Unbreak My Heart
Kimberley Little
Contents
Copyright
Title
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Dear Reader
About the Author
Also Available
Secret Billionaire Romance Series
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Unbreak My Heart
COPYRIGHT 2016 by Kimberley Montpetit
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Spellbound Books
Published in the United States of America
Title
Unbreak My Heart
Kimberley Montpetit
Prologue
Caitlin Webster slammed the door to her fiancé Stefan Rivas’ apartment. Sagging against the wall, she tried not to let the hot tears spill over.
The image of Stefan with his old girlfriend, Sophia, together in his bedroom, had scorched her eyes forever.
“It’s a real happy New Year,” she choked out, glancing down at her fancy red dress and heels. Only two hours earlier she’d hailed a cab to the Fairmont to watch Stefan’s performance with Painted City for the hotel’s holiday party. She couldn’t wait to ring in the New Year by kissing Stefan at midnight and celebrating his new recording contract.
This was the year she and Stefan were going to get married and start their life together. They’d had so much to celebrate and now, just like that, it was all over.
How could one single fight over postponing their wedding while the band went on tour for nine months have led to this? It was like Sophia had just been waiting in the wings—and Stefan’s will power had crumbled at the first sign of difficulty. Stefan had burned his love for Caitlin into a pile of smoking ashes.
After slamming the bedroom door against the sight of Stefan and Sophia locked in each other’s arms, Caitlin had raced to the front door on wobbly legs. In a burst of vengeance, she grabbed Stefan’s cell phone sitting on his kitchen table.
Blinking past the blurry tears, she now scrolled through his messages. The pain in her chest grew when she saw the long list of unreturned texts from her, a few from his fellow musicians, his agent, and the producer from the record label.
Her best friend, Lila, had warned her about getting involved with a tall, dark and Latin musician. From the moment Caitlin caught Stefan’s eye across that dusky restaurant two years ago, Lila predicted the man would break Caitlin’s heart—and he had. Despite their May wedding date.
Caitlin suddenly threw Stefan’s cell phone against the wall. There were five messages from Sophia. Stefan had heard from her and denied it. He’d known the woman was coming to the New Year’s Eve show, and he hadn’t stopped her.
How convenient that her old rival had chosen this week to reappear in Stefan’s life—the same day Painted City signed their record label contract.
Ever since the talent scouts had contacted the band’s agent, Caitlin had tried to convince herself that Stefan would remain true even when he was on tour and far across the country being bombarded by band groupies. But his infidelity had already happened—and he didn’t even have to leave the state.
Caitlin wanted to punch a wall. She wanted to scream from the top of the Golden Gate Bridge. Go eat sushi until she threw up. Weep until she died.
Maybe Caitlin did not know how to pick a man. She always chose the bad guy. The risky guy. The one who always ended up hurting her.
She hated when Lila was right.
____________________
A week later, Caitlin was still a mess. She’d called in sick to work twice because she couldn’t stop crying. She’d gained five pounds, eaten everything in the house, and now she couldn’t zip up her jeans.
She picked up her cell to dial for Chinese takeout when Susan, her boss, called. Well, not exactly her boss, but a friend from HR at the midwife program. Susan never minced words, but they always sounded nicer when spoken in an English accent. The English were always so polite.
“Caitlin, get a grip,” Susan said now. “Put your big girl scrubs on and get back to work. Men are never worth ruining your own life over. You have the late shift. I expect to see you here. On time. I’ll tell you about the time my boyfriend ditched me for a model in Slovenia.”
Caitlin raised her eyebrows. “What happened?”
“Turned out she was only interested in an American visa to bring over twenty relatives. A week after she got here, she dumped him cold.”
“Ouch,” Caitlin said, letting out an unexpected snort of laughter—which made her stomach hurt. “Stop making me laugh,” she finally said.
“Better than crying, honey. Or a guy with a crazy mobster for an uncle who puts out a hit on you.”
Susan could always bring a smile despite the worst day.
When she punched off her phone, Caitlin mulled over the idea of walking down to the corner drugstore for a giant Snickers bar and a Big Gulp to tide her over until dinner when the phone rang again.
It was Lila.
“Are you eating a Snickers bar?” Lila accused without saying hello.
Caitlin glared at the phone. “No.”
“Liar.”
“I do not have an unwrapped Snickers bar in my mouth. At least not yet.”
“Gotcha! I knew it!” Lila crowed in triumph.
“Hey, I might have used my willpower,” Caitlin protested.
“Get some nice—well, nicer—clothes on. I’m picking you up in fifteen minutes. We’re going to Fisherman’s Wharf for some real food. Like seafood and a platter of French bread. I’m craving it badly.”
“And you accuse me of binge eating comfort food?”
“Lobster and San Francisco sourdough isn’t junk food, honey. I need to teach you how to mourn a man.”
Caitlin didn’t want to get dressed. Or put on lipstick. Or comb her hair. She wanted to watch Pride and Prejudice for the tenth time. The one with Colin Firth, although she’d take Matthew Macfadyen for second place any day.
She threw a pillow across the room and punched off the TV, stomping into the shower.
Tears leaked out under the water, but Caitlin was tired of feeling fat and rejected—even though she was fat and rejected.
Two nights ago, Caitlin had pathetically gone to Painted City’s performance at the Down South Restaurant, standing at the back of the crowd to listen. Stefan’s performance was outstanding. The guy was truly going places. And he was going there without Caitlin.
Hiding behind a group celebrating a birthday with an indecent amount of beer, Caitlin almost walked up to the stage to see if Stefan wanted to go somewhere and talk. She missed him badly. She knew it was a wretched move, but they had a long history together and maybe she just needed to fight for him. Shove that Sophia chick out of his mind.
&
nbsp; Her legs moved forward while a feeling of pride rose within Caitlin for this talented man she’d loved and cheered on for so long—and then was stomped flat when Sophia slinked up on stage to give Stefan a kiss on the lips. The enthusiastic fans just about lost their minds. Stefan looked like the cat that swallowed the canary, and then played to the audience when he bent Sophia backward, kissing her deeply.
Caitlin halted, seething. Was that what she should have done all this time? Go up on stage and make-out with her boyfriend after the last song? All of a sudden Caitlin was disgusted by the whole thing, and her heart hardened inside her chest. She feared Stefan and Sophia would be imprinted on her mind forever.
When she got down to the street, Lila slipped an arm through hers. “I’m so proud of you, Caitlin. You’re even dressed in something other than your bathrobe. And you’re wearing that Mary Kay lipstick I gave you for Christmas.”
“Oh, shut up. Let’s get some food, I’m starving.”
Taking the streetcar down to the wharf, they strolled down Pier 39. The rain had finally stopped and the sun was fighting its way through a bank of clouds.
Despite the holidays winding down, there were a good number of people on the streets. A tour group took up an entire sidewalk and a family from Texas with two wiggly children in a stroller were debating about where they could purchase Happy Meals.
“There’s a McDonald’s just beyond North Point on the city side of Embarcadero.” Caitlin said, inserting herself into the conversation. “If you turn left on Powell, you’ll find it, including passing an IHOP on the way, too.”
“Thank you,” the mother gushed, her expression stressed while rummaging for crackers in the diaper bag.
“Speaking of food, let’s eat,” Caitlin told Lila. “I stuck my Snickers into the fridge for later.”
“You should have dumped the evil candy bar in the trash,” Lila said, scanning Caitlin in her outfit. “Those designer jeans have gone beyond being chic to ‘bulgy tight.’”
“Gee, thanks. The least you could do is insult me with a British accent.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Never mind. I need a real meal. How about that seafood place up there on the corner past the wax museum?”
“Lead the way.”
After an early dinner of baked salmon and fried shrimp with an entire basket of hot, slathered-with-butter French bread and chocolate éclairs for dessert, Caitlin said, “I guess this meal didn’t exactly keep to the diet you’ve been warning me about.”
Lila gave her a facetious grin. “At least you’re eating real food.”
“We need to go walk five miles. I have about 2,000 calories to burn off.”
It was turning dusk when they burst out of the restaurant. A sliver of moon sat neatly on the horizon across the ocean. The lights of the city sparkled in every direction, the Golden Gate glowing under the clouds.
Musicians played on the street corners, hats full of coins. A magician juggled five balls and then promptly made them disappear into thin air. A guitarist on the next corner sang off-key while a fiddler sawed at his violin.
“Want to go visit Elvis tonight?” Lila suggested. “Or the Queen of England? I hear the wax museum has a two-for-one special.”
“You’re kidding, right? The first time my dad took me I thought they were dead people and it freaked me out.”
“Oh, my gosh,” Lila said, halting on the sidewalk. “That is what we’re doing tonight.”
“What are you talking about?”
Lila stared straight ahead, a wicked smile on her face.
Caitlin didn’t trust that look one single bit.
Her friend pointed to a booth decorated with mythical goddess figures on its heavy velvet draperies. Just past Ripley’s Believe it or Not! Museum. “We’re going to visit Madame Tallulah.”
“No, we’re not,” Caitlin said.
“Madame Tallulah Tells All,” Lila said with awe in her voice. “It’s perfect.”
“You’re making no sense.”
“You need to lighten up and forget your woes. Let’s do a palm reading. I have fifty bucks in my purse that needs burning.”
“Then you can get your fortune told.”
“I’m not the one that’s depressed.”
“Who said I was depressed?”
Lila stuck a hand on her hip. “I’ve been listening to you moan and groan for a solid week.”
“You try finding your fiancé in his bedroom with another woman and not go stark raving crazy. I dare you.”
Lila’s eyes danced. “I dare you to get your cards read by Madame Tallulah. I dare you to find out what’s going to happen in your future.”
“My future is delivering babies at the hospital and wolfing down Snickers bars. The End.”
“Don’t be so predictable.” Lila pulled her arm, yanking Caitlin’s sticky feet from the sidewalk.
1
Eerie Middle Eastern music wafted from the fortune teller’s canopy.
“I feel silly walking in there,” Caitlin said, her feet slowing the closer they got.
“If it makes you feel any better, I’ll hold your hand,” Lila told her.
“If I know you, you’ll pull me inside and then desert me. And then post pictures all over social media.”
“Cross my heart I won’t.”
Caitlin raised a quizzical eyebrow, knowing her friend much too well.
“I promise!” Lila reiterated when they entered the dusky booth.
A rich voice came from the depths of the curtained tent. “Good evening, ladies. The voice had a decidedly Southern accent. Deep South. Not Dallas, more Alabama or Mississippi.
“Are we in the right place?” The woman’s accent was throwing Caitlin off. She’d expected someone Egyptian or Moroccan.
“Oh, honey, you are definitely in the right place. I simply can not wait to read that palm of yours. I’m gettin’ strong vibes from you already.”
Caitlin gave the woman a small smile. “I’ll bet you say that to everybody.”
Madame Tallulah gave a tinkling laugh, not at all rattled by Caitlin’s attitude. “You’re just too adorable. Come, girls, sit, sit. Who’s going to be the first up?”
Lila sank into an oversized armchair and pointed toward Caitlin. “She’s your victim tonight, Madame Tallulah.”
“Actually, I have to go to work,” Caitlin said as the woman guided her to a table overflowing with colorful scarves and yellowing lace shawls dripping down the corners. “If I’m not on time, I’ll get fired.”
Madame Tallulah brushed aside her protests.
The tent was larger than Caitlin expected. Old-fashioned lamps were strategically placed on a variety of end tables scattered about the room giving off a dusky, dreamy air of mysticism.
Perfumed incense burned in bowls and brass urns. It was pleasant, even if the rest of the décor was overdone and cheesy.
“You girls are just too darling for words,” Madame Tallulah said in her charming voice.
Idly, Caitlin wondered if the accent was real or fake. The woman was about forty–years-old with dramatically beautiful dark eyes and impossibly long eyelashes. A cascade of black curls fell to her waist, so thick it might have been a wig.
She wore voluminous skirts and was swathed in a lace blouse. Heavy necklaces adorned her throat and earrings the size of small boats dangled from her ear lobes.
“Tell me your name, sweet thing,” she said.
Caitlin found herself already sitting at the woman’s table, although she didn’t remember folding her legs into the padded chair. “Um, Caitlin.”
“I’ll bet you get called Kitty Cait, right?”
Caitlin was startled. That was the nickname Stefan had always liked to call her. Score one for Madame Tallulah. But it was an easy assumption. The hated nickname reminded her of every annoying thing Stefan had done to her.
Madame Tallulah was saucy as a bowl of gumbo, and unlike any other fortune teller she’d ever known. Not
that Caitlin had ever actually met a fortune teller before . . .
“So what’s your specialty?” Lila asked, inspecting the trinkets scattered about the tent. “Tarot cards, palm reading, prophetic visions, or your basic crystal ball?”
Before Madame Tallulah could answer, Caitlin asked, “How much do you charge?”
“One question at a time, ladies,” the woman said, pouring steaming tea from a pot into three cups.
Lila snapped her fingers. “You’re a tea leaf reader!”
Tallulah’s laugh was charming. “No, I’m an orange blossom tea drinker. And you will join me for a cup.”
“Do you add a little hallucinatory drug to it?” Caitlin asked suspiciously.
“Of course not! Who do you think I am? You’re in the presence of an Alabama girl with a strong sense of southern comfort and hospitality.”
She sounded genuinely insulted so Caitlin quickly murmured an apology. Face flaming with embarrassment, she picked up one of the china cups with tiny roses painted on the sides. The flavor of the orange blossom was wonderful and before she knew it she’d drained the cup and held it out for more. Ensconced in an oversized armchair, Lila looked more relaxed than she had in years.
Madame Tallulah knew how to charm you right into her cozy living quarters. Despite the cramped space, it didn’t feel claustrophobic. Just homey.
The world beyond the tent disappeared for a little while when the fortune teller took a moment to rearrange her wares on the table. Decks of cards, goddess figurines, a zodiac chart, and a crystal ball sat on a carved wooden stand.
UnBreak My Heart_A Snow Valley Romance Page 1
