Formatted by E.M. Tippetts Book Designs
Other Books by Cecilia Robert
Truly, Madly, Deeply, You (Truly Madly #1)
Holding on Forever (Truly Madly #2)
Homecoming (Cloaked Devices # 0.5)
The Battle For Our Love
Sometimes bad things happen to good people,
It's how you deal with the pain that makes you strong.
I might have lost this fight, this battle that’s raging between us,
But I choose right now to fight on.
At this moment in time my heart is broken but,
The true test of our love will shine through.
Even after everything that’s happened between us
This heart of mine still beats for you and only you.
So please, don’t give up on us just yet.
Don’t turn and walk away.
Because maybe, Just maybe,
This war that is raging between us,
The true test of our love,
Is worth the fight
and in the end it will make you stay.
~ Nanette Bradford
Sophie
A CAR door slams outside the basement window, followed by the low murmur of voices. My hand trembles, swerving away from the curvy edge of the rocking chair I’ve been working on for the past three hours.
Dropping the paintbrush on the workbench, I take deep breaths to slow the beat of my heart.
This is freakin’ ridiculous. Jumping at every sound like a frightened mouse.
Seconds later, a door slams again. I shuffle to the window and stand on tiptoe. It’s still there. The silver Sedan that’s been living across the street for the past few weeks. The taillights are on, but whoever’s inside doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave. They never seem to do anything, other than haunt my street.
Two sets of legs step into my line of vision, blocking my view. I switch my gaze to the couple pawing each other sixteen feet from the window, and roll my eyes. Mrs. Krüger, my next door neighbor, is at it again with a lover who’s half her age. She pulls her kimono tighter, emphasizing her larger-than-Russia boobs.
I wish I had bigger boobs . . . er, yeah.
I scoot to the right, bringing the Sedan back into view. This time, there’s a short, bald man wearing a trench coat beside it. His features aren’t very visible from where I stand. He tilts his head to the side, as if he’s speaking to someone inside the car, then turns to stare in the direction of my house. Who the hell are they, and what the hell do they want?
Taking a deep breath, I drop to my heels and wipe my clammy hands on my dungarees, listening for any sound from above. Thank God, Lilli seems to be sleeping still. I hope she didn’t have another nightmare after I left her room. The walls are so thick, it’s near impossible to hear what’s going on two storeys up.
The clock perched on the basement’s graying walls reads 6:13 a.m. My opera rehearsal begins in two hours, so I have enough time to drop Lilli off at school. I’d tried to go back to sleep after comforting her, but had eventually given up. Nothing beats the familiar, comforting scent of wood, sawdust and varnish, so I’d come down to work on my latest project: restoring a 1950’s Monet rocking chair I’d found in someone’s yard a week ago. Then, it’s off to eBay.
After cleaning the paintbrushes, I grab the pink, metal toolbox, neatly placing my tools back inside. My father had proudly presented it to me on my twelfth birthday, taking his time as he’d explained what each tool was used for. I smile, turning to collect the sandpaper, placing it back inside the side drawer of the workbench, and grab the vacuum to clean up the stone floor. When I’m done, I step out of my work dungarees, splattered in varnish and paint, and head upstairs to my room, rubbing my arms to fend off the chill. I guess I’ll have to buy more sweaters, since we keep the heaters off until absolutely necessary.
I halt in the hallway and glance at the framed photo next to my parents’ room, taken twenty years ago when we’d moved here in Vienna from Denver. The paint beside it peels from the wall, scattering on the faded, wooden floorboards.
Peachy. Just peachy.
I glance up to the high ceiling, typical for houses built around the eighteen hundreds. At least the square tiles hold. For now. I’d better get a job soon, or we might end up pitching a tent in the garden.
I make a detour to the window and peek around the curtain. The silver Sedan is still parked across the street, but Bald Guy is no longer there. I squint and see two silhouettes inside the car--one, short and fat, the other, taller and bulkier.
Dropping the curtain, I straighten the covers on my bed, rearranging the teal and orange pillows against the headboard. If only I could snuggle under the covers and stay there.
Ugh. Where’s a slap of reality when I need one?
Whaap! Yep, that mental slap should do the trick. With interviews at three different restaurants, snuggling isn’t an option. Plus, I have a rehearsal at the Konrad Theatre, and I want to prove to Simone I’m more than a twenty-four-year-old girl with butterfly tattoos and piercings, trying to get her life on track.
You can do this, Sophie. You can kick life’s stubborn ass and win.
Before hitting the shower, I hit play on the CD player and techno-pop beats fill my room. What better way to start my day off right than an upbeat song?
When I return, I check my phone for messages and tap the tiny envelope on the screen.
Morning Soph, Hawk is in town. Interview appointment Wednesday, 10:30 a.m. House of Hearts. Wear something sexy. Hawk will crawl at your feet. <3 u. Jace a.k.a. Phone-Sex Goddess/Therapist
I roll my eyes, and smile. Jacinta--Jace, if anyone values their nuts or boobs--is every part phone sex goddess, relentless matchmaker, and my best friend.
I type, “Thanks, love u” before tossing my phone on the bed and punching the air with my fists, laughing. This is amazing! No more cold nights, no more food rationing, or having bread and milk for dinner, and, oh, dear God . . . wine. I could afford wine. Maybe a really cheap one, but still.
I step in front of the mirror, tugging down the knee-length, white dress that clings to my waist. Today, I’m going to push the thought of debt and strangers lurking in corners aside, and not think about my life so much. Just dress up and feel sexy. Turn a few heads. What is it they say? Dress to impress.
After applying mascara and lip gloss, I twist my hair into a bun at the nape of my neck and study my reflection, focusing on my eyes. They’re hazel, and framed with thick lashes, just like my mother’s were.
With a final look in the mirror, I leave my room and head toward my sister’s, three doors down. I halt with my hand on the doorknob. Taking a deep breath, I knock once. When she doesn’t answer, I twist the knob, and duck my head through the door before stepping in. My eyes are immediately drawn toward the pictures on the walls: petals floating in the wind; strangers, both young and old; old houses. Pictures of us--Lilli, Dad, and me--smiling. Every corner of the room is covered with photos.
I shift my gaze to my sister, sitting in front of her vanity, a towel wrapped around her.
“Morning, Lil,” I say, glancing at the table. Her Canon camera lies among a mess of nail polish, different shades of lipstick, moisturizers, and liquids in brown bottles. A make-up artist would gorge on all that.
She rolls her eyes, continuing to curl her lashes, a purple mascara brush in one hand and a black plastic tube in the other.
A few months ago, she’d changed her style to include purple and black: purple strands in her ebony hair, purple earphones, and purple room.
God, how did we get here? One moment, we were set for life, the next, barely surviving?
I fold my hands over my chest to stop myself from hugging her.
From telling her that everything’s going to be all right. I’m sure she knows things are shitty right now. But what she doesn’t know is that I won’t let us fall, won’t let us drown in this quicksand called life.
“Ready for school?”
She grunts in response, picking a cherry-red lipstick.
Pressing my lips shut, I take a deep breath. It’s like this every morning. Sometimes, I just want to throttle her.
Breathing out, I feel my nerves settle. I know I need to be more patient with her. It’s not like I was a saint when I was her age. Who am I to judge? I’d been a loose cannon. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Grandma, I’d probably have been a lost cause.
Being a teen is difficult. Being a teen without parents blows everything out of the water. I need to try harder to assure her she’s not alone.
Reaching out, I squeeze her slim shoulders. She stills at the contact.
Another rejection. God, that hurts! I’m like a stranger, looking in through a window, watching as life stamps bitterness and anger on her. How can I help her when she won’t open up to me? If there was a way I could give her back the world we had before our parents died, I’d do it without a second thought.
“I love you, Lilli,” I say, dropping my hands and heading toward the door. “Breakfast will be ready in ten.”
She might have whispered, “I love you too,” or maybe I was just desperate to hear those words.
Hope is such a fickle thing.
Downstairs, I power on the laptop and log in to my bank account. Six hundred and twenty five euros are all that stand between us and the ever beckoning brokeness. That won’t cover the large stack of unpaid bills on the kitchen counter.
The staccato tap, tap, tap of high heels on wood jerks me out of my thoughts. I slam the laptop shut, shifting around to face Lilli, and freeze. I clutch the edge of the kitchen island to keep from dashing across the room and grabbing the crocheted afghan on the sofa to cover her. She’s glaring at me, challenging me with her eyes, keeping me rooted to the spot.
What the hell is she wearing? Her boobs are spilling out of the purple shirt that barely covers her torso. And, if I tilt my head two inches to the south, I’m certain I’ll see her panties. How will she walk on those stilts without twisting her ankles?
Enough is enough. I’ve let things go too far. I kept telling myself things would get better between us. That she would eventually stop hurting from Dad’s death.
I was wrong.
I dash upstairs and grab the first t-shirt and pair of jeans I find in her room. By the time I make it back to the kitchen, she’s already seated on one of the stools along the island, pouring milk into her bowl of cornflakes.
“You’re not leaving the house looking like that, Lilli.”
She tilts her head to face me, reminding me of a cobra ready to strike. “Says who?”
“Me,” I say. “I’m telling you.”
She laughs. Not the kind that inspires kittens to roll on their backs and purr. “Last time I checked, you were not my mother.”
I squeeze the coarse material in my hands to stop them from trembling. “I am your legal guardian. I’m your sister, and if that isn’t enough? Tough love, baby. As long as you’re living under this roof, you will do as I say.”
Wow. I sound like my grandmother. That’s not shudder-worthy, or anything.
Lilli shoves a spoonful of cereal in her mouth, chews very slowly, swallows, then flashes--more like bares--her teeth at me.
Oh, she wants to play the “who’s more vicious” game? Well, bring it on, little sister.
“You can’t make me, Soph.”
Wrong move.
“I know someone who can.” One side of her mouth curls up, as if in challenge. “Grandma Louise.”
Ding. Round one. Satisfaction courses through my veins like vintage wine. I know it’s immature, but still.
Her face pales under all the layers of foundation. She drops her gaze, her bottom lip quivering as she swirls the contents of the bowl with her spoon.
Crap! “Lilli . . .” Why do I let her push my buttons like that? I’m the adult in this equation!
I reach out to touch her face, but halt when she pulls back. Hope is the only thing that stops my heart from splitting in two. “Things don’t have to be like this between us. I’m really trying here. Can’t you just give me a break? I miss you. I miss Mom and Dad, too.”
She sniffs, lifting her kohl-lined, wide blue eyes to mine.
“Come here.” I pull her to me, kissing her hair. Moments later, she lifts her head, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Her mouth quirks at the corners before she looks away. That trace of smile is the most beautiful thing I’ve seen on her face in a while.
After breakfast, I hand Lilli her lunch money and she grabs the jeans, disappearing upstairs with the change of clothes. I retrieve my purse from the living room table, halt, and double back to squint through the windows. The two men stand beside the silver Sedan. The tall one has a phone pinned to his ear, and he’s staring at our house. Seconds later, he shoves the phone in his pocket and turns to say something to Bald Guy, jerking his thumb in our direction. His black trench flaps lightly in the morning breeze.
What the . . . is that a gun?
My pulse pounds loud and hard in my ears. This is the first time I’ve really seen them since they planted themselves on our street. Does this mean they’re finally making their move?
I dart a look upstairs, then back outside. Tall Guy is now closer to the house. He looks both ways before lifting the metal bar on the gate and kicking it open.
“Oh, shit!”
Sophie
I SPIN around the same time Lilli’s foot hits the bottom step. She shoots me a sour look, but I ignore it and rush toward the hallway closet.
“We need to leave. Now!” I whisper loudly, rummaging around for my black leather boots. Crap! Where are they? I thought I’d put them in here the last time I wore them.
Oh. Right. Dani borrowed them a week ago.
Shit.
Feet shuffle on the mat outside the front door. An image of large hands armed with guns flashes through my mind. I have to get us out of here.
I grab my brown combat boots, Lilli’s sneakers, my keys, and two helmets, before racing back to Lilli and shoving the sneakers into her hands.
“Put these on. Now.”
I jam my feet inside my boots, quickly tying the laces. When I glance up, Lilli is gaping at me.
“What are you wearing?”
“I’m sure the fashion police will excuse me. Are you done?”
She folds her arms across her chest, jutting her chin forward. God, she’s so stubborn! Was I like this when I was fifteen?
The doorbell trills.
“Who’s at the door? Is that why you’re flipping out?”
“Yes! For fuck’s sake, Lilli! Come on. Work with me here.” Fear seeps into my voice, making it wobble. Ugh. So not what I need right now. I slip my jacket on, grab her stuff, and herd her upstairs to the bathroom. She jerks her arm free from my grip.
“What the hell, Soph? Why a--”
“We don’t have time for this, Lil.”
“Why? You’re acting weird. What’s so scary about the bell ringing?”
I grip her shoulders, forcing her to look at me. “I saw men walking up to the house a few minutes ago. They look dangerous, so I’m trying to protect us.”
Her eyes widen. “A tall guy? From the Sedan on the street?”
“How the hell do you know that? Have they approached you?”
She shakes her head. “The short, bald one spoke to me. I thought they lived in our neighborhood . . .” She trails off. Hopping around, she shoves her feet into her shoes.
“Well, they don’t. I don’t know who they are. But we’re about to find out if we don’t leave now.”
“Call the police, Soph.” Her voice rises, edged with panic.
“We don’t have time. Besides, I reported the Sedan two weeks ago.
It disappeared when the police were around, but came back as soon as they left. Right now, we just need to get out of here, okay?”
She nods quickly.
I nudge her toward the window. Her eyes grow even wider as her gaze flits to the small, double-paned opening covered in frilly curtains. She looks back to me, biting her lip.
“It’s safe. I promise.” She eyes me doubtfully. “This was my escape route when I was fifteen. Used it whenever Mom and Dad grounded me.”
I push the glass open and pull down the rope tethered to the bars on the roof. “I’ll explain everything later, okay?”
She opens her mouth, as if she wants to say something, then closes it and nods, quickly throwing one leg over the windowsill.
“Grab the rope with the other hand.” She frowns. “I’ve used this route before, remember? I know I’m asking a lot right now, but you have to know I wouldn’t risk you, Lilli. I wouldn’t do that.”
She inhales deeply, and grabs the swaying rope. “Wait! My school bag.”
“I’ll get it.” I dash out of the bathroom, returning moments later with her backpack. “I can go first.”
She shakes her head as she slings the backpack over her shoulder. “I’ll do it.” Her voice is soft and wobbly, so different from the glaring girl I’d seen in her room an hour ago.
“If anything happens down there, run. Scream your lungs out, ‘kay?”
She nods quickly. I grab her waist to keep her still. I weigh more than she does, so the rope should hold. She grips it with both hands, her knuckles turning white.
The door downstairs rattles like it’s about to come off its hinges. Jesus, are they trying to break in?
“Now, carefully lower yourself to the ground.”
She grunts, wiggling out of my hands. As soon she whispers that she’s okay, I follow. I drop to the ground beside her, grab her hand and tiptoe toward the garage. I sling my handbag across my chest, then take her backpack and hand her a helmet. I slip my own on, shivering as a cool breeze whips my legs.
“Zip up your jacket.”
“Yes, Mom.” She rolls her eyes.
I ignore her and straddle the bike. I jam the keys in the ignition the same moment my dress climbs all the way up. I slap it back down, carefully tucking it under my thighs. Soon as Lilli sits behind me, I slam down my helmet’s visor. Tall Guy pokes his head around the corner. He yells something, but my heart is pounding in my ears and I don’t hear what he says. I’m too busy trying not to let panic kill me.
A Need So Insatiable Page 1