by DC Renee
Copyright © 2019 by D.C. Renee
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.
LOVE’S DECEPTION
Cover Design by Rebecca Pau, The Final Wrap
Interior Formatting by Elaine York, Allusion Graphics, LLC
Prologue
PART ONE
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
PART TWO
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
PART THREE
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Connect
Dedication
My dedication never changes because not a day goes by that I don’t miss Babulya, my Deda, and my Babushka. As always, this is for you.
IT WAS FUNNY the things you remembered.
My suit. I hadn’t realized there were different shades of black until that day. I was a kid, and I knew colors, but brown was brown, blue was blue, red was red, and black was black. But that day, I learned that there were varieties of black. My dad’s suit was somehow darker like a pitch black, while mine was more muted. My dress shirt was black too, and it was also a slightly different shade. A touch lighter.
And the feel was just a bit itchy and stiff as it was new and pressed. I hadn’t needed a black suit before, but I needed one that day.
The way my shoes squeaked so softly that if you didn’t pay attention, you wouldn’t notice, but I noticed everything that day.
People said that days blurred by, flying by in their memories as just colors and shapes. But not to me.
I remembered everything. I remembered so much more.
I remembered every person who was there; the ones I knew, and the ones I didn’t.
I remembered the tears and the way they fell down the women’s cheeks and glistened in the eyes of some men.
I remembered my father’s shoulders shaking as he held in his tears, trying but failing to be strong for me as he gripped my hand.
I remembered the speeches, so many speeches, all full of praise and wonder; beautiful words filled with love and sorrow.
I remembered the looks of pity and sympathy, the hugs and tight embraces.
I remembered the two caskets, side by side as if there was a two-for-one special; their exact shades of brown and the little rivets and extra details my father paid for.
I remembered all the flowers, different shades of bright colors, yet another way for me to realize that white wasn’t just white, and pink wasn’t just pink.
I remembered the pictures that stood by each casket. One showcasing her beautiful smile, her perfect features, her life. The other showcasing his powerful demeanor, the strength he had, even the slight coolness in his eyes.
I remembered the way each casket was lowered into the ground slowly, dirt covering them for all eternity as the reverend recited words I didn’t care to hear.
I remembered the wake afterward, the food, the conversations.
I remembered everything. I remembered so much more.
I was young, too young to remember these details, but it wasn’t every day a boy buried his mom. It wasn’t every day he lost the person who lit up his world, who put a smile on his father’s face, who kissed his boo-boos when he fell, who made his favorite dishes when he was sad, who told him stories when he went to bed. It wasn’t every day a boy buried his grandfather too. It wasn’t every day he lost a man who although looked at the world with shrewd eyes, skeptical of almost everyone, he looked at the boy with nothing but love and pride.
It was the day that changed my life; a day that shaped my life.
After everyone had left that night, and it was just my father and me, I finally cried.
I had been too stunned, too shocked, too much in denial to cry before. I knew they were gone, had known it for a few days. My dad had come home, sat me down, and rocked my world with the news my mom wasn’t coming back, and then he followed that up by telling me that my grandfather was gone too. But knowing it wasn’t the same as realizing it.
Somehow, when everyone was gone, I realized it.
My dad pulled me into his arms, wrapping me tight in his embrace. He gave me the strength I didn’t think he had left, but he’d found it for me because I needed it then.
He cried into my hair, letting his silent tears wash away the sorrow he felt. He’d buried his dad and his wife on the same day. Even as a young boy, I knew that despite losing his father, his true grief was for my mother, the love of his life. He had freely given his heart to my mother, and she never gave it back. So when she died, she took his heart with her. When he spoke, his sorrow was so palpable that it caused more tears to rush from my eyes. I knew his words were going to be not about my grandfather but about her.
“It was worth it,” he whispered to me. “It was worth it because I got you, but this pain I feel …” He trailed off, and even at that tender age, I understood he was saying he had a physical hole in his heart that might never heal, and he wasn’t sure if it was better to never have loved my mother. Because then he wouldn’t know what he was missing, then he wouldn’t have a hole in his heart. “I don’t want that for you,” he said to me. “Don’t fall in love, son. Don’t ever fall in love. Because if they’re gone … I won’t let this happen to you. I promise, I won’t let this happen to you.” There was something about the way he said it, the tone of his voice, the hint of anger mixed with rage and pain that had me believing his words meant more than what they were at face value.
One day, I’d understand exactly what they meant. But by then, it would be too late.
Annalise
IT WASN’T LOVE at first sight. It wasn’t even lust at first sight. In fact, it was actually dislike at first sight.
It’s not that he wasn’t good looking because he was. Too good looking for his own good. But that wasn’t even what had made me dislike him because he knew exactly how good looking he was; his cocky smile, a little crooked on one side, full lips around pearly
white teeth, a strong jaw lightly dusted with facial hair, light hazel eyes surrounded by eyelashes so long and thick, it was almost like he wore mascara, and a light brown hair, almost the same shade as his eyes.
And all this on top of a body that showcased thick, muscled arms that stretched his T-shirt, abs that were apparent as he held up his hand, his shirt riding up just enough to entice and promise more, and that ass. Damn, women did squats for days to get a butt that nice.
I wasn’t blind.
I appreciated the eye candy. But that was all I wanted that night.
I’d had a shitty day, and all I wanted was to enjoy a glass of wine with my friend in peace.
It seemed that everything that could go wrong today did. I forgot to set my alarm, so I was ten minutes late to my class. Ten minutes didn’t seem like a big deal, right? And I was in college, so the professors shouldn’t care, right? Not this professor. Even a minute was a big deal. When I quietly walked in, he made a point to stop his lecture, thank me for honoring the class with my presence, and waited until I took a seat to resume talking. My friend in the class rolled her eyes and whispered that she’d give me her notes. So at least there was that.
After class, I had a lab. Of course, I couldn’t get the experiment to work. I was a social studies major, not a chemistry major. I wasn’t even sure why I needed this class, hence why I held off on taking it until my last semester.
When that disaster of a class was done, I rushed out to make it to my job on time, something I was used to, given traffic and my schedule. What I wasn’t used to was having a guy step into my path with an open cup of hot coffee. I skidded to a halt but not in time and said hot coffee ended up all over my shirt.
It hurt like a motherfucker, but at least I had a random change of clothes in my car. It still made me late to work. Luckily, my boss never got mad at me for being late because he knew I was still a student, but it didn’t make me feel any better.
I loved my job in social services even though I wasn’t a social worker just yet. I was waiting to finish my studies and get some credentials under my belt, but I assisted in the office, and I tagged along to shadow my co-workers sometimes.
But that day had been just one giant clusterfuck. While at work, it was “horrible mother of the year” after “horrible mother of the year” visiting the office.
By the time my day was over, I was ready to go home, slip into my pajamas, drink some wine, and crash. Of course, Stephanie wouldn’t hear of it. She was my roommate and best friend, and she announced that I needed to get out. “At least let’s go to a bar so you’re not all moody sitting here. We’ll drink wine, I promise, just not here.”
I let her drag me out, knowing she’d win even if I put up a fight. So we ate a bowl of cereal real quick, changed, and headed to one of our regular bars.
Drinking wine and playing one of our typical games did, in fact, cheer me up. We’d pick out a person and make up a story about them. The crazier, the better. We’d take turns upping the ante, making it more and more outrageous with each addition.
We were two young, decent-looking girls laughing and enjoying ourselves, so of course we got hit on. But we’d shoo them away, tell them we were a couple, or ignore them. If they were truly persistent, we’d tell them we had STDs. It worked every time to get them to leave us alone.
Except with Nolan.
“Holy shit,” Stephanie said as she turned her head to the side. I turned to see what she was looking at. As I said, he was too damn good looking for his own good. I looked because I couldn’t help it. But that was the extent of my intentions. I wasn’t in the business of hooking up with random guys who only wanted a few hours of my time before they thanked me and slipped out. And just looking at Nolan, I knew that was the kind of guy he was.
So when he approached, I instantly said, “Not interested,” before he even spoke.
Stephanie looked at me with a raised eyebrow. She’d had her fair share of one-night stands and didn’t mind adding to the list. And honestly, for all I knew, he could have been approaching her, but tonight was not about guys; it was about me unwinding. And I knew Stephanie wouldn’t ever dump me for a hot piece of ass, so answering for us both was just fine.
Except he didn’t go away. He smiled wide as if I’d just presented him with a challenge and wrangled a chair from the other table. He sat down without saying a word.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“You’re excused,” he responded with a smile.
Stephanie laughed, and when I glared at her, she tried to cover it up with a cough. “What I believe my friend here is trying to say is that we just want to enjoy a night without any interruptions.” She was much nicer than I was. It could be because the person she was being so nice to looked like a damn Greek god.
“Sounds good to me,” he said. “I’ll just sit here and look pretty. Please, continue,” he said with a wave of his hand.
“You have some nerve—”
“Nolan,” he interjected.
“What?” I asked.
“Nolan,” he repeated as he stuck out his hand. “And you are?” I looked at him in shock.
“That’s Annalise,” Stephanie said, “and I’m Stephanie.” I glared at her, and she smiled. “What?” she asked innocently with a shrug. “You can’t tell me this isn’t a pleasant distraction from your shit day.” When I continued to glare, she only smiled wider.
I turned to Nolan. “Look, you seem like a nice guy, odd, a little too eager even, but nice. And as you just heard my friend say, I’ve had a shitty day. I’m just trying to sit here and enjoy some girl time and unwind. And let’s face it, you’re only here for one thing. I’ll get straight to the point. It’s not happening. I’m not a one-night stand kind of girl, and even if I was, tonight is not the night.”
He nodded like he understood before speaking. “I’ve seen you both in here before. Doesn’t matter who or how many guys approach, they never stand a chance. So I knew before I came over that I didn’t stand a chance either.”
“Oh?” I asked. “Yet here you are.”
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you in my bed by the end of the night, but I actually came over here because I was curious about the two untouchables in this bar. And like you, I had a shitty day. I figured this would be a nice distraction for me as well. So, what do you say, Annalise? Let’s all have a shitty day together. You drink your wine, I’ll drink my whiskey, and we’ll play your little game. Oh yes,” he said with a nod, “I’ve been paying attention, and I’m curious about what story you’ll come up with for me. But we’ll save that for another day. How about for now, you just let me crash your party, we’ll have some fun, and at the end of the night, we’ll call it a day and maybe call each other friends?”
I wanted to say no, but somehow, my mouth said, “Why not?”
By the end of the night, I hadn’t learned too much about Nolan, seeing as he kept his word and we just played our little game for most of the evening. I did learn he was an only child, worked in his family’s business, and was twenty-six years old. Beyond that, I didn’t know much else. But I will say that my initial dislike of him had turned toward something akin to like.
And when we parted ways with no numbers exchanged and no indications for any more interactions, I felt oddly disappointed. And for the first time in a long time, I had wished a guy hadn’t taken the hint.
UNKNOWN: DID YOU figure out a story for me?
I’d been sitting at home watching TV after a long day at work when my phone dinged. I read the text message five times, hoping to get some clarification with each read. It wasn’t unusual for me to receive text messages from numbers I didn’t recognize. We weren’t supposed to hand out our phone number to clients, but sometimes, I couldn’t help it. They rarely used it, but when they did, more often than not, they just needed someone to talk to. It was an easy little something I could give to a child who needed it.
When I still couldn’t place who the text came from, I resp
onded with,
Me: Sorry, but who is this?
Unknown: And here I thought I was being clever with my little line. It’s Nolan. We met at the bar a few nights ago, played that story game, chatted a bit. Ring a bell?
I gasped when I read his response, but I wasn’t sure if it was surprise, relief, or a bit of worry. Not even sure where this conversation was going, I found myself saving his number to my contacts, nonetheless.
Me: How’d you get my number?
Nolan: You’d be surprised at what’s out there on the internet.
Me: Is that true?
I immediately thought I’d have to google my name later that day.
Nolan: Probably, but your friend gave me your number ;-)
Me: She did, did she?
I was going to kill Stephanie.
The bubbles on his end indicated he was typing, and then it stopped just before the phone rang.
“And when did she manage to give you my number?” I asked instead of the customary hello.
He chuckled in response. “She slipped me your number at the end of the night when we were saying bye. Smart friend you got there, if I must say,” he added, and I could hear the teasing in his tone.
“We’ll see about that,” I responded.
He chuckled again. “I tried not to use it, I really did, but it couldn’t be helped.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“I meant what I told you at the bar. If I didn’t see you and your friend turn down every offer made to you, I’d have tried my hand at getting you back to my place too. Knowing that wouldn’t work, I really did want to just simply get to know you. That backfired, though.”
“How so?”
“Well, I got to know you,” he said as if that was enough of an answer.
“Okay? And?”
“I liked what I got to know.” I couldn’t help the smile that overtook my face at his response.
“And now you want in my pants even more, but alas, I’m still untouchable. Is that it?” I asked with some teasing of my own.
