Table of Contents
The Fortune by Stephanie Alba
Perception by Madalyn Beck
Unlovable by Jessica Bucher
Reaching for the Stars by Jeannine Colette
Every Beautiful Piece by A.M. Johnson
The Forgotten Man by Caroline Nolan
The Thief and the Marauder by Amanda Richardson
Sounds of Silence by Hayley Stumbo
Stephanie Alba Madalyn Beck Jessica Bucher
Jeannine Colette A.M. Johnson Caroline Nolan
Amanda Richardson Hayley Stumbo
The Fortune by Stephanie Alba
Perception by Madalyn Beck
Unlovable by Jessica Bucher
Reaching for the Stars by Jeannine Colette
Every Beautiful Piece by A.M. Johnson
The Forgotten Man by Caroline Nolan
The Thief and the Marauder by Amanda Richardson
Sounds of Silence by Hayley Stumbo
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A TALE ABOUT changing your fate once it’s already written, because knowing your future can be a blessing or a curse.
The Fortune
Copyright: Stephanie Alba
Published: March 15, 2017
Publisher: Airamabla Publishing
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
I HADN’T BEEN back home in seven years. Seven long years that had given me enough time and space to become someone else. I wasn’t just looking for space, I wanted to disappear. To be forgotten, and I suppose it worked for some time, but now, with my father gone, there was no other choice except to return and force people to remember something they’d long since buried in the back of their minds. You see, my father was the wealthiest man in Faluk and the owner of various corporations that now needed my undivided attention. Without our family businesses, our little fishing village would simply cease to function since we provided the majority of the jobs to its population. It was my “duty”, as my mother had called it, and with everything they’d ever done for me, she was right. So I made my way home without plans to leave, all the while swallowing the sensation of choking on memories of who I used to be. The son that left, the lover that abandoned.
Faluk was a place that I turned away from after cutting all the thorny roots holding me down. Those roots people often call home, which in my case, were people in my life. I didn’t just cut them; I tore them from the ground and refused to let them grow ever again, only returning to see my parents when necessary. Most times, I had them out to see me, citing work as an excuse for my lack of visits. But now, returning felt like a death sentence most people would certainly misunderstand. Only I knew the real reason for why I’d left the way I did despite the common assumption that I was an ungrateful shit. In truth, I’d left to make things better for others.
That’s a lie. One I’ve told myself so many times I almost believed it.
I’d left to make things better for two people: myself and her. The girl that had always turned my world off its axis was what drove me away. But without the explanation for my reasoning, everyone, including her, assumed the worst. And that was okay. I could deal with being the villain. It was worth a tarnished reputation if it meant she was safe and I could be mildly content knowing that fact even if I had to leave and make others suffer. It was obvious she’d suffered by my leaving. After all, the scorned looks I received from her family and friends the second I stepped foot onto Faluk’s boardwalk and docks could sear my skin off. But ultimately, I truly believed I was the only one that suffered. I’d been slowly strangled by those thorny branches I had so desperately destroyed and was left hollow. I’d lost the girl I loved more than anything in the world in order to save her.
***
My mother had insisted that we meet at Dad’s favorite bar, The Barnacle. I really wish she hadn’t. Not only had the place conjured warm, yet aching memories of my deceased father, but it served as a public announcement that I’d come home. News would spread fast enough that by the end of the day everyone would know I was back. So much for making as little waves as possible.
As I entered the restaurant, I saw my mother sitting in the usual back booth she had often shared with my father. It wasn’t uncommon for them to meet for lunch multiple times a week and I wondered how it felt to sit there without him. If it left me unsettled just to walk into the place, I could only imagine the emptiness it inflated into my mother’s soul. Observing her for a moment, I noticed she was dressed more casually than usual. Her pearly white hair was up in a tight bun as always, but she was wearing a long-sleeved gray shirt and jeans. My mother never wore jeans in public unless she was gardening. Yet there she was, sipping her green tea, surrounded by people, in her gardening clothes. I wasn’t sure what to expect after that.
When I approached her table, the corners of her rouged lips rose minimally as if my presence was both a welcome vision and a thorn in her side. I was the spitting image of my father in his mid-twenties and the sight of me likely reminded her not only of my dad breathing before her, but of a time when she was younger and had less invisible weight on her shoulders. It reminded me that everything in life is like a two-sided coin, complete with flipping stories that are tied together whether we want them to be or not. I often saw my father in the mirror staring back at me, but now the image was warped and confusing. My face was no longer carried a proud resemblance to the man that made me in every way, instead, it was a reminder of things gone and what lied ahead now because of it. I stood taller as I stared back at my mother. What kinds of images did I conjure for others I’d left behind? The thought left me swallowing a lump in my dry throat.
“Hi, Mom.” I bent at the waist to kiss her powdered cheek. She felt thinner, her cheekbone protruding more than usual. As I tried to straighten, she placed her palm on my other cheek and held me t
here. I didn’t pull back till she’d caressed my face like she used to when I was a child and then dropped it suddenly upon feeling the stubble on my chiseled jaw.
“Oliver,” she whispered in my ear. Even her voice seemed thinner and vacant of its standard command.
“It’s good to see you,” I mumbled, realizing that my being here wasn’t a celebration. I bit back a laugh and shrugged. What was there to say at this point?
“There’s no need to be awkward.”
I’d been staring at the menu I didn’t really need just to avoid her penetrating gaze. “I know,” I said, finally meeting her electric green eyes. “This is complicated, though.”
“Only as complicated as you make it.”
With a raise of my brows, I said, “I just wasn’t ready for...this.”
“Which part? Your father dying? Returning home? Becoming the head of the business?” She’d lifted her hand as she said it with a nonchalance that frustrated me. “This place was always your destiny. You’re the one that packed and left, no one kicked you out. Not even her.”
My leaving was my mother’s favorite thing to bring up, but next to that she absolutely adored guilting me over breaking my love’s heart.
“Can we not do this right now?”
“Avoiding the subject doesn’t just make it go away. After all,” she shrugged again, looking outside the window before continuing. “It’s all still here, isn’t it? We are exactly as you left us, save for the presence of your father. If anything that should show you that time passes and you can actually lose things. People don’t live forever and you only have so long to mend your ways before it’s too late.”
It was my turn to look out the window. The bay was choppy that day, waves cascading in and out, leaving the fishing boats to tilt from side to side as if they were on a seesaw. If the wind picked up enough the sails could tangle and cause severe damage. Small beads of rain pelted against the glass of the restaurant only to drizzle down in a race to the bottom. The foggy view outside was exactly the way I felt. Like all the people and places I was now immersed in were covered in a sheen layer of unfamiliarity. They no longer knew who I was. They no longer understood me just as I no longer understood them. We, the people of Faluk and I, were all strangers to one another. And now circumstances forced us to become reacquainted.
My mother touched my hand with her bony, but gentle fingers coaxing me to look at her. I hesitated, and with that, she added, “She’s engaged, Oliver. This is your last chance.”
***
Just as I was about to address my mother’s concern, a man in his early thirties walked up to the booth and put his arm on my mother’s shoulder.
“Mrs. Bertrand, how are you today?”
My mother held my eyes for a moment, silently telling me something I couldn’t decipher, and then lifted her soft, wrinkly eyelids to his face.
“Hello Preston, I’ve been better,” she said, placing her hand atop his.
“Ah, I’m sure. I’ve been thinking of you quite a bit.” Then he looked to me and held out his hand. “Preston Prince, I take it you’re Oliver.”
Staring at his hand, I sized him up. He was dressed in neat, pressed navy slacks with a matching navy jacket, but his shirt was a bright coral that was almost blinding. The guy was good looking with blue icy eyes and slicked back blond hair. Yet something about him was off. His appearance and name gave the idea of Prince Charming, but all I saw was something wicked behind his all too sharp canines and crooked smile. I immediately didn’t like him. And I sure as hell didn’t like his hand placed on my mother as though he was steering her in his desired directions.
“Oliver,” my mother whispered and I snapped out of it, immediately playing dumb.
I stood and grabbed his hand, squeezing his clean knuckles against my brawny ones. “Sorry, yes, I’m Oliver Bertrand.”
Our eyes locked as I tried to surmise what it was about him that I didn’t like. His nostrils flared for a moment as if he already knew my negative sentiments. My mother cut in again. “Oliver, this is the lawyer handling the transition of the company into your name. He worked very closely with your father the last few months.”
“How did dad know?” I said, my eyes shooting toward my mother.
“He didn’t. Your father always liked to be prepared.”
Mr. Prince let go of my hand and sat down. Clearing his throat, he began, “Your father was simply changing things around in the company. I was actually the one that suggested he prepare for the next steps in life. In my case, I was referring to retirement. I obviously didn’t expect him to die so young with him being the epitome of health, but we’re not in control of that are we?”
His question lingered in the air like a bad smell. It wasn’t just insensitive but assuming. It was clear he thought he knew my father like the back of his hand.
“No we aren’t,” my mother answered, shaking her head. “And that is my cue to leave.”
She rose out of her seat and put on her windbreaker, another item my mother would never have worn in public prior to my father’s death. As she zipped it up, she added, “I think you two have a lot of paperwork to go over and I’m going to leave you to it. I already know about all of this, it’s time for you to catch up, Oliver. I’ll see you at home.”
She patted Preston’s shoulder and then leaned in to give me another kiss on the cheek.
Once we were alone, we were surrounded by each other’s awkward, tomb-like silence. That is until he decided to dive right in.
“Right...well. Your father left me explicit instructions on how to proceed once you returned. I told him he needn’t change anything, but he insisted on being prepared. It’s as though he knew something was going to happen. Forgive me for being frank, he and I grew close,” he paused, his smile curving with a cynical twist. “He seemed superstitious as if he’d heard his fortune or knew the exact day he’d die.”
I’d been staring at my hands, at the crooked lines of my palm when he said this. He guffawed quietly, perhaps considering that his words sounded ridiculous. But what he didn’t know was that while my father didn’t know his fate, I knew mine. I’d been cursed with that information long ago and it had changed everything. Looking up at him, I cracked my fingers in forced nonchalance.
“Shall we begin?” He cleared his throat, likely sensing the tense awkward air around us. I shrugged my shoulders. I don’t know what bothered me more: that I had no choice but to interact with the asshole, that he thought he knew me, or the way his brow cocked when he looked at me. Probably all of it.
Preston proceeded to spend the next hour and a half explaining the technicalities for transferring the titles into my name. In reality, it was automatic since my father’s will stated as much, but there were procedures for these things. Papers to sign. Tedious contracts to go over. It was excruciating. But by the end of our meal, that I had to pay for since he was technically an employee, I was officially the owner and chief executive of Bertrand Group. The fishing boats, the docks we rented, the fish packing factories, even the cubicles that ran the other parts of the business, they were all mine. My lungs constricted as I signed the last paper, not because I was afraid to continue in my amazing, honorable father’s footsteps - no. It was because I was signing a contract that meant Faluk was now my permanent home and likely would be until the end of my own days. I’d die there just like my father did. It should have felt like an honor. It should have left me filled with pride that my father trusted me with his life’s work, and it did. But it also guaranteed I’d idly witness things I never wanted to see.
As if the universe was in on the joke, Preston stood up at the end of lunch and said, “I hate to end this abruptly, but my fiancée is meeting me outside and I promised I’d join her for the flower arrangements I could give two shits about.”
I rose, tossed a cash tip on the table, and began to walk out with him. People were staring at us. People I’d grown up with that now looked at me like I was an outcast. I grew distracted by
their gossipy looks and whispered secrets. My entire walk was surrounded by nosy-bodies that clearly knew something I didn’t. It wasn’t till I stepped outside and saw Bellamy Charmant that I understood their curiosity. The few rays of sunlight bursting through the clouds framed her face that I’d dreamed of for years. She turned towards us with a gorgeous smile directed at Preston which immediately fell apart when she saw me standing beside him. The curves of her cheeks descended, no longer framing her lovely blue eyes that I’d never forgotten. Preston turned a bit to look at me and then back at Bellamy, but she recovered quickly and shook off her surprise. I wish I could’ve done the same.
I gripped Preston’s shoulder and said, “Let me know if you need anything.”
***
My family’s driver had picked me up from the airport and driven me straight to the restaurant. It was probably for the best that I hadn’t driven myself into town; otherwise, I would’ve sped down the curvy back roads all the way to my parent’s estate. They’d lived on the outskirts of Faluk in a chateau-like mansion that many admired. Owning various facets of the city allowed them the luxury of living in the “Bertrand Castle” as kids like to call it. It wasn’t exactly a castle, but it certainly fit the bill. We had about fifteen acres of private land surrounding our house, if you could call it a house. I always presumed that if you had more than the standard three to four rooms, it no longer qualified. And since ours sat at twenty-two rooms, with a ballroom, various dining areas, stables... I’d never called it a house in my mind.
By the time I arrived home, my hair was a mess. I’d been running my fingers through it over and over because I couldn’t believe what I’d just seen. Not only did I have to come home to my dead father and significant inheritance of companies, but I had to deal with an asshole I already couldn’t stand. An idiot that had also stolen my girl. And everyone knew about it too. Except, she wasn’t my girl. I’d made damn sure of that seven years ago and now she would never be mine again.
Beast: An Anthology Page 1