Hate to Love You

by Isabelle Richards

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Other Books by Isabelle Richards

  Copyright

  Dedication

  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- Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty- Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Acknowledgements

  Other Books by Isabelle Richards

  When Fates Collide Series

  When Fates Collide

  When Fate Isn’t Enough

  When Fates Align

  When Fates Unite Novella – Coming February 2016

  Love/Hate Series

  Hate To Love You

  Love To Hate You

  Love To Love You Novella- Coming December 16,2015

  Copyright © 2015 Isabelle Richards

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or publisher.

  The following book contains mature themes, strong language, and sexual content. It is intended for mature audiences only.

  Editor: Cassie Cox

  Cover Design: Regina Wamba

  Cover Models: Joshua Gawrysiak and Chelsea Lawrence

  Dedication

  To all those that spend day in and day out doing the grind

  Sometimes you need a little break from reality

  Come with me and escape

  Chapter One

  Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

  Damn! A freaking scuff on my Manolos. When a pair of shoes costs three grand, they should come with some sort of scuff protection. I think I’d pay ten grand for shoes with that guarantee.

  Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

  Who the hell is this sofa designed for? My feet can barely reach the ground, and I’m 5’8”, most of it in my legs. I thought these places were supposed to make you comfortable. I can’t relax on this couch. It just makes me want to get out of here even faster.

  Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

  I’d never before noticed how loud a clock can be when you’re sitting in tortured silence. I can’t take this much longer.

  “So how does this work, exactly?” I ask, breaking the insufferable tension. “We’ve been staring at each other for the past twenty minutes. You’ve got a pretty sweet gig here if all you do is look at people in awkward silence all day.”

  Dr. Clawson smiles as she leans back in her beige, overstuffed arm chair. “Arianna, you’re supposed to start. Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”

  I shrug, looking down at the tips of my blond hair. Damn, I need a trim. “Nothing at all. I don’t have anything to share. I’m still not sure I see the point in this. No offense to your profession, but I’ve never found value in therapy. I know many people swear by it, but I don’t think I’m a good candidate. I have everything in my life under control.”

  “Okay, why don’t you tell me why you’re here then?” she asks.

  She holds a legal pad and pen, which makes me uncomfortable. I have no desire to share anything with her, let alone have her mark it down for the record. Nothing about her posture or presence is warming me up to bare my deepest, darkest secrets.

  I take a sip of my water and place it on the table next to me. “Why am I here? I was completely opposed to the idea of therapy, but my fiancé’s mother demanded I see someone. She and Henrik are both convinced I’m stressed, and they wouldn’t stop badgering me until I made an appointment. So, here I am.”

  “Are you stressed?” the psychologist asks.

  I run my fingers along the stitching of her bright red leather sofa. “Well, sure. Who isn’t stressed? I’m engaged, which comes with its own issues…”

  “Weddings are often stressful. Are your parents supportive?” she asks.

  “Yes, of course. The planning has been slow going, but Daddy’s great about it.” I smile condescendingly at her. “My mother passed away when I was young, but you probably know that already.”

  “Your mother’s passing was a highly publicized event. That must have been difficult for you.”

  I wave my finger back and forth and cluck my tongue. “My parents are not up for discussion. My mother’s death has been reported ad nauseam. We both know you know the details. If you don’t, feel free to google it when I leave. Regardless, we don’t need to dredge it up.”

  “Both your parents are very public personalities, which has put you in the public spotlight your whole life. That must have been very challenging.”

  I sit up straighter and push my shoulders back. “That isn’t why I’m here. Let’s just stay on track, shall we? My father is amazing. In fact, my whole family is amazing. I have no complaints. They are not the cause of my stress.”

  She holds up her pen as though she’s ready to start taking notes. “Do you have brothers or sisters?”

  As if she doesn’t already know. Why must she keep up this pretense that she doesn’t know mundane details about me already?

  “No, I’m an only child. When I say family, I include the Brennans. They’re like my extended family. When my mother died, my father’s best friend and his wife jumped in to help raise me. They’re like my surrogate parents. My best friend, Charlotte, is their daughter. I practically lived at their house growing up.” Dr. Clawson looks at me, perplexed. “Are they causing trouble with the wedding plans?”

  “No, they’re supportive. I’d be lost without them. Well, almost all of them.”

  She cocks her head to the side. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Charlie has a twin brother, Chase. We have a cantankerous relationship. It isn’t important. He’s not worth the breath it takes to talk about him.” Just the thought of him tightens the knots forming in my back.

  “Hmmm. How are things with your fiancé?” she asks.

  I avoid her uncomfortable stare by focusing on my nails. I really need a manicure. “Henrik? Henrik and I are great.”

  She makes notes on that blasted pad. “That’s good,” she says, not looking up. “Do you feel you have a strong relationship?”

  “Haven’t you seen Sports Illustrated? We’re the greatest sports couple since my parents. I think I saw it in your wa
iting room if you want to read up on us.”

  She looks up from her pad and smirks. “But do you feel you have a strong relationship? Communication? Support? Trust?”

  I smooth an invisible wrinkle on my skirt. “Henrik and I are a strong match.”

  “Hmmm,” she says, scribbling away.

  Would it be inappropriate to stab her with that pen? “What does ‘hmmm’ mean?”

  She finally puts down the legal pad. “Where do you feel your stress is coming from?”

  “Life is stressful,” I quip.

  “Arianna, I’m not the enemy. I’m not here to gather gossip, and I’m not going to judge you. Your fiancé said that you’re not eating or sleeping well. He said this is very uncharacteristic of you. Whatever you say in this room stays here. You can either make the most of your time with me and open up, or we can listen to the clock. The choice is entirely yours.”

  While listening to the clock is tempting, if I’m going to pay five hundred dollars an hour, I might as well participate. I cross my legs and try to release the tension in my body. “I recently returned home after being abroad for two years. Coming back has stirred up a lot of issues that I thought were resolved. I’m confident they’ll settle down and everything will get back on track.”

  “What sort of issues?”

  I take a long sip of water. “As I’m sure you know, I’ve had some major life changes during the last two years. I thought my life had evolved and I’d left behind unsavory aspects of my past, but since I returned home, I’ve started thinking I haven’t really moved on at all.”

  She looks at her watch. “Being obtuse only eats up the clock. It’s your dime.”

  I roll my eyes and tap my fingers on the sofa. “I’m in love, and I despise it. Just thinking about it makes me physically ill. He’s obnoxious, arrogant, and self-absorbed. Thinking of him makes my blood boil. We can’t be in the same room without wanting to kill each other. Despite all this, I love him. He’s like a parasite I can’t seem to eradicate.”

  She furiously takes notes again. “Your personalities are not compatible?”

  “We’re too much alike is the problem,” I answer.

  “Being too much alike doesn’t have to be a negative. If you work on your communication, you and Henrik can have a strong marriage.”

  I squint my eyes at her. “Henrik?” I ask. “This has nothing to do with Henrik.”

  She puts down her pad and furrows her brow. “I’m sorry. I’m confused.”

  “Chase. I’m talking about Chase Brennan. I’ve tried everything I can think of to expel him from my life, but I’m still in love with him.” I look at the clock. “Time’s up. Thanks for stirring all this up. I can’t say I’m feeling better.”

  She places her pad and pen on the end table. “It often takes more than one visit for patients to see improvement. Since we’ve identified the source of your stress, we can really start to make progress.” She looks at the Macbook on the table next to her. “You have an appointment scheduled for tomorrow. We can pick this up then.”

  Slamming the door to Dr. Clawson’s office behind me, I storm down the hallway. Taking my stress out on the elevator button, I push it over and over, trying to will the doors to open. Cursing the elevator allows me to ignore what just transpired, but once the car arrives, memories from the appointment overtake my thoughts. I just admitted, out loud, that I’m still in love with Chase. It’s no longer an errant thought floating around in my mind. I’ve admitted it. To a perfect stranger.

  Once the words passed my lips, it made my feelings real. It’ll be hard to rationalize continuing my engagement to Henrik now. For months I’ve told myself our engagement is a good thing. On paper, we’re the perfect match. We complement each other. We’re good together; we understand each other. Few people in the world could relate to the lives we lead. But I’m not in love with him.

  I’ve never told Henrik that I love him, and that fact hasn’t really seemed to bother him. Shouldn’t that say something? He tells me he loves me all the time, but he throws the word love around as if it’s going out of style. He loves everything and everyone—that’s just his personality. Nothing about his feelings for me make me feel as though I’m on a higher plane than his best friend, his dog, or the guy who cuts his hair. He loves us all, until something shiny catches his eye. Then he loves that too.

  Distracted by my thoughts, I walk to the wrong car in the parking lot. Silver convertibles are a dime a dozen in California. After getting a dirty look from a bitchy bimbo who acted as though I was casing her car, I pull out my key fob and keep pushing it until I see my car’s lights flash. That’s how frazzled I am—I confused a beat-up Miata for my Spyder.

  Perhaps I’m not fit for rush hour just yet. The last thing I need is to get into another accident because I couldn’t stop thinking about Chase. That would just make me hate him more. If only hating him absolved me from loving him.

  I put the top down and bask in the sun, searching for relief from my troubles in a flood of Vitamin D. After twenty minutes, my mind is still racing, the humidity is making my curly hair frizzy, and I’m antsy. Sitting in this parking lot is just making me feel worse.

  Instead of driving home, I end up in Charlie’s driveway. This is one of the few times I’m thankful she knows about Chase and me. Loving your best friend’s brother makes things complicated, to say the least. That’s why Chase and I kept our relationship a secret from everyone. Our lives are so intertwined that we feared if things went sour, we’d lose more than each other. It’s a good thing we had that foresight, because the way we ended would have torn everyone apart.

  I never intended to tell anyone—it was going to be my deep dark burden to bear. But one drunk and embarrassing evening, Charlie and her new husband, Spencer, pulled me out of a bar, and I let it all come out. I blame it all on Johnny Walker and Kenny Rogers. And Chase, of course. Somehow, all the wrongs in the world manage to be his fault. I’m excellent at playing six degrees of how Chase is to blame.

  Before I knock on the red door of her white Colonial in Pacific Heights, I soak in her exceptional view of the Golden Gate. While coming back to San Francisco after a two-year hiatus has clearly stirred up drama, I sure missed its beauty. There’s no place like home.

  She opens the door while I’m staring at the pink hues of the sunset and says, “Stop gawking. You look like a tourist. It’s just a bridge.” I turn around, and she pulls me into a hug. “How was the shrink?”

  I drop my purse and jacket on the table in the foyer and make my way to the living room. “I feel shrunk. Actually, I feel like my brain is on the spin cycle.”

  I make myself comfortable on the sofa while Charlie goes to the kitchen. She returns with a bottle of water for me and a glass of wine for her. I adore her and Spencer’s house. It’s full of light, clean lines, and vibrant art. Charlie has impeccable taste.

  “Did she make you lie down on a couch and talk about your childhood?” she asks.

  “The couch was incredibly uncomfortable and red, which struck me as odd. I would have expected calming colors. Anyway, I laid down the law on that subject. My therapy will not be a fishing expedition about my childhood. She respected that. More or less.” I open my bottle and take a sip. “Henrik actually called her and told her how worried he is.”

  She winks. “That’s Henrik, for you. He’s quite the catch, you know. Or so he tells me every time I see him.”

  Charlie’s never loved Henrik. She likes him well enough, just not with me. I suspect she hopes Chase and I will get back together, but she’s never said that.

  “So what’s gotcha all rattled?” she says. “Riky and I don’t often agree, but you’ve definitely not been you since you’ve come back.”

  I take a deep breath and prepare myself. The words explode out of me in one long purge. “I’m still in love with Chase. I don’t want to love him. I hate him. I hate him more because I love him. I hate myself for how I feel, but I can’t help it. I love him.” I smother
myself with a raw silk accent pillow. “I’m a damn U2 song!”

  She fetches a coaster and puts her wine on the glass coffee table before scooting closer to me on the sofa. “You never talk about him or ask about him. I never asked because I figured that chapter of your life was closed. Have you two even been in the same room since my wedding?”

  As comfortable as her sofa is, I still can’t seem to get comfortable. I shift around but cannot settle. Perhaps it’s the subject matter. I hold the pillow in my lap and trace the seam with my finger. “No. I’ve been conveniently unavailable for every holiday and birthday since then. I’ve kept him as far from my mind as possible and dodged any places that remind me of him.”

  “Honey,” she says, “that’s not moving on. That’s avoiding.”

  I let my head fall back against the suede sofa. “Call it what you will. It kept him from the forefront of my mind. But now that I’m home, I feel like he’s everywhere. We have too much history here. Every time I turn around, I’m hit with a memory. Gah! I wish I could just have him surgically removed from my mind!” I raise my index finger. “Maybe I should try hypnosis. I don’t really buy into that crap, but at this point, anything is better than living with him invading my brain.”

  She picks up her glass of wine and swirls it. “Do you think you just miss the memory of him?”

  “I wish I could say that I’m just being nostalgic, but it’s more than that. I miss him. Our connection, while dysfunctional at times, was powerful, and I’m not sure it could ever be replicated. With everything going on with Daddy, I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve wished I could pick up the phone and call Chase. Even if I did, the second I heard his voice, I know all that would come out would be the anger I’ve been holding on to.”

  “So what are you going to do about Henrik?”

  I shrug. “What can I do? While I may not be in love with Henrik, we have a lot of fun together. We’re compatible. I don’t get the urge to gouge his eyes out with a melon scooper, unlike your brother.”

  She fans herself with the pillow from my lap. “Please stop! Your relationship is far too steamy for my delicate sensibilities. Compatible is the new erotic.” She drops the pillow, and her face turns deadpan. “Oh, wait. No, it’s not. Compatible is the new boring and destined for infidelity and divorce.”