Schooled in Love

by Emma Nichols

  Then he tugged, pulling me until I crashed into his chest. My hand settled on his pec as I tilted my head to look up into his face.

  “Phoenix is pretty close to Vegas,” he said softly.

  I nodded, my stomach clenching in anticipation.

  “I’d like to see you again,” he said, and my lungs filled as my chest puffed out with excitement.

  “I’d really like that,” I whispered.

  Vic’s teeth flashed as he grinned, then he lowered his face and caught my lips with his. I leaned in, crushing my breasts against his chest, and wrapped my arms around his waist and held on tight.

  He tilted his face slightly to gain better access, and I opened willingly for him, caught up in the moment.

  “Jeez, get a room,” someone called out. Probably one of the reunion goers on the way to brunch.

  Vic pulled back and chuckled.

  “Want to get out of here?” he asked.

  “Where are we going to go? We’re all checked out, and our flights don’t leave for a few hours?”

  “We could get rid of these rentals, check in for our flights, and go hang out in a restaurant or airport bar … Really get to know each other,” Vic suggested.

  “Sounds perfect,” I agreed, and took his offered hand.

  As we walked to our cars, he asked, “Can I get your number?”

  “I’ll think about it,” I joked, then brought his hand to my chest and clutched it there.

  Thoughts and emotions swirled within me, but one stood out above the others … hope.

  * * *

  The End.

  About the Author

  Award-Winning Author Bethany Lopez began self-publishing in June 2011. She's a lover of all things romance: books, movies, music, and life, and she incorporates that into the books she writes. When she isn't reading or writing, she loves spending time with her husband and children, traveling whenever possible. Some of her favorite things are: Kristen Ashley Books, coffee in the morning, and In N Out burgers.

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  St. Martin’s Academy is Pleased to Welcome Back the Class of 2008

  Clozure

  Tracy Ellen

  CLOZURE by Tracy Ellen

  Copyright © 2018 by Tracy Ellen INK

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  License Notes

  All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook or portions of this eBook may not be copied, re-sold, or given away in any format to other people without the written permission from the author. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the bookseller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. All the characters, organizations, locations, and events portrayed in this book are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

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  www.tracyellenink.com

  Clozure

  Eighteen-year-old Cloey Zure left the town of Linwood the night of her high school graduation from St. Martin’s and never looked back. Heartbroken and betrayed, Cloey didn’t just burn her bridges with the town and her friends, she annihilated them. Now, ten years later, it’s time to go back to Linwood and face the past. It’s time to right some wrongs because one thing Cloey has learned the hard way, sometimes you have to go back before you can go forth.

  1

  The Past

  For most teens, starting your senior year as a new student at a private boarding school would be reason enough to need therapy. When you add in the fact I’ve started the first day of school in a different city, hell, often in a different country, ten out the last twelve years of my life, even I was amazed I wasn’t more screwed up.

  Until that point in my life, I gave all the credit for any mental robustness I did have to my parent’s diligence, no matter how oddly it was expressed.

  They’d always been good parents, but their true diligence began when I punched a boy named Pierre in the gut for calling my dad names, although my mom’s version was it was because I was near Kindergarten age and it was time.

  Regardless, the result was Mom sat me down and told me the Zure Facts of Life, as she called them. Yes, my parents are those Zure’s, Barrett and Alexis, the beautiful, billionaire power couple often written about in the newspapers and photographed at this celebrity charity shindig or at that important world event.

  The Zure Facts of Life consisted of Mom first sharing a bit of family history. Similar to storytime in preschool, I arranged myself cross-legged on the floor in front of her to listen-- all eyes and big ears.

  My mother told me she met Dad their first year of college. Their eyes locked across a crowded room at a frat party and they fell passionately, irrevocably in love at first sight. Within a few short months they were married and I was born less than a year later.

  Mom tweaked my chin. “Then we both fell passionately, irrevocably in love with you at first sight, too, Cloey.”

  I recall grinning so widely my face hurt. I was also transfixed by the words falling from my mother’s lips, our personal fairy tale. Of course, I wriggled over the words I didn’t understand like “college” and “frat party,” but I stayed quiet and didn’t interrupt the magical mood.

  “Your dad’s parents owned a local manufacturing company in Minneapolis and were comfortably wealthy. Oh my, but how your grandparents doted on you, especially your grandmother. She didn’t work out of the house and insisted on caring for you every day while your daddy and I went to classes.” My mother sighed again, more heavily this time. “They were wonderful people. Their help made it possible for me to finish school.”

  The next part of our history my mom had glossed over the details during our conversation that day since I was so young, simply stating my grandparents had gone away to live in Heaven.

  But when I was older, I heard the real story. Right after Dad had graduated college; a double tragedy struck our family. My grandfather had a massive heart attack at work and died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Upon receiving the phone call that my grandfather had a heart attack, my grandmother had raced to the hospital to be at his side. A tire blowout while speeding caused my grandmother to lose control of her car. She swerved off the road, ramming into a stand of trees. The impact killed my grandmother instantly.

  “Your grandfather planned on your dad working for the family business, but neither of them had imagined he’d have to be in charge so soon. Luckily, Daddy was no stranger to the company. He’d worked there every summer for years and he knew all the employees.” My mom smiled mistily. “Daddy was determined to honor your grandparent’s hard work which had built the business up from nothing into a successful company. He wanted his mom and dad to look down from Heaven and be proud of their son for how he ran the company, not disappointed. So you know what your daddy did?”

  I remember wiping away the tears rolling down my cheeks at the reminder my grandparents were far away in Heaven where I never got to see them, but somehow they got to look down on us. Then I panicked at the thought my grandparents could look down on me in the bathroom. I wriggled with guilt. Just that morning I’d run the water in the sink but only pretended to brush my teeth.

  Mom must have taken my wriggling as my answer because she went on enthusiastically, “Your daddy took over the reins of the company and he worked hard day and night to learn everything he didn’t know. He soon proved to be a really, really smart boss.” Mom’s voice lowered to a confidential whisper. “Your dad has a visionary talent for making money.”

  “Really?” My eyes popped because I liked money. I had a jar of really cool coins in my room, mixed in with a few sparkly rocks.

  My mother smiled at my expression. “Really. In the last two years, Daddy’s made a name for himself in
the business world. He’s turned the Zure family business into an international manufacturing conglomerate worth lots and lots of money.” She nodded decisively and flashed her dazzling smile, “His parents would be extremely proud.”

  “But because Daddy was a really smart boss and made lots of money, that’s why we moved far away into this princess castle with the big ceilings?”

  Mom had looked up at the soaring, gilded ceilings in the luxurious drawing room of the French chateau we were living in at the time and laughed ruefully. “Well, it’s for sure the reason we started moving around a lot. You see, your daddy’s a hands-on kind of businessman. He likes to know everything going on in his companies, so his work takes him all over the world. For now, we live in this princess castle. But soon we’ll be leaving to live in another house. Because he travels so often, your dad needs his girls by his side or he’d be so lonely. Plus, we’d miss Daddy dreadfully if we hardly saw him, wouldn’t we?” Grinning, my mother tickled my side, continuing the torment as she sang out, “And Daddy and I could never, never, never leave our darling little Petunia Butt behind, now could we?”

  “You’d better not leave me behind or I’ll give you a time out!” I warned in my deep policeman’s voice, but then shrieked with laughter as I tried to squirm away from her poking, tickling fingers. “Mommy, stop tickling me!”

  “So you’ll give me a time-out, huh, Miss Bossy?” Mom kept tickling me while we rolled around on the Aubusson rug as if it wasn’t a priceless antique carpet.

  “Yes, I will, and I’m not kidding!” I laughed uncontrollably, shouting out, “And my name’s not Petunia Butt or Miss Bossy! My name is Cloey Josephine Zure!”

  “Oh, that’s right. I forgot your name for a minute there, Clo-Jo,” my mother teased, pulling me close in for a hug as she rained smacking kisses across my rosy cheeks.

  After we settled down, my mom got back to patiently explaining the Zure Facts of Life.

  She said my life going forward would be unusual compared to other kids because I had an unusual Daddy. She called him a Type A, very hard worker then, but later on I learned the true definition of my father’s personality was a brilliant, highly-competitive, aggressive, relentless, and ruthless workaholic.

  Mom’s pretty green eyes twinkled at me when she pointed out these characteristics were not necessarily a comfortable thing in a human being but were awesome attributes in a CEO, or a big boss. She instructed me to always ignore any stories I heard of Dad being a “bad man” because that was business and nothing to do with family.

  My forehead wrinkled as I puzzled over what she said. “You mean like Pierre saying his daddy called mine Soso Patrick a-hole?” Pierre was a kid living on a neighboring estate that I’d been forced to play with a few times. I scoffed with disgust. “Everybody knows my dad’s name is Barrett Zure, not Soso Patrick. And a-hole’s a bad word that only grown ups can say when they’re fifteen or twenty-six, right, Mom?”

  Mom made some strange choking noises in her throat before finally replying, “I don’t think Pierre’s daddy was calling your dad Soso Patrick as in a name like Bill or Jim.”

  “What name did he mean then?” I frowned and reiterated stubbornly, “I did hear him say Dad was Soso Patrick a-hole.”

  “Umm,” I could tell by Mom’s hesitation she was picking her words carefully as she did when being honest about something little kids weren’t supposed to know. “I think Pierre’s daddy meant a sociopathic a-hole and Pierre couldn’t say it right. Sociopathic means a person with no feelings.” My mom looked me in the eye and added stoutly, “But it’s not true about your dad. He has feelings, and he loves us more than anything in the whole wide world.” She stroked a hand lovingly down my head, pushing my straight, blonde bangs off my face. “And a-hole is indeed a bad word. It’s short for asshole. Often grown ups are called a-holes when they make a decision or take an action another grown up doesn’t agree with or like. Now, whether or not your daddy can be an a-hole to certain people like Pierre’s daddy if they get in his way,” my mother chuckled, “that’s another story and probably true.”

  “Mom!” I exclaimed in disbelief at her disloyalty to my dad, even as I giggled in delight at her saying a-hole so many times. But then I crossed my arms and mimicked her decisive nod. “That’s why I punched that stupid Pierre in the gut.”

  She chuckled again but persevered. “Cloey, it’s important you understand that Dad can be a tough man in the business world. Being a great leader often means having to make hard decisions. Just think, thousands of dads and moms depend on your dad to do the right thing for their jobs so that they can earn money to take care of their families.”

  “And buy food for their pets?” I amended worriedly.

  “Yes, and buy pet food, too,” Mom agreed with another hug. “Unfortunately, you most likely will hear your dad called bad names by people not happy with his decisions. But, honey, you can’t punch anybody for saying a bad word or calling your dad a name.” She ruffled the bangs she’d just straightened. “Understand, young lady?”

  As my mother made a mock-fierce, funny face, I giggled and nodded.

  “We’re going to be traveling a lot in the future to help your dad out his job. We’re all going to be very busy. That means to be a well-adjusted family we have to be responsible. We need a plan in place to deal with our hectic lifestyle to keep our family a happy and loving unit.”

  I cheered. “I like plans!”

  “I know you do. That’s why we’re having this talk. Our plan is we’re going to practice a few of the same habits every day. If we do these habits every time we move to a new place, our life will still be the same as much as possible.”

  “Can Peaches come with us?” I inquired anxiously. Peaches, short for Ms. Peachtree, was my beloved nanny. She’d joined our family when I was three and lived with us.

  “I wouldn’t dream of leaving home without her,” Mom promised solemnly.

  My mother’s first habit was we ate breakfast together every morning as a family. For that sacred hour, no TV, computers, or phones were allowed at the table, and there were no exceptions to this habit unless one of us was out of town.

  After that, Mom kept the moving habits fairly simple while I was in grade school. She hooked me up with playmates my own age and then encouraged me to write short emails or letters to my friends when we left, since we often came back to certain areas where I could resume friendships. Whenever possible, she also enrolled me in team sports and activities.

  As I grew up, Mom stressed picking a few activities I enjoyed best that were fairly common, portable, and possible to do in any climate we lived. For example, she practiced yoga and was an avid photographer. Since fifth grade, I’d chosen swimming, running, drawing, and painting to be the mainstays in my life.

  I was also taught to join a club or a volunteer group to make local friends. Every time I was enrolled in a new school, my mother enrolled in the PTO or another similar volunteer group, and a charity committee or two. In a remarkably short time, she had a circle of friends wherever we landed. Our house was often the scene of impromptu dinner parties mixing the local bigwigs with the business acquaintances my dad would bring home to be charmed and fed by my mother, who loved to entertain on a small or grand scale.

  Mom had her Zure Facts of Life to teach me to deal with our unusual life so I didn’t grow up too warped. My dad’s practical contribution to my mental health had been to fly in the renowned children’s psychiatrist, Dr Hazel Dredell, to wherever we currently lived to have a “wellness” session with me.

  Unlike Peaches, Dr. Dread, as I called her in my head but never out loud, was not a warm, fuzzy type who gave good hugs. Dr. Dread was the complete reverse. She was a cold, super-intelligent, as in robotic-like, psychiatrist with no sense of humor I ever discovered. But just because Dr. Dread was incredibly stoic and boring didn’t make her bad. The good doctor was sincere in her efforts, even if her grim task left no room for the girlish giggles I shared so effortlessly wit
h Peaches.

  So twice a month I participated willingly in my “wellness” sessions with Dr. Dread to please my dad, even as it struck me incredibly ironic he paid an unwell-unadjusted woman, who would have been perfectly comfortable living in WWII Nazi Germany, big bucks to keep my head screwed on straight.

  Looking back, I was surprised to admit my brilliant dad might have been right to hire Dr. Hazel Dredell. My sessions with Dr. Dread did help me stay the course during those tricky teen years when many filthy rich girls of my family’s acquaintance became anorexic, bulimic, or cutters, to name just a few ways kids can hurt themselves when unhappy.

  As the years passed and my hormones raged, I didn’t dream of princes or rock stars. I grew up with those types of generally spoiled, entitled brats and the reality held no appeal. My teenage desires were for an ordinary, average man to love me. He’d still be amazingly handsome, of course, but his hard muscles would be from chopping wood and carrying heavy things about as men will do, not from playing Polo or shooting parties.

  I wanted a man who came home for dinner every night and knew how to fix everything breakable in our house. I dreamed of living with him in a pretty yellow house with blue shutters. It would be cozy for raising our 2.5 children and have a beautiful garden enclosed by a white picket fence. I saw scads of pets in my imaginings, too, notably a herd of fainting goats, so I amended that white picket fence into split rail fencing. The fence enclosed our small hobby farm, complete with a cute barn.

  I loved my parents and considered my childhood a happy one. I appreciated the opportunities I’d received that only money and exposure to other cultures can bring. I had poise and self-confidence instilled in me beyond my years. But I never learned to love our globetrotting lifestyle so much or the switching of schools.