Heartbreaker Breaks (A Bittersweet Lottery Love Story) (Tangled Hearts & Broken Vows: Tales of Infidelity Book 1)

by Paloma Meir

  Chapter Nineteen

  Faye sat beneath the magnolia tree in her backyard. The tears streaming down her face as they had been for the previous two hours. She felt dehydrated and hoarse from her crying and moaning. Guttural sounds escaped her body. She worried the neighbors would call the police.

  She smoked cigarette after cigarette until the stink of her own being was too much. Her stomach growled with hunger but felt too pained to handle even so little as a banana. She knew she should get up and do something to distract herself, vacuum her home, anything. But it was all too much. What wasn’t pained inside of her felt empty.

  She curled up on the grass, clutching her sides, closing her eyes, willing herself into the respite of sleep. No such luck. All she wanted was to rewind time, spend one more day with him. The glint of his eyes, the shine of his golden red hair exploded in her mind’s eye.

  She thought of the play, Othello, she had read in high school. Desdemona’s maid spoke of an old woman who was condemned to live her life by a stream singing a sad old song. The long forgotten words sprang into Faye’s mind and she sat up, leaning against the tree’s trunk for support and sang out like a mad woman:

  “The poor soul sat singing by a sycamore tree. Sing all a green willow:

  Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee, Sing willow, willow, willow:

  The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd her moans; Sing willow, willow, willow; Her salt tears fell from her, and soften'd the stones; Lay by these: Sing willow, willow, willow; Prithee, hie thee; he'll come anon.”

  Several mournful verses later, she began to laugh at herself. She wondered if she would ever feel all right again. She felt as if her hair were turning grey as she sat beneath the shade of the magnolia tree, every cell of her being ached. She closed her very wet eyes and did fall asleep.

  “Faye, Faye…”

  She felt a hand on her shoulder and heard an ill-defined voice speak, waking her from a dream of tidal waves upon a faraway beach. The air was chilled, and she knew the sun had gone down. Still, she didn’t move, only wishing the wakeful voice would go away.

  “Faye, wake-up, come inside,” Adam said.

  “In a little bit,” she replied through a dream-like timber.

  “Are you hungry? We could go out and get something to eat.”

  “I’m clearly asleep, not hungry.” She opened her eyes to see him standing above her, the outdoor lights illuminating his shape, but hiding his face.

  “You’ve been crying.” He sat down beside her, “And you smell of cigarettes. I thought you had gone back to your secret habit. Here, use this instead.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out an e-cigarette, handing it to her.

  “Thanks, but I quite like my habit. I don’t see myself giving it up anytime soon.” She tossed the slender tube to her side.

  “I’ve been patient with you, and it hasn’t been easy—

  “I don’t need your patience—

  “You didn’t let me finish my sentence—

  “I took him to the airport… He’s gone.” She began to cry again.

  “I’m sorry Faye,” He wrapped his arms around her stiff body, holding her tight.

  “Thank you,” She found herself hugging him back.

  “You’re welcome,” he laughed, “I can’t believe I just expressed remorse for my wife’s lover leaving her. What has our life become?”

  “He was my friend, not my lover,” She sobbed harder, beating her head against his shoulder.

  “You keep saying that…” he adjusted their position and held her up to face him, “I was going to throw away the check you gave me. Really Faye, what were you thinking? Am I on your payroll?”

  “It was your share.”

  “My share?” He laughed again, “We’re family, you’re my wife. Have you forgotten?”

  “I’ve been very busy.” She laughed through her wet haze of sadness.

  “That you have,” He nodded his head in a way she found condescending, “I’m not going to throw the check away. The girls come home in a few weeks for their summer vacation. I spoke to them an hour ago, had them cancel their internships and plans. We’re going to Croatia. Dario’s coming along too. I have it all planned out. We’ll start anew Faye.”

  Her tears suddenly stopped, and she looked deeply into the ebony eyes of the man she had loved for well more than half her life. He was devastatingly handsome and grew more so every year. Aging had been kind to his thick olive- toned skin, his hair was still a thick dark gloss. He momentarily took her breath away but still, she couldn’t connect to the woman inside of her who had once loved him so deeply.

  “The lottery was a curse, life has a balance. The undeserved fortune had a price.”

  “You’re not making much sense.”

  “This time last year, nothing would have made me or the girls happier, our dream trip to Croatia. You and Dario showing us all the places you ran free, eating all the strange cuisine… But now I’m so numb.”

  “Did I lose you for good?”

  “No, but I don’t know why you want me anymore.”

  “I love you and always have.”

  “It wasn’t enough for you.”

  “It was enough, I was just too stupid to see it.”

  “I don’t think I’m going to feel whole again for a very long time.” Tears sprang into her eyes again “I miss him already.”

  “Part of you might always miss him, which will be my cross to bear. But this feeling, the emptiness? It will pass,” He kissed her soaked face.

  She melted into his arms knowing it was true.

  About the Author

  Paloma Meir lives with her family by the beach in Los Angeles. When she's not taking long walks she likes to writes sordid and tortured stories of people in love. You can find out more about her on her blog www.palomameir.com. She loves her family, writing books, reading books, dresses and Twitter.

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  Vee & Addie

  By

  Paloma Meir

  Once upon a time on an island very far away, The Immortals lived, cast out from the heavens, their memories of their origins hazy, forgotten.

  Venetia, the most beautiful of the Immortals, with her long flowing golden hair, and supple rounded body with skin so fair, the cupid’s bow of her soft red lips walked along the edge of her pond. She held flower seeds in her hand and sprinkled them back and forth as she gazed out into the clear water. A world-weary sigh escaped her lips as she considered how boring her life of beauty and wealth had become.

  Although she was as old as time, she appeared as a girl of twenty-one, and that was all her memories allowed.

  A cough echoed through the valley from her home high up on the hill. She shuddered at the thought of her husband Heph, an old man, grey and hacking with ill health.

  She cursed the gilded prison with an ailing husband her father had left her with when he had gone away, forever it seemed. He had left without a word to anyone, not even his most prized daughter Venetia.

  A plaintive cry came from across the pond distracting her from her sorrows. She followed the footpath searching for the source of the noise that as she drew nearer was like a song.

  She saw a baby, wrapped in a white blanket, placed carefully in the center of a Gardenia grove Venetia had planted the summer before. The sweet milk like scent of the infant overpowered the odor of her favorite flowers.

  She picked it up. The baby instantly quieted in her arms. She held it close to her chest. The foundling’s golden hair so much like her own. She breathed in its scent and peace filled her body.

  “Grace.” She called out to her handmaidens. They girls had individual names, but they were so similar in every way, Venetia found it easier to treat them as one.

  “Grace,” She called out again
as she heard their footsteps approaching, “Bring the car around, the Silver Shadow, bring it around now.” She added warmly because the inhabitants of this world, and even the Grace’s had this peculiar kindness and trusting nature, annoyed her. She knew in her heart that in the true world, the one she could never grasp, the inhabitants were not this way.

  Venetia longed for that world.

  “Venetia,” One of the Graces rounded the corner of the pond and asked questioningly, “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes… thank you.” She plastered a smile on her beatific face, always following the rules of this strange, strange land, “I’ve found… We need to go to my sister. Please pull the car around.”

  “Of course Venetia.” The Graces said in unison with a curtsy. The curtsy would normally have amused Venetia, but the baby in her arms had enraptured her, stealing away her full attention.

  As the girls scampered away, the bells on their ankle bracelets made by her husband, ringed out a sweet melody, rousing the calm baby.

  The baby opened its eyes, and Venetia saw that they were the color of hers, a greenish blue, bright and clear, unusual. She had never seen the same shade before on the island filled with so many people.

  She felt a stirring in her breast, a tingle, a fullness. She lowered the strap of her silken dress and placed the baby against her. It’s mouth latched on, gently pulling her nipple, and Venetia felt her milk draining from her into it’s hungry mouth. The peaceful feeling roused into a numbing blissfulness and all the worries and questions about her life and the origins of the baby left her mind.

  The car pulled up to dirt road not far behind her and woke her out of her dream-like state with a honk of the horn.

  The baby had fallen asleep on her breast, no longer suckling. She lifted the cherub away and adjusted her strap. A regret passed through her mind at the thought of giving the sleeping child to her sister. She cast the thought aside, knowing she could never be a mother. It was not her way.

  …

  “Venetia,” Her sister Percy welcomed her into her home, a shambling farm, with fields of fruits as far as the eye could see, “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I’ve missed you too,” Venetia hugged her sister, mindful of the sleeping bundle in her arms. “But you could come visit anytime. My home is your home too.”

  “It works both ways… But that doesn’t matter. You’re here… Come inside.”

  “Grace,” Venetia turned to the girls trailing behind her, “Go to the fields, pick some fruit while I speak to Percy,” She turned to her sister, “What's in season?”

  “Pomegranates.” Percy said in a mournful way.

  “Always the pomegranates…” Venetia replied in a low tone, aware of the Grace’s as if what she said was a secret. Neither she nor her sister understood the meaning of the abundance of the fruit that neither of them favored.

  “Grace… The baskets are back by the stables. Fill them up. We might have some apples too. Your favorite Venetia.” Like Venetia, Percy had never being able to see the difference between the three girls that were always in speaking distance of her sister.

  “What is it you have in your arms?” Percy asked as she gently led her sister by the curve of her elbow to a chair by the hearth.

  “That is why I am here…” She looked at the chair before sitting down, inspecting it for dirt, not that it would make any difference. She would sit beside her sister in the squalor that was her life.

  “You know… one of the many imponderables… How did we grow up in the same home with luxury, all our needs taken care of, and now you live like this.”

  “Father in his wisdom chose our lives for us didn’t he? Haddie’s not so bad. I’m happy here Venetia, the only thing missing is you… So what is in your arms? You carry it like a baby.” Percy smiled and Venetia could see that her sister was no less beautiful and desirable than herself, but covered in a roughness, an earthiness that was deceptive to the eye, in her rag-like clothes.

  “It is a baby Percy,” Venetia reluctantly held him out, away from her chest. Her heart longed for the child that she would never see again.

  A thought of keeping the baby again passed through her mind, but fluttered away before taking hold.

  “A beautiful baby.” Percy held out her arms to hold it, but Venetia was not ready to relinquish the ball of love yet, “Is it a boy or a girl?”

  “I don’t know,” Venetia laughed, a trill that echoed through the farm causing the workers to stop, swoon in their steps, “Let me check.” She pulled the cotton blanket away from his slumbering body, “A boy.” She closed up the blanket and put him to her chest for the last time.

  “You’ve brought him to me.” Percy eyes warmed and widened.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you ever get the feeling that all things have passed, and over and over again we do them?”

  “Yes… but it strains my mind.” Venetia kissed the top of his golden haired head baby one last time.

  “As it does to mine… and this is where you hand me the baby.” Percy laughed lightly, a laugh no less intoxicating than her sister’s, but more comforting than carnal.

  “It’s hard for me…” She extended her arms, the baby gripped between her long white fingers.

  “It always is Venetia.” She took the baby from her sister and held him against her chest.

  “Do you want to know what I shall name him?” Percy asked as her sister stood up and ran her hand against her backside to remove any dirt or dust that may have clung to her from the old cushioned chair.

  “No, I don’t… I don’t want to know anything about him Percy. I love you and I shall write you soon.” Venetia went to the door without looking back. She did not want to see the two of them sitting blissfully by the fireplace.

  She called out to the Graces, and within moments they were by her side.

  Venetia sat in the backseat of the car daydreaming about the man who was passing through her village. She planned to meet later that night at the cabin by the pond. It would be her first liaison, but she knew it would not be her last.

  …

  Twenty years passed, and most of them happy for Venetia with her many lovers, beautiful home high on the hill, and scented floral gardens she lovingly maintained.

  It was the morning of a bright spring day. Bluebirds fluttered outside her windows that overlooked the entirety of the village below. She polished a golden apple her husband had taught her to sculpt in his metal workshop on one of his healthier days.

  She was grateful for the skill he had taught her. She modeled them after the apples that grew in the grove by the front gates of her estate. It was a hobby that calmed her turbulent thoughts. The pondering that still after all the years searched for answers that would not come.

  A knock at the door distracted her from her work. She was annoyed as it continued without any of the servants, or the ever-present Graces answering it.

  She gently laid the apple on a cloth atop her long Mahogany dining table. She ran her fingers through the blinding vision that was her hair, releasing the long locks from the loose bun she had knotted on her head, and went to answer the door that still sounded.

  She opened the door remembering her place and affixed the smile the citizens of this world expected with their greetings. The adjustment was almost natural by this time, but an awareness clung to her that there was another way.

  She did not say a word as she saw the boyish man standing before her in the opening of the arched doorway. It was as if a bolt of lightning has struck her very being. She knew that this was how most men reacted to her presence but she has never experienced such a feeling for herself.

  She could not speak as he held out his hand, a blinding smile on his angelic face that glowed as her hair did in the sun. His jaw the most masculine she has ever encountered, a stubble of golden hair across his cherubic cheeks. His hair the color her own, his eyes the same as hers.

  “Hi,” His voice a deep timber, sent shivers down Ven
etia’s spine. She felt faint and gripped the door, “I’m Addie, your nephew…”

  “Not by blood…” She managed to say, her tone of voice was as dreamy as her mind.

  “No, not by blood,” He laughed, and Venetia hoped he would never stop, the sound was like a song to her ears.

  “Come in…” She could only imagine taking him to her room where they would spend the rest of their lives together alone. The Graces would bring them food, fruit and wine.

  She led him to the crème colored velvet sofa in her living room. He chattered away about the girl who had opened the gate for him, how she had been worried about letting a stranger on to the property. Venetia made a note to herself to reward the young girl and her groundskeeper beau that lived in the gatehouse at the bottom of the hill with a large raise.

  She waited for him to sit down so that she could seat herself as close to him as possible as close as the rules of this world permitted. She did not speak as she sat beside him, only wanting to hear the sound of his voice, never would she not want to hear that.

  “I’m traveling, seeing the world. I might even go to the mainland.”

  Venetia sighed, a whimsical smile on her face as she became aware of his clean scent of fresh grass. It overwhelmed her more intoxicating aroma of orange blossoms. Her beauty taking second place to his youthful aura felt to her as if a weight had been lifted.

  “Mother said for me to stop by. I’m here for a month. I’m staying at a lodge down in the village. Good hunting here she said.”

  “You’ll stay here,” She stared into his eyes looking for the effect, the rousing devotion she had never failed to inspire in men.

  She saw a flicker of interest, but it was mixed in confusion. He was young, she did understand that, though part of her wondered if he had taken after her sister and herself and not the others. If he were capable of the questioning nature she shared with her relatives.

  “Really?” He smiled, his face bright. Venetia faintness returned, “My mother didn’t know if you would want company.”