Trust (58 page)
A sharp emotion sliced his heart and he drank his wine in a gulp, putting the glass carefully on the side table next to the sofa.
She was perfect for me
.
Why did she leave me?
Why did I let her go?
He stepped uncertainly toward the bedroom, where a stunning brunette slept. He halted.
How can two women look so much alike and yet be so different?
His azure gaze swung back to the photo, a fierce longing piercing his body, almost causing him curl in pain.
And a weird look came over his handsome features. Rage, pain, and love. All mixed together.
Why is it that the women I love don’t love me back?
Why do I have to live with these ghosts in my life?
It’s my mother’s fault. That bitch
.
He picked up his phone and speed-dialed a number.
“Sir?”
“Is she home?”
“Yes, sir. The lights went out a few moments ago.”
He remained unsure if he should assuage his curiosity or not. He shoved a hand in his brown, sun-kissed hair and mustered his courage. “Is she alone?”
A few moments of silence ensued as if the man on the other side was determined not to answer again.
“Is she?”
“Yes, sir. But she arrived at home accompanied by him. And they spent the whole weekend together.”
A fierce rage took control of him and he hissed between clenched teeth, “Double the vigilance, and keep me informed. I want to know about every step she takes.”
“Yes, sir.”
He switched off the phone and stalked up to the woman on the bed, shaking her.
She pushed her black-dyed hair from her face and her eyes with yellow contact lenses blinked at him, “Yes?”
“Go sleep in the guest room. I’m going to have a shower. I don’t want to see you when I come back.”
He turned without a second glance and entered his bathroom banging the door.
I need her
.
No one else will do
.
Only her
.
Continue reading for a sneak peek at the second book in the series.
To be released in Spring 2013.
Prologue
England, London.
Tuesday, April 6
th
, 2010.
The City, Fleet Street.
3.28 a.m.
The sound of paper being crumpled ripped through the silence in the office.
Reaching for the drawer, long and slender fingers pulled out another cream sheet with her name elegantly printed in navy at the top of the page. The fountain pen ran smoothly over the surface.
April 6
th
, 2010.
My Dear,
Our relationship is doomed. I can’t carry on with it. My heart is bleeding but I have to ask you to forget me.
I’m sorry. More than you can imagine but I know that, in the end, it’s going to destroy me. You are
The pen stopped midair and the woman thinned her lips. She crushed the sheet in her hand and threw it with rage in the already full wastepaper basket.
She wiped her tear stricken face with the back of her hands, pulled out another sheet and started again.
After five more tries, she grimaced and considered herself satisfied with what she would describe nonetheless as a pathetic result. But she hadn’t any more strength in her soul to start again.
She’d never felt so ancient in her whole life.
Jaded.
Broken.
Fresh tears spilled on her purple T-shirt as she looked at the photos beside her computer.
It’s a fitting punishment for what I did
.
Park Lane.
4.50 a.m.
His mobile rang in the silent room. Once. Twice.
“Hello?” he answered on the third ring.
“Sir, I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour, but there is a situation.”
The man instantly pushed his fit and muscular body up, resting his broad back on the headboard, “Tell me,” he said, alert.
“Something strange is going on. My contact just called, informing me she left her house after returning for just ten minutes.”
“Alone?”
“No. I guess her daughter was with her because she wasn’t in the McLaren. They left in the Jaguar, but I don’t know if she was driving or not. Sir, I’ve checked her last calls and she booked a private jet. It’s supposed to leave from Heathrow in an hour and a half.”
“Heathrow?” He flung his body out of the bed in an agile movement and went to his dressing room. “Where is she going?”
“Rio de Janeiro.”
He frowned as he picked up his carry-on and started filling it with clothes for warm weather. “Any problems with her family?”
“I don’t believe so, sir. I’d say that it’s a matter involving her.”
“Cancel her flight. I’m heading to Heathrow. Inform my driver that I’m going down in a few minutes.” He closed his suitcase with finality. “Anything else?”
“No, sir.”
“Did she call him?” He unlocked his safe and retrieved his passport and some money.
“No, sir.” There was a pregnant pause on the other side of the line. “Sir, if I may…”
“Shoot,” he walked into the bathroom with a white linen shirt, black briefs and a pair of dark blue jeans in his hand.
“I’d say they’ve had a fight.”
A dark smile spread over the rugged face and azure eyes flashed. “His loss. Keep an eye on her and brief me again in fifteen minutes.”
“Of course, sir.”
The City, Victoria Embankment.
10.17 a.m.
“How may I help you?” His deep voice sounded tired and despondent even to himself.
“What have you done to her?” asked the angry male voice on the phone.
What?
“I…” he halted, and looked astonished at his brother, who raised an eyebrow. He put the call on speaker. “I’ve done nothing. Where is she?”
“She is gone. Nobody knows where she is. She left you a letter,” a heavy breath was exhaled.
“She is... Gone,” he repeated in a murmur, frowning.
Gone… Where? Why?
“Her memory’s back. She remembered the night she was shot. She may be suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder,” his brother whispered to him and he repeated the information.
The man on the other side of the line shook his head and a blond lock fell over his forehead. He pushed it back in a brusque gesture. “You bastard,” he growled. “You’re the reason she’s disappeared.”
“I don’t get it.” He raked his fingers in his long, raven hair. “What have I got to do with it?” He was stupefied; the only thought that made sense was that she was gone.
The man didn’t answer his question. He was too enraged to pay attention to whatever was asked of him. His blue eyes were blistering. “She is so naïve. She went online and did a thorough search of porn videos and of disgusting sites without turning on the private browsing. I’m utterly shocked and that’s saying something. There are few things about sex that would shock me. I can’t even start to imagine what she is feeling.”
“Shocked? What was she looking at?”
“You don’t fool me. I’m expecting you here in ten minutes max and you’d better have a good explanation for all this. Or else, I’ll report you to the police. In case you don’t know, these kinds of sexual preferences are considered a crime.”
Fuck
. “Now. Wait just a minute.” His nostrils flared. As did his temper. “Stay out of this. You have no right to interfere in our relationship. We are adults and it was consensual-”
His brother rose from his place and put a hand on his shoulder trying to calm him down.
“It’s still a crime. There is no such thing as consent in these cases. Ten minutes. And just to inform you, I opened the letter.”
“Violation of correspondence
is
a crime.”
“I don’t give a fuck. She’s gone and you’re responsible.” The blond man banged the handset in its cradle, hanging up.
“She is gone,” he whispered again, heartbroken and shoved his elegant fingers in his long hair, resting his forehead on the palms of his hands for a second before he sprung from the chair, “Let’s go.”
As they waited by the elevator, his brother murmured, “You must have really fucked up this time. She doesn’t seem the type to flee from a battle.”
He looked at the taller man who looked so much like him and voiced his worst fear, “How am I supposed to live without her?”
I live in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, with my husband and two daughters. I’m a lawyer and have always loved to read and write. After twenty years of practicing law, I decided to give writing a go.
I didn’t expect to published this book, but as time went by and the story grew, my oldest daughter persuaded me to do it, since she thought the story was ‘a-ma-zing’ - her words, not mine.
This book is a work of fiction and the characters, and dialogues, places and incidents involving them are drawn from my imagination or are used fictitiously. Wherever I’ve used real locations, I’ve tried to keep all the details and descriptions as real as possible.
Call me insane if you will, but even the weather, sunrise and sunset times are researched and, hopefully, accurate. But I have to confess that there wasn’t a red flag for snowstorm on October 15
th
, 2009. I made that part up.
And as confessions go, I also need to tell you that Sophia, Gabriela and I share a few things. Apart from being able to read when I was three and starting my first University course - Fine Arts - when I was fifteen years old, I also share Sophia’s interest in preventing sexual abuse and violence against children and women. My thesis at Law School was on this subject, twenty-two years ago.
I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I loved writing it.
Add me on Facebook: Cristiane Allevato Serruya
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@crisserruya
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All rights reserved. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without the express written permission of the author.
Cover by Renata Fontanive © copyright 2012.
Illustration by Sergio Allevato © copyright 2012.
