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