Read Online Hooked Up: Book 2 by Arianne Richmonde - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Arianne Richmonde
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she woke up here, in this beautiful, peaceful haven.
Laura droned on, “What do you mean, no? I told you I was planning a visit, I told you—”
I cut her short. “I’ve met someone, Laura, and I wanted to tell you directly.”
Why I even felt I owed Laura an explanation, I have no idea. But I did. I suppose it was the whole wheelchair thing, the guilt I felt about her having suffered for so long. As silence rang in the air, my eyes strayed to the bookshelves where several of Laura’s hardback books still lined the shelves. I needed to return them to her. Now that I had met Pearl, it didn’t seem right to have my ex’s belongings in my house. There was something else in those shelves I needed to deal with, too. Something top secret, hidden inside a multi-volume encyclopedia. I had cut out the middle and buried the incriminating evidence inside. Now that we had Wikipedia online, nobody used encyclopedias anymore—the stuff was safe.
Laura’s silence still echoed down the line. I knew that the words, I’ve met someone would be a blow to her, even though she was married.
“Who is she?” she finally asked.
“I’ll tell you when we’re really serious.” Damn, that came out wrong.
I didn’t feel inclined to tell Laura Pearl’s name because I didn’t want her sniffing about my personal affairs. But at the same time, I wanted to nip any fantasy Laura might have had about rekindling our relationship . . . in the bud. Inferring that my relationship with Pearl wasn’t yet serious was a mistake. It gave Laura false hope.
“Well, I’m sure you’re having great fun, but it won’t last.” She tittered knowingly. “Is she a local French girl from the village?”
“No, she’s American.” Shit, why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut?
Laura’s lighthearted tone changed several octaves. “So you brought her over specially? Imported her from America?”
“Listen, Laura, I have to dash. Take care. Send my best to James. You’re both welcome to come for your vacation in a couple of weeks, when I’m not here. Bye.”
PEARL
A WOMAN IN EVERY PORT, I mused, still savoring the buttery taste of the croissant. I was so wrapped up in this train of thought and was beginning to feel furious at Alexandre, when he entered the room. His charming smile soon made all wrathful thoughts dissipate and, within seconds, I was back to wanting his offspring again. Did I rush into the airplane toilet yesterday and frantically rinse off the sticky mess of the lovemaking aftermath inside me? No, I had to admit, I did not. Instead, I lay back on my beige leather seat with my legs up—a trick I had read about for best chances to conceive. I was as guilty as he, if he was to be condemned for fantastical castle-in-the-air desires. Yet he had started the ball rolling, not me.
Alexandre was standing before me now, his legs astride—a pose he often assumed. Very masculine. It was all Alain Delon again, and I melted all over just looking at his face and body. He was wearing loose black swim trunks and was all wet, his hair slicked back off his handsome face, his green eyes gleaming.
“Enjoying your breakfast?” he asked, kissing me and stroking my cheek.
“Dee-licious. Have you just been for a swim?”
“Yes, the pool’s very inviting. Come down, I’ll show you the garden.”
The garden was more lavender, and paths meandering through secret entrances and archways, all divided naturally by hedges and plants. It was like a formal garden in a chateau, yet more rustic, matching this pretty stone house, which he kept referring to as a “farmhouse” yet it seemed far too grand for that.
“You know why you can see the stone on my house and it isn’t covered up?” he asked me.
“Because it’s so pretty? Why would anyone want to cover it?” I said, my eyes distracted by white butterflies—like falling snowflakes everywhere.
“True, but in those days the peasants who once owned houses like mine couldn’t afford the
Laura droned on, “What do you mean, no? I told you I was planning a visit, I told you—”
I cut her short. “I’ve met someone, Laura, and I wanted to tell you directly.”
Why I even felt I owed Laura an explanation, I have no idea. But I did. I suppose it was the whole wheelchair thing, the guilt I felt about her having suffered for so long. As silence rang in the air, my eyes strayed to the bookshelves where several of Laura’s hardback books still lined the shelves. I needed to return them to her. Now that I had met Pearl, it didn’t seem right to have my ex’s belongings in my house. There was something else in those shelves I needed to deal with, too. Something top secret, hidden inside a multi-volume encyclopedia. I had cut out the middle and buried the incriminating evidence inside. Now that we had Wikipedia online, nobody used encyclopedias anymore—the stuff was safe.
Laura’s silence still echoed down the line. I knew that the words, I’ve met someone would be a blow to her, even though she was married.
“Who is she?” she finally asked.
“I’ll tell you when we’re really serious.” Damn, that came out wrong.
I didn’t feel inclined to tell Laura Pearl’s name because I didn’t want her sniffing about my personal affairs. But at the same time, I wanted to nip any fantasy Laura might have had about rekindling our relationship . . . in the bud. Inferring that my relationship with Pearl wasn’t yet serious was a mistake. It gave Laura false hope.
“Well, I’m sure you’re having great fun, but it won’t last.” She tittered knowingly. “Is she a local French girl from the village?”
“No, she’s American.” Shit, why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut?
Laura’s lighthearted tone changed several octaves. “So you brought her over specially? Imported her from America?”
“Listen, Laura, I have to dash. Take care. Send my best to James. You’re both welcome to come for your vacation in a couple of weeks, when I’m not here. Bye.”
PEARL
A WOMAN IN EVERY PORT, I mused, still savoring the buttery taste of the croissant. I was so wrapped up in this train of thought and was beginning to feel furious at Alexandre, when he entered the room. His charming smile soon made all wrathful thoughts dissipate and, within seconds, I was back to wanting his offspring again. Did I rush into the airplane toilet yesterday and frantically rinse off the sticky mess of the lovemaking aftermath inside me? No, I had to admit, I did not. Instead, I lay back on my beige leather seat with my legs up—a trick I had read about for best chances to conceive. I was as guilty as he, if he was to be condemned for fantastical castle-in-the-air desires. Yet he had started the ball rolling, not me.
Alexandre was standing before me now, his legs astride—a pose he often assumed. Very masculine. It was all Alain Delon again, and I melted all over just looking at his face and body. He was wearing loose black swim trunks and was all wet, his hair slicked back off his handsome face, his green eyes gleaming.
“Enjoying your breakfast?” he asked, kissing me and stroking my cheek.
“Dee-licious. Have you just been for a swim?”
“Yes, the pool’s very inviting. Come down, I’ll show you the garden.”
The garden was more lavender, and paths meandering through secret entrances and archways, all divided naturally by hedges and plants. It was like a formal garden in a chateau, yet more rustic, matching this pretty stone house, which he kept referring to as a “farmhouse” yet it seemed far too grand for that.
“You know why you can see the stone on my house and it isn’t covered up?” he asked me.
“Because it’s so pretty? Why would anyone want to cover it?” I said, my eyes distracted by white butterflies—like falling snowflakes everywhere.
“True, but in those days the peasants who once owned houses like mine couldn’t afford the
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