Fated to be Mine

by Larson, Jodie

  Fated To Be Mine

  Copyright © 2015 by Jodie Larson

  First Edition

  Cover Design by Murphy Rae at Indie Solutions by Murphy Rae

  Interior Design by Champagne Formats

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incident 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 owners.

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  DID YOU KNOW THE AVERAGE heartbeat in a normal human being is sixty to one hundred beats per minute? Did you know when your heart does not beat in a regular rhythm it’s considered to be in arrhythmia? Did you know when you leave your heart across the Atlantic Ocean it stops beating altogether?

  I do.

  How do I know this? Because that’s where my heart is, and it has not beat once since yesterday morning, back when everything was still perfect in my life.

  The early morning rays of the sun peek in through my bedroom window after another restless night of tossing and turning. I should just give up on sleep altogether because I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since … well, let’s just say it’s been a couple of days. Days that will live vividly in my memory, wanting nothing more than to cherish and relive each one.

  I can still feel the warmth of his arms wrapped around my body. Securing me and all my fears with their firm hold. Encasing me with feelings I’ve never felt in all of my twenty-six years on this earth. Andrew Parker, the name that’s etched across the non-working organ in my chest, the man who changed my life and allowed me to feel as if someone out there cares for me.

  But like a dream, it’s all just a lie, a fallacy, a passing snapshot into a life that is not mine. The unloved rarely find anything other than pain and isolation. And as I pull myself off my bedroom floor I’ve come to realize that any indication of a happy future is nothing more than a waking dream.

  Wrapping the robe around my body, I slowly drag myself into my bathroom, feeling worn out and beaten, even if it’s only my spirit. What I’m unprepared for is the reflection in the mirror staring back at me. A face so worn and sad it no longer looks like my own. The usual pasty white skin has been replaced with giant red blotches, indicating a night of crying myself to sleep. Add that to the dark smudges that ring around my eyes and the tangled mess that is my hair, hanging in knots and looking dull as ever. I could compete for best Halloween monster without even needing a costume.

  I can see why Andrew would want nothing to do with me. My hands slam against the mirror, blocking the horrid view of what I have now become. Pain sweeps through my body as Andrew’s memory continues to haunt me. It’s too much to bear and I slowly sink onto the cold tile floor, letting the chill seep into me as I curl myself into a tight little ball.

  Why did I tell him I loved him? Why was I stupid enough to think there would be a happy ending for me? More tears fall from my eyes, splashing onto the tiles. The coolness feels good on my heated face and I lie there for what seems an immeasurable amount of time, wallowing in my discomfort and sadness. But I need to move. Lying here isn’t doing me any good so I slowly pick myself up off the floor.

  Staggering into the kitchen, I pull random things out of the cupboard, unsure of exactly what it is I’m searching for. The fog is still sitting heavy in my brain, the lead weight still pulling my heart down from where it’s supposed to be. They say time heals all wounds. I guess I need to see if that’s true or not because right now, time is not my friend. With each passing second my thoughts drift to Andrew; wondering what he’s doing or if he misses me. Or worse, if there’s someone else that has already taken my place.

  No, I need to stop this line of thinking. I need to put London and everything that happened there behind me, force it into a little box to be kept in the back recesses of my memories. I need a distraction. With a new task at hand, I shuffle to the front door, grabbing the suitcase Chris had left there after he and Kara dropped me off last night. Just another humiliating scene to add to the many others my two friends have endured with me.

  Dragging the heavy bag down the hall, my foot catches suddenly on the rug, causing my body to tumble to the ground. My knee hits with a hard thud against the wood floor, sending a new round of pain through my body.

  “Just perfect,” I mutter to myself, well aware I am alone and no one is around to help me. I pull myself off the floor and limp my way back to the bedroom, tossing the suitcase unceremoniously onto the bed. Flinging it open, I can’t help but stare at the haphazardly packed clothing, forgetting I had packed in such a rush that nothing was folded and put neatly into place. No, I must not think about this. It’s just clothing. Clothing that needs to be washed and put away in its proper place. And so I begin my chore, sorting out the clothes into piles so I can go wash them later.

  Once my bedroom has been brought back to order, I make my way back to the kitchen, placing all the various items back into the cupboard and focus my attention on the coffee pot.

  Caffeine. I am in definite need of caffeine.

  Leaning my cheek against my folded arms on the counter, I watch the steady stream of life-giving brown liquid pour into the waiting carafe. As I watch the ribbons of liquid flow from the spout, I look at the color and realize it’s the same color as Andrew’s hair. That luxurious dark hair, all thick and expertly styled to look as if he’s just had the fuck of his life. The thought of his sexy bedroom hair has my heart constricting again in my chest as I reach for an available mug, which just happens to be the perfect shade of sapphire blue. In my distracted thoughts, I barely register the scalding liquid falling onto my hand as it splashes over the side while I pour.

  “Fuck me,” I mutter, lunging for the sink to put an immediate stream of cold water on the reddening burn. This morning is not going well. I woke up with yet another migraine, courtesy of my never ending dream. Then the floor decided to reach up and grab my foot causing the growing purple mark on my knee. Now there’s a large angry red blotch on my hand. Anything else want to happen this morning?

  As if on cue, my phone rings in the living room. Funny, I don’t remember turning it on last night when I came home. Kara must have done that for me, surely so she could call and check up on me today. Lucky me to have my own mother hen to rule my roost. I dampen a towel and wrap it around the burn to keep it cold and answer the call without looking to see who it is.

  “Hello?”

  “Tessa, you’re back.”

  Perfect, it’s Sharon. As if second-degree burns and swelling knees weren’t bad enough, let�
��s throw my stepmother into the mix. Thank you, fate. You cruel, cruel bitch.

  “Hi, Sharon. Yes, I got back late last night. I would have called, but I didn’t want to wake anyone.”

  I limp over to my couch and carefully lower myself to avoid hitting both my hand and knee on any unnecessary objects. My eyes close as my head falls back to rest on the cushion, waiting for whatever snide remark Sharon’s about to unleash come my way.

  “And we thank you for that. There is definitely no need to wake us for something as minor as you returning from wherever you were. Your father mentioned that he invited you to dinner tomorrow night?”

  “Yes. He called me earlier and asked if I wanted to …”

  “I am just calling to confirm you are still coming,” Sharon says, cutting me off as if she isn’t really interested in anything that I was saying, which she truly is not.

  “Yes, I will be there,” I say meekly.

  The rustling of keys in the background and shifting of papers tells me she must be getting ready to head for her weekly spa treatments. Another way for her to waste my father’s money and keep her social status in check. I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh softly to myself.

  “What time would you like me there?” I’m praying it’s an early time because the sooner I can leave that house the better off I’ll be.

  “Miriam says she’ll have dinner ready at six o’clock since your father has a rather large case to work on Monday morning.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there just before six then.”

  She scoffs, causing my shoulders to rise slightly. “Not too much before. It’s only dinner, not some fancy party with invited guests.”

  But I was invited I want to say, knowing that statement will only start another round of insults and arguments. Instead, it stays in my head, where all other thoughts go unspoken when dealing with her.

  “Is there anything I can bring?”

  A small laugh sounds and it makes me want to cry. “Miriam is taking care of everything. I trust her cooking skills so there’s no need for your contribution.” The beeping of her car door let me know the conversation is about to end. “Try not to be late Tessa. It’s bad form and highly tacky.”

  I nod. “I won’t be late.”

  The engine purrs softly to life and the click of her seatbelt sounds over the phone. “Good. I’m off for the day. I’m having a much-needed spa day with the mayor’s wife. Remember, don’t be late. Goodbye, Tessa.”

  “Goodbye, Shar-“

  She hangs up before I even finish her name. Well, that took more energy than I wanted to use today. And she’s going to lecture me on manners? Honestly, I’m not even sure why they bother with me. I am an adult after all and don’t need checking up on. Why did I promise to have dinner with them? Once again, it all boils down to pity and obligation with my father, which I find completely ironic since he never cared about me until I was eighteen and a legal adult. And even then it was already too late. The damage was done and nothing could erase the years of pain that had been brought to my life. I slide down the couch further, wanting nothing more than to sleep the rest of the weekend away.

  I stretch my arms above my head several hours later, feeling moderately refreshed and thankful to wake up still lying on the couch instead of the floor. But like everything else there’s a sacrifice to be made. Instead of waking up with a bruised cheek or pounding head, I’m greeted with the not so pleasant cramping of my neck from being contorted awkwardly against the arm of the couch.

  The sun is in its final descent, casting an orange hue along the buildings and trees outside my window. The howling of the wind causes a shiver to run down my spine as the newly fallen leaves dance down the street before being picked up and carried away to destinations unknown. If only that could happen to me. What I wouldn’t give to be taken away from here, away from my life and all its problems. There was a possibility of that happening, at least I thought there was, but how mistaken I was in believing that good things happen to the damned.

  His bright sapphire eyes still haunt me every time I close my eyes. The scent of his cologne invades my nose as I picture him standing near me, holding his hand out to me, telling me everything is going to be okay. That I really am his love, as he called me. Ugh, that stupid pet name. Damn sexy British men.

  My phone beeps at my side, alerting me to an incoming message. Ice forms in my veins as I think about what the message could be and who its sender is. Realistically it would only be one of two people. I hesitantly pick up my phone and swipe my finger across the screen then sag back into the couch as I see Kara’s name appear.

  You better be alive. I’m coming over to check up on you.

  Oh God, please no. I don’t think I can entertain anyone right now, even if it is my best friend and boss.

  Really, I'm okay. See, alive and well. No need to check up on me.

  Within minutes, her response shows up, not shocking me in the least.

  Too late. Couple blocks away. Be right there.

  Damn. There goes my quiet night of self-loathing and private pity party. But then again maybe it won’t be so bad. I mean it is Kara and she knows exactly how to stop my mind from working, which I would welcome with open arms right now. And Kara Thomas doesn’t exactly take no for an answer.

  Within five minutes, my door is being pounded on and I barely have time to stand before it flies open with Kara filling the frame, holding two bottles of wine out in front of her.

  “Chickie! You and I are having a movie marathon tonight. And I knew one bottle would not be enough so I brought two.” She walks right past me, putting her coat on a barstool and tossing a few DVDs from her bag onto the counter.

  “Thanks, Kara, but you didn’t need to come over. I’m okay, really.” I pull the sash of my robe tighter around my body before taking down two wine glasses from the cupboard. Kara looks me up and down and starts laughing hysterically.

  “Are you kidding me? You’re still wearing a robe and your pajamas for crying out loud. And seriously, puppy dog slippers? What are you, five? I need to give you a makeover something fierce.”

  Kara brushes past me, grabbing the electric wine opener off the counter to uncork the first bottle. She fills the glasses with the already chilled white wine and hands me one, raising hers in the process to clink them together.

  “Tonight we’re not thinking about guys. It’s a No Boys Allowed night.”

  I silently laugh and take a rather large sip of the wine, relaxing my shoulders a bit. Kara always gets the best wines and tonight her flavor of choice is a Riesling.

  “Sounds good to me. So what movies did you bring?” I pick up the cases to give them a once over, making sure she won’t be torturing me with scary movies.

  “We are going to have a Sandra Bullock marathon tonight. We could use a little bit of comedy after this last week.” She winks at me and ushers me back into my living room. Still holding onto the movies, I crawl to the player while Kara occupies the spot I just vacated on the couch, tucking her feet underneath her body. At least she dressed down slightly to come over here. Although even her yoga pants and off the shoulder sweatshirt still make her look runway-worthy.

  “Which one first? The Proposal or Miss Congeniality?” I ask, waving the two movies in front of my face. Kara taps her fingernail against her wine glass as she brings it up to her lips.

  “Such choices. Hmm.”

  I laugh as she smirks at me. “Give me a break. I know you want your Ryan Reynolds fix first.” I open the case and put the DVD into the player before a pillow sails near my head, barely missing me.

  “Shut up! It’s you that has the unhealthy obsession with him. How many of his movies do you own?” she asks, raising one perfectly plucked eyebrow at me. With the remote in my hand, I plop down on the couch next to her, turning the necessary devices on.

  “That’s not the point,” I say with a chuckle. She laughs with me as I hit play. Five minutes of her being here and already my mood has lifted considera
bly. I love this woman to death. “Besides, you can’t tell me you don’t want to see Ryan Reynolds naked body.”

  “Hey, I never said that. I’m all for Ryan getting naked in every scene. In fact, that’s what I’m going to do. Every scene he’s in I’m going to pretend his beautiful ass is naked, even though he looks so hot in a suit.”

  “Kara, only you would do something like that.”

  “Don’t judge. You’ll be doing the same thing now that I put the idea in your head.”

  And she’s right. I will. Because let’s face it, the man has a smoking hot body. We watch for a little bit and my gaze falls on my feet.

  “So you really don’t like my puppy dog slippers?” I ask, knowing what the answer is.

  The disgusted look on her face has me almost spitting my wine all over the coffee table in front of us. Luckily, I keep it in because I know that would be alcohol abuse, which is a grievous crime, punishable by weeks of ridicule.

  “Tell me you’re joking,” she says dryly.

  I shrug my shoulders. “So I have them. Big deal. It’s not exactly like anyone is going to see me wearing them except you.”

  “You never know. Your dream pizza delivery guy could see you wearing those hideous things and be like, um, well, I was going to bang her. Then I saw her slippers and decided not to tap that after all.”

  I laugh and shove at her. “As if I’m going to go for the pizza delivery guy anyway. I need to find someone with a slightly more stable job and isn’t sixteen and covered in acne.”

  She laughs and takes another sip of her wine. “Okay, very true.” She pauses, seeming to consider her next statement carefully. “I still think Andrew is head over heels for you. There must have been a misunderstanding. There is absolutely no way he is going to turn down a hot piece of ass like you.”

  The spot above my heart begins to ache again as I try to rub the pain away. “Yeah, you’ve told me how hot I am in my current attire. Can’t imagine him not wanting this. Besides, didn’t you say this was a No Boys Allowed zone? No more talking about guys or London or events that happened over there.”