Translation of Love

by Alice Montalvo-Tribue

  Copyright © 2013 by Alice Montalvo-Tribue

  Published by Alice Montalvo-Tribue

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form without written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

  Cover Image used under license from http://www.dreamstime.com

  Cover design by Robin Ludwig Design Inc. http://www.gobookcoverdesign.com/

  Edited by Kris Kendall http://www.final-edits.com

  Interior Design by Angela McLaurin of Fictional Formats

  Prologue

  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

  Chapters Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  To my daughter, Eva Rose. You’ll never know how much you inspire me to be better at everything I do. I love you.

  To my husband Arbin for your unwavering support of this dream.

  To my mom for your constant belief in me.

  The sleepless nights are what get to me the most. In the daylight, hours there’s no time to think; the hustle and bustle of the day serves as a bandage to cover up the gaping hole in my existence. Always knowing that there’s something missing but not being able to figure out why or how to fix it. I toss and turn and, though my body is exhausted and begging for sleep, my brain is on a schedule all its own. Running a mile a minute, thinking about lost love, loneliness and the fear of never feeling adored. Or worse yet, feeling like you are adored only to find out that you’re wrong. In the silence of the night, there is nothing left to do but to give in to the pain, the emptiness that comes from knowing that the idea of what you once thought was love was nothing more than an optical illusion. Smoke and mirrors clouding your mind and judgment until it fades and you find that everything you once believed in was a lie. A moment of pure clarity that alters the course of your life forever and shatters your heart. It’s a memory that plays again and again in my mind, night after night, keeping me awake until finally my body wins the battle and I fall into a restless slumber.

  Why is it that I can’t get it together today? From the moment I opened my eyes this morning, over an hour late because I forgot to set my alarm clock last night, nothing has gone right. I should have just pulled the covers over my head and called in sick. If waking up late wasn’t bad enough, I managed to get a flat tire on my way to work (thank goodness my dad was free to save me from that drama), spilled coffee on my blazer after showing up almost two hours late, and now I’m stuck on a line waiting to get into the only bookstore in town that has the latest vampire series in stock. It’s the only thing my niece, Gemma, wants for her birthday this year and if I show up to dinner without it she’s going to be so disappointed. I can’t imagine why there is such a line to get inside. I pull my cell phone out of my purse to check the time. Six forty-seven, plenty of time to get to dinner by seven thirty if I can maneuver my way through this line. I look over my shoulder to a group of three girls standing behind me. They look around the same age as I am but they’re dressed more like they’re hitting the hottest club in town tonight searching for single guys.

  Girl number one has her long, chocolate hair curled and teased to perfection, her black chandelier earrings look like they weigh a ton and she is wearing a black corset top that pushes up her bust just enough to expose the maximum amount of cleavage possible. Her midriff is barely covered and she’s rocking some super skin tight jeans which look almost painfully painted on. Her red spiked heels are so insanely high, I’m surprised she can even walk in them.

  Girl number two, with her almost black, curly hair is wearing a strapless, grey sequined top which she has paired with countless bangle bracelets and a black, ultra mini skirt that is so short if she bends down she will surely have a wardrobe malfunction. Her black stiletto heels finish off her look making her legs look a mile long.

  Girl number three has mahogany hair cut into a stylish bob. Of the three of them, she’s wearing the most makeup, which looks almost caked on. In fact, I’m almost positive that she is wearing fake eyelashes because no one’s eyelashes can be that long. Her nude-colored top blends into her skin perfectly, her jean shorts leave little to the imagination and her nude-colored wedges give her optimum height.

  Looking around the crowd of people, I realize that I look out of place. My long, brown hair is up in a ponytail. I have barely any makeup on with the exception of some bronzer, mascara, and a nude lip-gloss. I lost my blazer to a coffee mishap hours ago and my green, button down shirt, black trousers and black ballet flats are about as exciting as a cavity. I consider myself to be pretty tall at 5’7” but these girls tower over me thanks to their heels. Seriously? What’s up with the outfits, I wonder to myself? I turn around completely to face the girls and address the group in general.

  “Excuse me? Can you tell me why there’s such a long line to get in to the store?” They look at each other and then stare at me, mouths wide open, as if they can’t believe the words that have just come out of my mouth.

  Girl number three finally speaks. “Are you kidding? This line is for an autograph signing with Victor Garza!!!” She ended in a high-pitched scream as she bounced up and down in excitement.

  I try not to roll my eyes at how ridiculous she looks. “Uh, I’m sorry but who is Victor Garza?”

  I hear a collective intake of breath as Girl number one shakes her head at me in shock. “You’ve been on this line for almost forty minutes and you don’t even know who you’re waiting to meet? Victor Garza is like the hottest Latin singer in the world!” They all nod in agreement. Girl number two chimes in. “We’re all waiting for him to sign a copy of his new book.” I scan the crowd and finally notice that just about everyone in line is holding a book.

  I turn back to the party girls and thank them for the information. I decide to get off of the line, and go to the front of the store to see if I can just go in and buy my book without having to wait. I spot a security guard as I reach the doors.

  “Excuse me, I just need to run in and buy a book. Please tell me I don’t have to wait on this line,” I say as I give him my best pouty face look.

  “You can enter to my left to go into the main store, just make sure to stay away from the line for the autograph signing.”

  Relief floods over me as I smile at him. “Okay, I will. Thank you!” He gives me a barely noticeable head nod and I make my way into the store. The main floor is practically empty, just a few customers flipping through books and a few employees manning the cash registers. To the far right of the store by the escalators, I can see where the line of mostly girls starts for the autograph signing. Why is a singer signing books anyway? Don’t they usually do album signings? As I l
ook over the wall to where the escalator goes down to the lower level, I can see a handful of big, burly men which I can only assume is additional security hired to keep the crowd under control. Beyond the men, I spot an empty table with stacks of books, markers, and a few bottled waters. I guess the man of the hour hasn’t arrived yet. What was his name again? Something Garza? It doesn’t matter. The quicker I find the book I need, the quicker I can get out of here and to dinner. I decide to make a quick pit stop to the ladies room, since I have just spent the better part of an hour standing outside in the chill of the night. The weather in New Jersey is starting to warm after a brutal winter, and an unusually rainy spring. It’s mid May and the summer is drawing nearer but even though the days are getting warmer, the nights tend to still be a little bit on the cooler side, especially this close to the ocean. I live less than 2 miles from the beach and as much as I love living by the shore, the weather can certainly be unpredictable.

  I make my way to the back of the store, down an empty hallway where the restrooms are located and proceed to the ladies room. I finish up and wash and dry my hands quickly, taking a quick look at myself in the mirror before leaving the bathroom. As I open the door, I glance out and see a man walking into the otherwise quiet hallway, causing me to stop short. He is quite possibly one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen in my life. He is tall, at least 6’1” with relatively short but thick dark brown hair and milk chocolate-colored eyes that are shaped like almonds. His nose is perfectly sloped, and the sight of his full lips makes me pause for a moment. He has a square jaw that lets you know he’s all man and a body that can make anyone’s heart flutter. I can tell by the fit of his button down shirt and his jeans that he’s built. It’s obvious that he works out and keeps in shape but he’s not too bulky. Simply put, if there was such a thing as perfect, he’d be it. His eyes meet mine and his lips curl up in a tentative smile. I lose all power to move or breathe. I’m pretty sure I look like an idiot but I have no control over my body at the moment. As he makes his way to the door of the men’s room, he greets me politely. “Hi.”

  My body unsticks and I reply with a “Hello” as I look away and walk out of the bathroom. Unfortunately, I don’t get very far as the strap of my purse gets caught on the door handle. I lose my grip on it and it drops to the floor, spilling everywhere. Of course, how could I expect anything less with the disastrous day that I’ve had. I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks as I’m consumed by sheer embarrassment. I shake my head and bend down to pick up the contents of my purse.

  “What else can go wrong today?” I murmur to myself. I see a pair of feet appear in my line of sight.

  “Here, let me help you with that,” the handsome stranger says as he bends down beside me and starts picking up items.

  I look up from the ground and my breath catches at the sight of him. What is it about this guy that makes me flustered? It’s not like I’ve never seen a hot guy before. Hell, I’ve even dated my share of hot guys but there is something about this one that makes me react like a complete loon. I manage to get control of my power of speech. “Thank you, I don’t know what’s wrong with me today, I can’t seem to function properly.”

  He chuckles at my comment. “It happens. Everyone has those kinds of days.” He reaches for my compact mirror at the same time as I do causing our fingers to graze. His fingers against mine sends a shiver through me. I can’t remember the last time I had this kind of reaction to a man. In fact, I’m pretty certain that I never have. I gather up the last of my things, toss them in my bag and start to stand as he hands me the items he’s picked up. “Here you go.”

  I look up at him and manage a small smile. “Thanks for your help,” I say softly.

  “You’re very welcome….”

  “Elizabeth.”

  “Elizabeth, it was my pleasure. I hope the rest of your evening goes better,” he says.

  I look down at the ground and giggle. “Yeah, it’s been pretty bad. I’m almost scared to do anything else for fear of what might happen. I should probably just go home and lock myself in till tomorrow.” I look up and catch him smiling. Not a forced smile but a genuine one that makes my knees melt.

  “You’re probably right, but then you won’t get your autograph, right?”

  “Oh, I’m not here for that. I’ve never even heard of the guy. I just came in to get a book.”

  He looks almost surprised. “Oh, I just assumed that you were a fan of…”

  “No, no, I mean, I’m sure he’s great and all, there are like a thousand girls on line looking like they are waiting to see the crowned prince but I don’t know much about Latin music so I’m kind of at a loss.”

  “Right, of course.” He continues to stare at me for a moment. I almost think that he’s about to ask me for my number, actually I’m hoping he does…but he doesn’t. I have to get away from him and out of this store before I embarrass myself any further.

  “Well, thanks again for your help. I have to grab my book and get out of here. I’m in kind of a rush.” I don’t wait for a reply. I walk out of the hallway and back into the store as quickly as I can. I look at my phone again. Seven nineteen. “I can still make it if I hurry.”

  I grab the book for Gemma, pay for it and bolt from the store as quickly as I can. I’m not too far from the restaurant so I opt to walk rather than get my car. With the crowd of people still surrounding the bookstore, I figure it will be quicker by foot. As I make my way to the restaurant, I can’t help but to think of him, the stranger at the bookstore. I didn’t even get his name. I gave him mine but it never even occurred to me to ask for his. No wonder he didn’t ask me for my number, he probably thought I wasn’t interested. I seriously need to work on my flirting skills. What am I even thinking? Flirting skills? Me? I wouldn’t even know how to flirt if I tried. It’s been so long since I’ve even had a date. My life has been filled with nothing more than work, the occasional outing with my best friend, Jordan, and spending time with my family. Men aren’t even on my radar and I’m not sure that I’d ever allow them to be again. Maybe it’s a good thing Hot Stranger didn’t ask for my number. I don’t need anything or anyone messing with my life right now. The life that I’ve worked so hard to get control of again. No, I cannot let anyone destroy my peaceful existence, not even someone who made my knees weak with a simple smile. I enter the restaurant and the hostess escorts me to the small, private room in the back where my family is surely waiting for me.

  “Auntie Elle!”

  “Hey, Gemma. Happy Birthday, honey!” I say as I hug my niece. “How’s it feel to be 13? You’re officially a teenager now.” Gemma is tall for her age, almost as tall as I am. She has the signature Brooks family brown hair and brown eyes and already knows more about fashion than I do.

  “It feels absolutely no different,” she says with a smile. She looks down at the bag in my hand “Whatcha got there?” she asks expectantly.

  “What, this?” I ask teasingly. “You want this?”

  “Please tell me that’s what I think it is!” she begs.

  I can’t help but giggle. “Oh alright, I’ll put you out of your misery. Here you go.”

  “Ahhh, thank you so much, Auntie Elle!” she shrieks as she throws her arms around me.

  “You’re welcome, honey.”

  I walk further into the room greeting some cousins, uncles and aunts until I finally reach my brother, Gavin, and my father. “Hi, Dad. Sorry I’m late,” I say as I kiss his cheek. My father, at first glance, is an intimidating man. At 6’2”, he towers over me. He has the body of a linebacker, well, maybe a retired linebacker, salt and pepper hair and dark eyes. The eyes are what I found to be most intimidating when I was growing up. Of course, now I know that my dad is a big softie at heart but he could aim his eyes at you and glare a certain way that would make even the bravest man cower. I think he perfected that look in his years as a police detective. He retired from the force last year, much to my relief, and has spent most of his time since then tr
aveling.

  “It’s okay, kiddo. You haven’t missed anything,”

  I turn to my brother and give him a hug. “Hey Gav.”

  “Hey, I see you found the book?”

  “Yeah, I did. I had to fight my way through a massive crowd of girls waiting to meet some Latin singer but I got it.”

  “Well thanks, sis. I’m glad Gemma can count on you for stuff like that.” I smile and give him a nod.

  Gavin is as tall as my dad, slender, with brown hair that needed to be cut about two weeks ago but still looks good on him. He is a catch but my brother just doesn’t want to be caught. He has dedicated himself to being the best dad he can be and women are secondary. I guess you can say that he is a bit of a serial dater. I, on the other hand, also don’t want to be caught but I don’t even bother dating.

  Gavin is older than me by four years. He was 22 when Gemma was born and completely unprepared to be a father. The girl he had been dating for a little over a year got pregnant and decided that she wasn’t ready to be a mother. I can’t necessarily say that I blame her, having a child at 20 can’t be easy. She tried to convince Gavin that the best option would be to give the baby up for adoption but Gavin would not consent to that. They fought about it for the majority of the pregnancy until near the end when Gavin finally fessed up to Mom and Dad about what was going on. They supported him and together they convinced his girlfriend to sign away her rights to the baby and give Gavin full custody. I’ve always looked up to my brother but the way he fought for Gemma made me completely idolize him. As a family, we all chipped in and helped him to take care of Gemma until Gavin was able to finish college, get a job in a marketing firm and move into his own home with her.

  Three hours later, dinner is finally over and the only people left in the restaurant are Dad, Gavin and myself. Gemma sweet-talked her way into a sleep over at a friend’s house. I sit at the table sipping flat cola from a straw. As I stare out the window, my mind goes back to the bookstore, back to those milk chocolate eyes that did something unexplainable to me. It was an unfamiliar feeling. I’m still not sure what to make of it. I can’t, however, deny that it was a good feeling. It had the power to scare me and excite me all at once. I’ve had my share of lovers and relationships but the concept of love is foreign to me. I had thought I’d been in love once but it turned out to be a bad imitation. A relationship which left me so torn and tattered that it took me years to come back from the emotional damage that it caused. Hell, if I’m being honest with myself, I’m still kind of an emotional misfit. Some scars never really heal and because of my newfound need for self-preservation, I’ve constructed a coat of armor so strong that it will never be penetrated. It’s a price I am willing to pay to make sure that I never get hurt again.