Designed
By Alicia Renee Kline
Copyright 2014 Alicia Renee Kline
Smashwords Edition
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook 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 recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
If only
I could hold onto
The way your blue eyes sparkle in the sunlight
It would be enough to keep me warm all winter
Prologue
“Good morning, gorgeous.”
Lauren’s eyes fluttered open to the sound of Matthew’s voice, prompting her to awaken to a world infinitely better than anything that could be conjured up in a dream. Sunlight streamed through his bedroom window, its warm rays slicing through the chilly early morning air. She shivered and snuggled deeper into the down comforter, pulling it tight around her bare shoulders.
“Oh no you don’t,” Matthew growled huskily, pushing the bedspread back to its former position. In a quick move he rolled on top of her, carefully supporting the bulk of his weight so he hovered slightly above her.
She laughed as he covered her already swollen lips with kisses, trailing them down her neck as she trembled, this time not from the late November temperatures. As she reached for him, her eyes were drawn to the latest addition to her jewelry collection - a one carat diamond that sparkled like nothing she’d ever seen before, adorning her left ring finger in its perch of platinum and rose gold.
“Caught you looking,” he teased.
Lauren blushed even though Matthew didn’t seem bothered by the distraction in the least bit. It would take a while for her to get used to this reality, this fairy tale come true. Sure, the novelty would wear off and the idea of becoming his wife would slowly feel more like fact than fiction. The hundreds of irises that had littered his back patio yesterday would eventually wilt and need to be disposed of, but for now they’d been regrouped into bouquets that graced every room of his sprawling ranch.
Everywhere she looked was a reminder of his proposal, his declaration of love for her. Especially when she gazed into the pair of blue eyes that studied her now, drinking her in with reverence.
“Lauren Marie Snyder,” he whispered, trying her future name on for size. She found it to be music to her ears.
“Matthew Elliott Snyder,” she countered, smirking as he grimaced at the use of his hated middle name, “if the engagement is going to be like this, I can’t wait to see the wedding.”
Chapter One
I was lucky that I wasn’t the only one who didn’t like holidays. The whole family togetherness ship had sailed for me ages ago. About nine years to be exact. The night that my parents had unceremoniously kicked both my brother and me out of their sprawling contemporary home. In all actuality, it was really only me that had been tossed out on my ear that evening. Matthew was already gone, though the unspoken understanding was that he would never be allowed back again, either.
Nothing said “Happy Holidays” quite like being disowned.
So while most of America denounced the corporate greed that kept employees away from their families on Thanksgiving, I applauded the places that remained open on the fourth Thursday in November. Especially the hole in the wall bar that I’d gone to in order to pick up my latest companion.
I was pretty sure his name was Trent. Or Tim. Or Toby. The name he’d given me could have been fake; I wasn’t one to judge. After all, my name wasn’t Ashley like I’d told him. It didn’t matter anyway since we’d never see each other again.
I hadn’t meant to fall asleep.
His snoring woke me up. My eyes snapped open, my body instantly at attention. My eyes worked to adjust to the utter darkness. My mind struggled to clear the cobwebs that came with slumber. As I recounted exactly where I was and what I had been doing here, I peeled his fingers away from my bare breasts. He moaned softly but relinquished his grasp on my flesh and allowed me to climb out of his bed.
By now, I was able to distinguish the outline of his dresser, pressed severely against the wall opposite the mattress I’d just escaped from. His bedroom was a small space and if he’d wanted the piece of furniture any further from his queen sized bed, he’d have to put it in the other room.
The lack of square footage wasn’t doing anything to assist with me finding my clothing, however. The pitch blackness of the room was courtesy of the single window being draped with a heavy curtain that didn’t allow any outside light in. I dropped to my knees and felt around frantically with my hands, trying to push the reality of me being naked and crawling around on some guy’s carpeting to the furthest recesses of my mind.
I breathed a quiet sigh of relief as my fingers connected with the familiar fabric of my sweatshirt. My other items must be close. I pulled the garment over my head and hit the jackpot a few seconds later when I made contact with my underwear and jeans. I was more than a little disappointed that I couldn’t locate my bra, but supposed that was the price you paid for a last minute hookup. I certainly wasn’t going to wait around for morning just to retrieve a piece of lingerie. He could consider it a souvenir of our time together, a testament that it hadn’t just been a vivid dream.
Whatever. I needed to get the hell out of there.
As quietly as possible, I made my way into his living room to search for my purse and my shoes. This task was much easier as they were right by the door. I slid my bare feet into my tennis shoes, my socks also left behind in the mad dash for freedom. I grabbed my purse and opened the front door in one swift motion.
The hallway of the apartment complex greeted me, a welcome sight even though it smelled much like a mixture of mildew and marijuana. Nice place. I gently latched his door behind me and wrapped my arms about myself, hugging my purse a little tighter to my body as I passed quickly by a lanky guy with greasy hair – most likely the source of the aroma. He stood with his frame leaning against the peeling paint on the wall as if he couldn’t support the full weight of his body on his own accord.
“Good evening, princess,” he leered to my retreating figure.
“Fuck off,” I responded.
He replied with a laugh that sounded more than a little hysterical.
I was home free once I hit the lobby door and opened it to the outside. I practically ran to the safety of my Miata, parked just a few feet from the entrance to the complex. Even though it had been an unusually warm day for late fall in Indiana, the air now was decidedly crisp. I hadn’t thought to bring a jacket. Of course, I hadn’t exactly been in the best frame of mind when I’d left my house, either.
As much as I hated holidays in general, this Thanksgiving had been pretty good. I reminded myself that had absolutely nothing to do with what date the calendar had read and everything to do with what had happened. The events would have been just as special any other day of the year; their coming on Thanksgiving was just a matter of convenient scheduling.
My brother had gotten engaged, something that I wouldn’t ever have predicted a year ago. He’d met his match in Lauren, my ex-roommate, and after they’d created enough tumult in delaying the inevitable, they were finally going to make it official. The act itself had been in the planning stages for several weeks, what with me designing the perfect engagement ring and helping to map out the details of the proposal. The whole thing had gone perfectly; we laughed, we cried, everyone she cared about was there and she’d had no clue that it was coming. If my career in interior design ever got boring, I could always branch out into wedding pla
nning.
That was me in a nutshell. I planned things for other people that were pulled off impeccably, all while my own existence crumbled around me.
For a moment I’d been able to live vicariously through Matthew. I’d been able to pretend that maybe my luck was about to change; that if he could finally find happiness, so could I. I adored Lauren even though I knew she doubted her role in my life and couldn’t imagine a better sister-in-law. Maybe the tides were turning and the Snyder siblings could actually have a happy ending.
My rosy outlook on life had been short-lived. I’d returned home high on life and love and the promise of creating a new family. My world had gone to hell in a handbasket mere minutes later.
I never should have answered the door. I hadn’t been expecting company; I’d just seen everyone I truly knew over at Matthew’s house. But when the doorbell rang it was a trained response to answer it. Considering that my brother and Lauren had keys to my place and they were the only ones who visited anyway, the sound of the chimes was an anomaly and I’d been anxious to investigate.
I’d quickly learned that I’d been wrong in my earlier assessment. Everyone that I truly knew had been over at Matthew’s for Thanksgiving dinner minus one. And the man in question had stood on my porch, his face as ashen as mine had felt.
As we’d stood and stared at each other, my heart had seized in my chest. He was every bit as handsome as I’d remembered and for a split second I’d been reduced to the high school sophomore I’d been when I’d first noticed him as anything other than my brother’s best friend. A large part of me had wanted to grab him by the arm and drag him inside, pretending that the last nine years had never happened. I’d wanted to hold him, to hear him out, to tell him the things he didn’t know.
Instead I’d barely let him get a word out, steeling my demeanor against his practiced script. I could tell by the way he’d stumbled over his thoughts that I still affected him. He would have accepted my invitation had it been given. For his efforts, I’d granted him the opportunity to speak a few sentences prior to slamming the door in his face. I’d not said a word, merely drinking him in and hoping I could remember this glimpse of him for the rest of my life.
I wondered if he’d heard my sobs as he’d retreated from my house.
Instinctively I’d fled, too, once I’d pulled myself together well enough to be presentable. And I’d ended up going home with yet another guy, the first one who’d caught my eye in a good way. It hadn’t taken long before we were kissing and having sex and I was imagining being with someone else entirely. The random guy hadn’t seemed to mind – they never did.
It was nearly three in the morning when I pulled the Miata into my garage. I slunk through my empty house in the darkness, not needing to turn on the lights to find my way to the bedroom. As was my routine after a one night stand, I headed straight for the shower, turning the faucet as hot as it would go. While I waited for the water to heat up, I tore off my clothing, throwing it into a pile on the floor.
I studied myself in the mirror. My features were a feminine representation of my brother’s; I wasn’t being arrogant when I complemented his beauty. I knew we shared the same eyes, the same coloring, but I couldn’t bear to call myself pretty. My outer packaging was appealing but inside I was ugly. Couldn’t the guys whose heads I turned see that reflected in my face?
I yanked the ponytail holder from my hair, letting my blond waves pool over my bare shoulders. The locks were messy now, tangled from my rebellion earlier. Most people assumed that I was a bottle blond but I wasn’t. The only dye to touch those strands was visible in the form of a blue streak about an inch wide that hung by my face, peeking out amidst the platinum. The color I’d chosen matched my eyes and it had been there for so long I couldn’t remember it not being a part of me.
The same was true of the tiny diamond stud that took up residence in my left nostril. I remembered a time when it had been a big deal to have a facial piercing let alone a crayon-inspired hair color and had thrived off of the shock value both had produced. They’d been the first modifications I’d made to myself after I’d been forced to move out of my childhood home. The tattoo had come later, but all were a way to denounce my formerly upper middle classness. Nowadays they were much more mainstream and no one seemed to give any of them a second thought. But I’d grown so used to them that it was like they’d always been there. I wasn’t about to let them go.
I’d let too many other things go.
I climbed in the shower, gasping at the scalding hot water. It didn’t take long for my skin to adjust to the temperature. I’d done this so many times before. I quickly washed myself, imagining all of the guilt and the regret sliding down the drain along with the suds. Once physically clean, I lowered myself to the floor of the stall and let the hot water beat down on me as I clutched my legs to my chest and rocked back and forth, sobbing.
Sometimes it was nice living alone. Like now, when I was able to have an emotional breakdown without anyone knowing any better. When Lauren had lived here, I’d done pretty good at covering them up, but she had witnessed a few of them. God love her, she always wanted to help.
But I didn’t need anyone to psychoanalyze me. I already knew the cold, hard truth.
I was way beyond the point of being helped.
Chapter Two
(Past Tense)
Chris Taylor had been a fixture at my parents’ house for as long as I could remember. His friendship with my brother had started practically the day they both entered middle school. A couple of the district’s elementary schools funneled into the same middle school and as a result, the two had met and had hit it off famously.
I’ll never forget the first time that Chris came over to our house. We lived in an upscale subdivision in a grand contemporary home at the end of a cul-de-sac on the main drag. His eyes had widened as soon as he’d stepped foot in the foyer, and I knew the place was like nothing he’d ever seen before. A veritable showpiece, my mother liked to say, with more than a hint of pride. That assessment showed even in a twelve year old boy’s eyes. Matthew had led him quickly into his bedroom, ushering him away from the opulence of the adult living quarters to a place that felt more comfortable for both of them.
I’d felt sorry for him then. Even at that age, I’d picked up on the fact that the older boy was clearly out of his element. I noticed the fear in those chocolate brown eyes, the hesitation to speak too loudly or touch the wrong thing lest it break. He regarded his friend’s home as a museum. I couldn’t blame him. I’d given him what I hoped was a supportive smile as he’d trailed behind my brother, but he paid me no attention.
Attention didn’t come until a few years later.
Admittedly, I was young for my grade. Though the calendar put three years’ time between the birth of my brother and me, in school we were only two years apart. This was due to the fact that I’d skipped the first grade, an event that made my father very proud and caused hate and consternation between him and Matthew. It’s not like I was a genius or anything; I’d just tested well and my father had been adamant with the principal that I’d be wasting my time in the lower grade. Considering that my father was an accomplished attorney, the argument had been easily won.
While typically the elder child paved the way for the younger, our roles had been flip-flopped. My father’s favorite saying to Matthew had become “Why can’t you be more like your sister?” I cringed each time I heard it, knowing how it pained Matthew. At such a young age, he’d been forced to live in my shadow, a spot he didn’t deserve to be in anyway.
So I’d been the youngest, most awkward girl in my class for quite some time. I was embarrassed of my father’s championing of my cause and acutely aware of how people gave me a wide berth. Children didn’t want to be my friend; teachers were afraid of pissing off my dad. After all, he was active in the community, always featured in the papers for being involved in one high profile case after another. He threw his local celebrity around as easily as hi
s money and people resented that. People who included me.
Many times at night I’d lie awake in bed, wondering what it would be like to be normal like Chris. To live in a normal neighborhood, to have parents who had average jobs. I envied him, how he never seemed truly comfortable at my place, how he seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when it was time to go back to the real world.
I watched him from afar, silently observing the dynamic in the friendship he had with Matthew. Somehow the two of them had figured out how to be friends despite the class disparity. When Chris came over, it was to see my brother. It wasn’t to ogle the lavish surroundings or brag about the fact that he’d actually been inside the Snyder home, like the end result of the few visits from my classmates.
I didn’t stalk him or anything, so just holing up in my brother’s bedroom was off limits, but when they were in common areas of the house, I’d sit quietly in the corner and listen to them talk about guy things. Sports, mostly, but some random topics like video games and teachers. I’d stick my nose in a book and pretend that I wasn’t paying attention. Somewhere along the line, Chris caught on.
“You know,” he said out of the blue one night, “if you’d be a little more outgoing you probably wouldn’t have to live vicariously through your brother.”
Even though he’d clearly been addressing me, I still spun around to see who he was speaking to. He’d always been cordial to me, waving or saying hello or goodbye when he came over, but to strike up a conversation? This was uncharted territory.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammered uncomfortably. I felt my cheeks begin to redden, the tinge only intensifying as he laughed heartily at my response. His amusement continued as I looked over his shoulder, praying that Matthew would come around the corner and rescue me.
Designed Page 1
