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Authors: Alice Montalvo-Tribue

Tags: #Contemporary

Translation of Love

BOOK: Translation of Love
6.89Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub




Copyright © 2013 by Alice Montalvo-Tribue

Published by Alice Montalvo-Tribue


All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form without written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author.


This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.


Cover Image used under license from


Cover design by Robin Ludwig Design Inc.


Edited by Kris Kendall


Interior Design by Angela McLaurin of Fictional Formats


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

Chapters Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four



About the Author


To my daughter, Eva Rose. You’ll never know how much you inspire me to be better at everything I do. I love you.

To my husband Arbin for your unwavering support of this dream.

To my mom for your constant belief in me.




The sleepless nights are what get to me the most. In the daylight, hours there’s no time to think; the hustle and bustle of the day serves as a bandage to cover up the gaping hole in my existence. Always knowing that there’s something missing but not being able to figure out why or how to fix it. I toss and turn and, though my body is exhausted and begging for sleep, my brain is on a schedule all its own. Running a mile a minute, thinking about lost love, loneliness and the fear of never feeling adored. Or worse yet, feeling like you are adored only to find out that you’re wrong. In the silence of the night, there is nothing left to do but to give in to the pain, the emptiness that comes from knowing that the idea of what you once thought was love was nothing more than an optical illusion. Smoke and mirrors clouding your mind and judgment until it fades and you find that everything you once believed in was a lie. A moment of pure clarity that alters the course of your life forever and shatters your heart. It’s a memory that plays again and again in my mind, night after night, keeping me awake until finally my body wins the battle and I fall into a restless slumber.



Why is it that I can’t get it together today? From the moment I opened my eyes this morning, over an hour late because I forgot to set my alarm clock last night, nothing has gone right. I should have just pulled the covers over my head and called in sick. If waking up late wasn’t bad enough, I managed to get a flat tire on my way to work (thank goodness my dad was free to save me from that drama), spilled coffee on my blazer after showing up almost two hours late, and now I’m stuck on a line waiting to get into the only bookstore in town that has the latest vampire series in stock. It’s the only thing my niece, Gemma, wants for her birthday this year and if I show up to dinner without it she’s going to be so disappointed. I can’t imagine why there is such a line to get inside. I pull my cell phone out of my purse to check the time. Six forty-seven, plenty of time to get to dinner by seven thirty if I can maneuver my way through this line. I look over my shoulder to a group of three girls standing behind me. They look around the same age as I am but they’re dressed more like they’re hitting the hottest club in town tonight searching for single guys.

Girl number one has her long, chocolate hair curled and teased to perfection, her black chandelier earrings look like they weigh a ton and she is wearing a black corset top that pushes up her bust just enough to expose the maximum amount of cleavage possible. Her midriff is barely covered and she’s rocking some super skin tight jeans which look almost painfully painted on. Her red spiked heels are so insanely high, I’m surprised she can even walk in them.

Girl number two, with her almost black, curly hair is wearing a strapless, grey sequined top which she has paired with countless bangle bracelets and a black, ultra mini skirt that is so short if she bends down she will surely have a wardrobe malfunction. Her black stiletto heels finish off her look making her legs look a mile long.

Girl number three has mahogany hair cut into a stylish bob. Of the three of them, she’s wearing the most makeup, which looks almost caked on. In fact, I’m almost positive that she is wearing fake eyelashes because no one’s eyelashes can be that long. Her nude-colored top blends into her skin perfectly, her jean shorts leave little to the imagination and her nude-colored wedges give her optimum height.

Looking around the crowd of people, I realize that I look out of place. My long, brown hair is up in a ponytail. I have barely any makeup on with the exception of some bronzer, mascara, and a nude lip-gloss. I lost my blazer to a coffee mishap hours ago and my green, button down shirt, black trousers and black ballet flats are about as exciting as a cavity. I consider myself to be pretty tall at 5’7” but these girls tower over me thanks to their heels.
Seriously? What’s up with the outfits,
I wonder to myself? I turn around completely to face the girls and address the group in general.

“Excuse me? Can you tell me why there’s such a long line to get in to the store?” They look at each other and then stare at me, mouths wide open, as if they can’t believe the words that have just come out of my mouth.

Girl number three finally speaks. “Are you kidding? This line is for an autograph signing with Victor Garza!!!” She ended in a high-pitched scream as she bounced up and down in excitement.

I try not to roll my eyes at how ridiculous she looks. “Uh, I’m sorry but who is Victor Garza?”

I hear a collective intake of breath as Girl number one shakes her head at me in shock. “You’ve been on this line for almost forty minutes and you don’t even know who you’re waiting to meet? Victor Garza is like the hottest Latin singer in the world!” They all nod in agreement. Girl number two chimes in. “We’re all waiting for him to sign a copy of his new book.” I scan the crowd and finally notice that just about everyone in line is holding a book.

I turn back to the party girls and thank them for the information. I decide to get off of the line, and go to the front of the store to see if I can just go in and buy my book without having to wait. I spot a security guard as I reach the doors.

“Excuse me, I just need to run in and buy a book. Please tell me I don’t have to wait on this line,” I say as I give him my best pouty face look.

“You can enter to my left to go into the main store, just make sure to stay away from the line for the autograph signing.”

BOOK: Translation of Love
6.89Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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