What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 4)

by Selena Kitt

  ‘Why didn’t you tell your parents what really happened?’ she asks softly.

  ‘Because I made a promise to Mia.’ I run my fingers through her hair, mesmerising myself with the silky strands. ‘They hated me. They’d just lost their daughter, and then I go and do that. After I was arrested, they told me they never wanted to see me again.’

  ‘But maybe they would’ve understood why and how it happened. Maybe they wouldn’t have felt like that.’

  ‘Maybe, but I couldn’t do it to her. Not after everything she’d been through.’

  ‘And the jury… maybe they would’ve understood the real reasons for what happened that night. You could’ve got a lesser sentence. Been acquitted, even.’

  ‘Who knows?’

  She splays her hand on my abs, which tighten under her delicious touch. ‘You could’ve possibly saved yourself a prison sentence if you hadn’t kept her secret.’

  I kiss her on the lips so I don’t have to answer her.

  ‘Why don’t you tell your parents now? Tell them the truth?’ She searches my face. ‘Maybe it’s a way to get their forgiveness, too.’

  I don’t say anything, because it’s too late now. I’m finally beginning to realize that it is my past. Too late to change it, and too late to analyze everything that happened as I’ve done a million times before.

  It’s not too late to move on, though.

  ‘Will you do it?’ she asks. ‘Just call them. Tell them the truth?’

  I hesitate. I know she’s right. It’s time to just let go.

  ‘For me?’ She bites her lip in that oh-so-sexy-cute way that drives me crazy. I pull her on top of me and stroke up and down the curve of her spine. God, I love this woman with a passion so fierce it’s almost frightening. I can do anything now as long as she’s with me. As long as she believes in me. She’s taught me so much about strength and courage, love and forgiveness.

  And I can’t refuse her anything. Whatever she wants, I’ll give her the world.

  ‘Yes. I’ll explain everything, but I don’t think I should do it over the phone. This Sunday I’ll go up to London and see them.’ I slide my fingers through hers. ‘Will you come with me?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll always be here for you, Ben.’ She’s quiet for a while, thinking, studying my hand in hers. ‘I’ve made a decision…I’m going to publish my journal.’ She twists in my arms and looks up at me. ‘Do you remember when you gave me the book by that rape survivor?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It gave me hope and inspiration. Writing the journal was a cathartic part of my recovery process, and Rebecca said it helped her. That’s what I want it to be used for—to help other women in the same situation.’

  ‘I think it’s a fantastic idea. You should do it. Sharing your story and showing women your strength and resilience may be the inspiration they need to get through things. It’s a way to turn the tragedy into something meaningful.’

  ‘Really?’ She bites her lip, and something stirs down south. I try to ignore it. Surely, it’s not appropriate to want to make love to her while she’s talking about her journal, considering what it contains.

  ‘Absolutely. I definitely think it will help others. And you said you always wanted to write a book. Maybe this is just the start of fulfilling the dream you thought was lost.’ I shift underneath her.

  She swats me on the arm. ‘I can’t believe you!’

  ‘What?’ I feign ignorance.

  ‘You’ve got a hard-on.’ She laughs.

  ‘I’ve always got a hard-on for you.’ I grin. ‘And that’s not all I’ve got.’ I flip her over so she’s lying on her back and press my body against her so she can feel how much I want her.

  Need her.

  Scratch what I said about not celebrating yet. After everything we’ve been through, why wait? Life’s too short.

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ she teases. ‘What else have you got?’ She wraps her legs around my hips.

  A groan escapes from deep in my throat. ‘Hold that thought, Grace.’ I untangle myself from her legs and jump off the bed.

  ‘Hey, where are you going?’ she cries.

  I can feel the weight of her gaze on my naked skin. ‘I’ll be back in a sec. We’re going to celebrate.’

  I remove the bottle of champagne from the fridge and pop the cork, trying to do it quietly so she can’t hear. I carry the foaming glasses back to the bedroom with the bottle tucked under my arm.

  ‘Ooh, champagne!’ Grace sits up in bed.

  I put the bottle on the bedside table, hand her a glass, and turn the bedside lamp on. She wears a worried frown.

  ‘Are you sure it’s not too early to celebrate? Theo might still get off.’

  ‘We’re not celebrating that. We’re celebrating us.’ I clink my glass against hers and take a sip, gazing into her beautiful green eyes over the rim. ‘This is to us. To our future. To growing old together. To loving each other. To a million more nights and days wrapped in your arms.’

  She stares into my eyes, and knowing she’s mine gives me the best feeling in the world.

  She cups my cheek in her hand and draws forward, her lips brushing against mine. Her tongue dances and teases in my mouth. When she pulls back, tears glisten in her eyes.

  ‘Hey!’ I reach out and pull her into my chest. ‘Don’t cry.’

  ‘I’m not crying because I’m sad. I’m crying because I’m happy. I never thought it was possible to feel so happy. No one’s ever said the beautiful things you say to me. No one’s ever treated me the way you do.’

  ‘I never thought I’d ever feel happiness, either, after Mia. I never thought I’d let anyone else break down my barriers. Only you could’ve done that, Grace. You’re one in a million. Now, you have to stop talking for a minute and drink the champagne.’ I grin at her.

  ‘Huh? Why?’ She glances down into the glass.

  The bubbles have all disappeared now, and she can finally see something in the bottom of it.

  ‘Oh my God!’ she squeals, pulling out a white gold ring with a square cut diamond in the centre. ‘Is this? Is it?’ She stares at the ring between her fingers. ‘Tell me what this is.’

  ‘OK, I’ll give you a hint. A ring?’

  She rolls her eyes at me. ‘I know it’s a ring. What kind of ring?’

  I reach into the bedside drawer and pull out the page from a newspaper. It’s taken ages for me to find this, but I’ve been searching for months, just so I’d be ready.

  I hand over the page, which has letters circled throughout the sentences like a headline. ‘Read it.’

  She says the words aloud. ‘“You Don’t Just Mean the World To Me, You Are My World. I Can’t Imagine Life Without You. Will You Marry Me?”’

  She shakes her head as she stares at the newspaper in shock. For a moment, I think she’s going to say no.

  Then she cracks a wide smile. ‘Ditto, Ben.’ She throws her arms around my neck, the champagne sloshing out of her glass, down my back and onto the sheets.

  ‘You’d better kiss that off.’ I raise a suggestive eyebrow at her.

  ‘Don’t worry, I will. I’ll need to get in practice, after all.’

  ‘Practice?’

  Her eyes dance with an excited sparkle. ‘For the honeymoon, of course.’

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Grace

  We talk for hours. We’re wrapped up in each other arms, words, and thoughts, warm and safe. Nothing bad can touch us here. We make plans for the future, our future. We laugh, we dare to dream, and we make love.

  And just like that, Ben’s done what he’s always done, ever since I’ve known him. He’s taken a tragedy and turned it into something positive, something special, something hopeful. Chased away the bad and replaced it with something so perfect that I can almost feel it cocooning us.

  We finally drift into a relaxed sleep in the early hours of the morning, even though I have to get up in a few hours to start baking. When my alarm wakes me, I forget for a second what happene
d last night. Then I look at the ring sparkling on my finger and break into a huge smile.

  I kiss his cheek and watch him sleep. Study how his dark lashes shadow across his cheeks. The curve of his back. His muscles firm and defined, even in relaxation.

  Beautiful. Inside and out.

  In the coffee shop, I mix the ingredients and don’t think about Theo. I don’t panic or worry about what will happen at court today. I’ve done what I had to. I’m letting go, too.

  Ben knocks on the door at eight a.m. I look up from the counter and flash him a smile before unlocking the door.

  ‘Hey, beautiful.’ He wraps his arms around me.

  ‘Same to you.’ I grin up at him, and he kisses the tip of my nose.

  ‘You’d better not greet your new employee like this.’

  Ben’s only got a few days before he starts his job, and with everything that’s happened, I haven’t had the time or motivation to find someone to work here with me.

  ‘I haven’t got one yet.’

  ‘Maybe Rebecca could help you out. It might be good for her to spend some time with you. Get her out of the house, think about something else.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right. I’ll ask her.’ I raise an eyebrow, remembering what Edward called me. ‘Then we can both be “a couple of whores who work in a coffee shop”!’

  And I laugh. I actually laugh about it. A real belly laugh that makes my sides ache and my eyes water. And I don’t know why. It’s not even funny, but it’s payback, and it feels so amazingly fantastic.

  We work side by side all day. Despite myself, I’m clock-watching, wondering what’s happening at court. Has the jury gone out yet? Are they sitting in their private room debating the evidence? Do they believe him or us?

  At four-thirty, my mobile phone rings from my bag in the office. I glance at Ben, who’s serving a customer. He gives me an encouraging smile before I rush off to answer.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, Grace. This is Dana from the Crown Prosecution Service.’

  ‘Hi,’ I say breathlessly, wanting to hear it now. Immediately. I can’t wait any longer.

  ‘I just wanted to give you an update on what happened today. The jury were only out for a couple of hours deliberating. They found Theo guilty of two counts of rape, and he’s been remanded in custody until the sentencing hearing. The CPS will be asking for the maximum penalty.’

  Breath gushes from my lungs with relief. ‘Wow, that’s brilliant. Thanks for letting me know.’

  ‘Thank you, Grace. I know this wasn’t easy for you. And I wish you lots of luck for the future.’

  ‘Have you told Rebecca?’

  ‘Yes, I phoned her a few minutes ago.’

  We hang up, and I turn round to see Ben hovering in the doorway, waiting for me to tell him.

  ‘We did it!’ I fly into his arms. ‘They found him guilty on both counts.’

  He picks me up and spins me round. ‘You did it. You and Rebecca.’

  When he stops spinning me, I rest my head against his neck, inhaling his spicy scent mixed with his unique musky smell, breathing him into me. ‘It’s finally over,’ I say, although I know this isn’t the end of my story.

  It’s just the beginning.

  You see, I know bad things happen. Every day. To good people. It’s called life. The thing is, though, when you hit rock bottom, the only place left to go is up. I’m starting to believe that good things, special things, can come from the bad, the horrific, and the ugly. That a tragedy can be a gift in disguise, and has the ability to turn into something positive and life changing. Something that will help others, if you let it. That love can heal the pain and bring meaning back to life.

  Was I supposed to end up here? I guess I’ll never know. As I said, I’ve never been friends with fate. But what I do think is that I would have never found where I was really supposed to be if my past hadn’t happened. I would have never found home. With Ben.

  And maybe, just maybe, living through something like this makes you a warrior, stronger than you’ve ever been. Maybe even invincible, which is what I feel right now.

  So the butterfly has cracked through the dark chrysalis imprisoning her life. She’s soaring now, flying away from the ghosts and demons and into the bright sunlight.

  She’s spreading her wings and taking on the world.

  A Note from the Author

  I’d like to thank you, the reader, for sharing in Grace’s and Ben’s journey. The themes touched on in Butterfly were difficult to write about for many reasons, but mostly because of the sheer numbers of rape survivors and the attitudes of society towards this subject. Sexual assault and rape are crimes which are still considered unspeakable. The feeling of responsibility and shame is so intense for rape survivors they may never tell anyone, but regardless of the rape myths that prevail, sexual assault is never your fault. Ever.

  I do believe that what we keep inside continues to hurt us, so if you relate personally to any part of this story, please tell someone if you can—friend, a family member, a support group, a professional counsellor or therapist.

  About the Author

  Elle Harper is a pen name of International Bestselling and Award Winning Author Sibel Hodge.

  Her work has been shortlisted for the Harry Bowling Prize 2008, Highly Commended by the Yeovil Literary Prize 2009, Runner Up in the Chapter One Promotions Novel Comp 2009, nominated Best Novel with Romantic Elements in 2010 by The Romance Reviews, Runner Up in the Best Indie Books of 2012 by Indie Book Bargains, and Winner of Best Children’s Book by eFestival of Words 2013. Her novella Trafficked: The Diary of a Sex Slave has been listed as one of the Top 40 Books About Human Rights by Accredited Online Colleges.

  For her latest book releases, giveaways, and gossip, why not sign up to her newsletter at:

  http://www.sibelhodge.com/contact-followme.php

  Connect with Elle online!

  Website:

  http://www.sibelhodge.com/

  Facebook:

  https://www.facebook.com/pages/Sibel-Hodge-Author-of-romantic-comedy-and-comedy-mystery-books/246194485016

  Twitter:

  https://twitter.com/sibelhodge

  Goodreads:

  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3517050.Sibel_Hodge

  Amazon Author Page:

  http://amzn.to/1k9dDtY

  Also by Elle Harper

  Fiction:

  Trafficked: The Diary of a Sex Slave

  The See-Through Leopard

  Fashion, Lies, and Murder (Amber Fox Mystery No 1)

  Money, Lies, and Murder (Amber Fox Mystery No 2)

  Voodoo, Lies, and Murder (Amber Fox Mystery No 3)

  Chocolate, Lies, and Murder (Amber Fox Mystery No 4)

  Fourteen Days Later

  My Perfect Wedding

  The Baby Trap

  How to Dump Your Boyfriend in the Men’s Room (and other short stories)

  It’s a Catastrophe

  Non Fiction:

  A Gluten Free Taste of Turkey

  A Gluten Free Soup Opera

  Healing Meditations for Surviving Grief and Loss

  Butterfly

  Elle Harper/Sibel Hodge

  Copyright © Elle Harper/Sibel Hodge 2014

  The moral right of the author has been asserted. All rights reserved in all media. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical (including but not limited to: the Internet, photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system), without prior permission in writing from the author and/or publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owne
rs.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to your online retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Weekend at Wilderhope Manor

  Lucy Felthouse

  The car trundled up the long driveway, the crunching of gravel beneath tyres the only sound as Stephanie and her girlfriend, Jenny, peered out of the windows at their surroundings.

  Even at dusk the tree-lined driveway was impressive with perfectly maintained parkland, spanning for acres on either side of it. As Stephanie steered the Fiesta around a bend in the track, they both gasped. Their destination, Wilderhope Manor, had come into view and it was stunning. The Tudor style property was huge, with no less than three frontages visible from where they were. Chimneys with intricately built patterns jutted into the darkening sky, with tangles of ivy climbing parts of the manor, giving the place an appearance that was both beautiful and foreboding.

  Presently, the driveway opened out into a gravelled area, which as far as Stephanie could tell, doubled as a car park for the weekend. Stephanie manoeuvred into a spot between two vehicles and killed the engine. As she turned to Jenny, she jumped, startled. Her girlfriend had leaned in close, making a scary face with her hands mimicking claws.

  “Are you ready to be scared out of your wits, young lady?” Jenny rasped, wiggling her eyebrows and fingers theatrically.

  Stephanie shoved her playfully, laughing. “Come on, you silly cow. It’s a murder mystery weekend, not a monster hunt. There will be no ghosts, ghouls or vampires involved.”