Copyright
Text copyright © 2014 by Kylie Kaemke
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Cover image created by Iggy Marauder and Copyright © 2014 by Kylie Kaemke
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First Edition
Chapter 1
Being in love is hard… but being in love with three different people at once is even harder. People throughout history have said that when you meet the one, you’ll know. Like it’s supposed to be some epiphany that you are just struck with once you look into your soul mate’s beautiful blue eyes, or brown eyes, or gray eyes. But it just doesn’t happen like that; at least not for me. Over the years I met the three most amazing men and I couldn’t help but fall in love with all three, and how do you choose? How do you choose just one heart to love when it means breaking two?
I guess the first thing going through your mind is why I let myself fall in love with three people. Why after I met the first boy would I even glance at another, but again it’s just not that simple. The story of the most confusing, exhilarating, emotional summer of my life begins right after my nineteenth birthday party at my grandmother’s beach house in the Westhampton Beach, New York.
My entire family will come together at the beach house, or mansion I should say, for each child’s eighteenth birthday, but since I spent last summer in London we moved my party back a year. So here we are celebrating another year older at the lavish Whitten estate.
My grandfather, who passed away a few years ago, owned a slew of accounting firms, law firms, pretty much anything with the word firm in it he would buy it up hire good staff and reap the rewards of other people’s hard work. I love my family dearly, but their blood lust for money has at times made me ashamed to call myself a Whitten.
When I was a child I was spoiled, and I’m not going to lie I did enjoy it and I was quite the brat, but as I got older I realized that there is more to life than fast cars and lavish jewelry. I mean, I didn’t cut myself off from the money, but I do more for charities and I try and use my wealth for good and not evil; most importantly I try my absolute hardest not to act like a snob. My mother, Lauren Whitten, blames my new anti-snob attitude on the time that I spent with our stable boy (I know, cliché... but he was real) Finn Haywood. He was my first love, we were seventeen, and he taught me how to live. Mom never approved.
Back to the party now. My grandmother’s voice snaps me out of my daydream of riding horses bareback and skinny dipping in the warm summer sunlight with the rugged and dangerously handsome stable boy.
“Lucy! Oh Luce, come here for a minute. I’d like to introduce you to someone” and these were the words that led me to him, Malcolm Abrams. My grandmother is standing across the room summoning me toward her and this tall elegant man. His light brown hair is slightly messy and spiked, but in that way that you know he probably worked on it for a good hour to get it to look perfectly disheveled. His dazzling ocean blue eyes glisten under his thick groomed eyebrows. The left corner of his perfectly proportioned lips curls upward as he turns to face me. I approach him, trying my hardest not to drool, he slips his hands out of his (no doubt Armani) slacks and extends his manicured hand out for a handshake, or so I thought.
He grabs my right hand and brings it to his sultry lips, planting a soft kiss on my knuckles and then with the smoothest voice he utters the words “it is very nice to see you Lucy Whitten, and a very happy birthday.”
I almost faint, right here and now. I know my mouth is wide open like a trout gasping for air, and I’m at a loss for words. Grandmother chimes in to save me, informing me that Malcolm is here visiting his father; a multi-millionaire who used to work for my grandfather before he passed.
“Lucy, you remember Malcolm from when you two were little, don’t you?” She asks. I stare at him and try to piece it together. Malcolm? I try to remember the name, but I don’t. I try and picture his stunning blue eyes through my childhood eyes, but I can’t. However he seems to remember me.
“We must’ve had over a dozen pretend weddings,” he says with a confident grin.
I just gawk in stunning disbelief. Even as a child this specimen of perfection had to have better taste than to choose a spoiled brat like me as his pretend wife.
“Oh of course,” grandma laughs in delight. “You two were such an adorable couple.” And I suddenly begin to remember my summers here at the house. All the years I spent with the little brown headed boy, who was a few years older than me I recall, building sandcastles and having lavish tea parties.
“My best…” he starts.
“…summer friend forever,” and I finish. What can I say, at age six we were full of cheese.
“Oh how grand! You do remember each other. How sweet is this?” My grandma cries in excitement.
Malcolm is absolutely stunning standing in front of me in a classy blue suit, white shirt, and a pale blue striped tie. I feel underdressed to even be in his presence, and I’m wearing a purple Louis Vuitton strapless dress that my mother insisted I wore; with heavy diamonds that sparkle around my neck. I would’ve preferred a pair of tattered jeans and an old band t-shirt, but mother always knows best.
“Well, Lucy, don’t be rude. Thank the boy! He did make it all the way here from the South of France to wish you a happy birthday!” Grandma barks.
“Oh. Uh.. right, um, thank you. Yes, thanks so much that’s so kind of you, and it’s great to see you after all this time.” Stumbling over my words I try to compose myself. I had only ever been this giddy in front of a boy once in my life, but that feels like a lifetime ago right now… even though it was less than a year ago in Southwark.
“It’s my pleasure. I flew in this morning and when my father told me he was attending the party for Sally Whitten’s prettiest Grand-Daughter I just couldn’t stay away.” His voice is like velvet, or silk... or something equally as insatiable and I don’t ever want him to stop speaking. I know I’m gawking, and I probably look like a fool, but I don’t know what to respond with. His brow suddenly furrows, and I’m afraid he’s upset with me somehow.
“Ladies, I would love to stay and catch up, but I’m afraid I have to be going. I have to live up to the duties of being an only child and accompany my mother to her, uhm, therapist. As you can see,” he leans in close enough for me to smell his heady scent of sweat and after shave as he points to a very loud blonde woman dressed in a tasteless candy apple red dress, and silk white gloves, sipping on a martini and flirting with a younger man, “it doesn’t look like she’s going to be able to make it on her own. And she’s just useless without her therapy sessions.”
I’m sad to see him go just as I’ve only begun to control the stream of drool, but his mother looks as though in any moment she’s going to do something to seriously embarrass herself.
I watch him walk away. Grandma Whitten pushes the bottom of my jaw upwards closing my mouth and I realize I’m gawking again. But can you blame me? This insatiable man has just taken time out of his busy rich life to stop by my birthday celebration and kiss my hand.
Just when I think he’s gone and I can snap out of my trance I shake my head at grandma Sally as I grab a glass of champagne from the waiter passing by. I down the glass and begin to scold her. “You could’ve given me a heads up that the most gorgeous man in the universe was going to be here. I would’ve tried a little harder with my hair and makeup and stuff. I can’t believe you
wouldn’t give me a notice, now I’ve made a fool of myself and there’s no chance in hell that he would ever want to speak to the freak he met at the Whitten’s estate…” but she just smiles at me like I’ve lost it and then turns away to tend to her other guests. “Grandma! Where are you going?” Ignored. She just puts her wrinkle free hand up like she’s had enough of me. I let out a grunt of frustration and turn to find the champagne waiter again, but I turn around to bump into a tall blue Armani suit. Malcolm’s suit.
“I definitely want to speak with that ‘freak’ I met at the Whitten’s estate,” he starts. “Can I pick you up around nine ‘o’clock for a little stroll on the beach? You know, like old times.” I’m stunned as he stands before me smiling; smiling sweetly for me. I must be the color of his mother’s dress by now because I had never been more embarrassed than at this very moment. All I can do is nod my head in agreement. “Great, then I’ll be back here in a few hours. See ya then.” He turns to leave again, but right before he is out of sight he turns his head and winks one of his heavenly blue eyes.
My head is positively spinning as I grab another glass of champagne and choke it down in one swoop. I don’t like the dry taste of champagne, but it’s the only thing that is readily available as the waiters walk around the room with trays of flutes full of bubbly liquid and others full of bite sized finger foods wrapped in pork and skewered with a toothpick. I can feel the bubbles rushing to my head as the alcohol begins to impair my judgment, but it makes me feel less nervous about the scene that just took place. I needed to know more about Malcolm before I had to see him again. Maybe if I knew about his life after childhood I would be less likely to say something stupid.
All I had was “remember that time we took a bath together…” and I don’t think that’s going to help me.
I scan the room for someone whose brain I can pick and I spot my cousin Kathleen. She spent probably the most time here every summer of her life, and she’s only four years older than me, so surely she had met Malcolm many of times. I rush past many faces that I don’t even recognize, friends of my grandparents no doubt, and I interrupt my beautiful cousin as she flirts with some rich business man. She is the one that got all the looks in the family. I mean we’re a very good looking bunch, but she has the type of beauty that could stop a war. Everyone looks to her as she enters a room with her long slender figure and lengthy blonde hair. But her eyes, they are where her true power lies, and as I grab her arm and pull her away from Mr. Moneybags she darts me a look with those deep violet eyes that feels as if it is burning right through me.
“What is your problem? I’m in the middle of something here are you blind?” she hisses.
“I know, I know. But hear me out for just a minute. Malcolm Abrams is coming back here to pick me up at nine for a walk on the beach,” I stammer on. Her gaze turns from icy to delight in a second flat and she grabs ahold of my arm pulling me to a quieter room.
We now stand in the middle of one of the many bathrooms in the mansion. Kathleen locks the door and turns back to me. She grabs my hands and pulls me down so we’re both sitting on the edge of the large Jacuzzi tub that could easily fit four.
“Don’t take this the wrong way little cousin, but Malcolm Abrams has asked you out… why? I mean I know you two were close when you were like… five, but…”
“Thanks, Kathleen, for the vote of confidence,” I interrupt. “I’m freaking out right now! I came to you for help. I know nothing about the man he is today!” I can see the interest in her eyes, but there is also something else… jealousy perhaps?
“Sorry, here’s all you need to know” she goes on to tell me that he is twenty-two years old, born into a rich family, graduated early from Stanford, and now he is just traveling and enjoying his rich bachelor life. He’s been seen in magazines with models and actresses, he’s a true playboy; which doesn’t bode well. “I don’t mean this to sound harsh,” she continues, “but he’s probably just using you because he’s trying to escape the limelight of being New York’s beloved boy toy.” Suddenly, I’m not as threatened by his charm, and I’m not as worried about this evening. Aside from the fact that he may just want to use me and then toss me off the pier.
Kathleen gets up to check herself out in the mirror. She dabs at her lips and readjusts her breasts then exits the bathroom; leaving me alone with my thoughts. I won’t break my plans with Malcolm, but he won’t get the satisfaction of getting his rocks off with me and then jet setting back to France or wherever his super models are. I vow to not give into his charm and looks no matter how sexy he’s going to look barefoot in the moonlight. This means no more champagne!
I rise off the bathtub edge and take a look at myself in the mirror. My brown hair is in desperate need of a haircut, it hangs low, split ends dangling right above the small of my back. My face looks pale and tired. My green eyes look dull under my mascara lacking eyelashes and I realize that if I’m going to be spending my evening with a millionaire playboy then I should at least put a touch of makeup on. I never liked to wear too much cause I always felt like everything was heavy and fake, but on occasion I would slap on some blush and mascara. Especially when my eyes are looking so sunk in, must have been the nerves.
As I exit the bathroom back into the party I once again hear my name being called, but this time it is not my grandmother, it’s not even a female voice. No, it’s definitely a male voice… a male voice that I distinctly recognize because it’s not a voice that I would normally hear, not in America anyway. I slowly turn toward the voice knowing who it is going to be before I even see him. Once he is in full view a wave of memories comes crashing down in my head as I remember my summer in London, my time in Southwark, and my affair with Simon Basford.
Chapter 2
I landed in Heathrow airport on June 4th, three days before my eighteenth birthday, and four days before I would meet Simon. London was exquisite, and I couldn’t have been more excited to spend the summer with my two best friends in such a magical place. Adam Prinz and Suzette Mitchell, the two best people I’ve known since freshmen year of high school, and the absolute cutest couple out there.
We have been the three tightest friends for four years by then, and I knew from the beginning that those two were destined for each other. I didn’t really know my own stance on the whole destined to be together thing, but if anyone in this world were soul mates it was Adam and Suzette.
They didn’t officially start dating until junior year when Adam got down on one knee and asked Suzette to accompany him to the prom. A little over the top for my taste, but then again I was just the jealous best friend. Although, jealousy wasn’t really the right word. I couldn’t even put into words how happy I was for these two, they gave me hope, but I still felt a hint of envy towards them and even to this day in the back of my mind I wonder why he chose her and what was wrong with me. My jealousy would never be voiced aloud however.
Back to London now; three young rich kids in a foreign country away from any parental supervision. The ideal way to spend a summer after four long years of perfect grades and endless track meets.
Upon leaving the airport we hailed a cab to take us to our hotel. We stayed in the heart of London, and I’d go through all the details of the sights we saw, the places we visited, and the people we met… but I’m telling you the story of Simon; not my vacation.
****
It was the morning after my birthday, and we were all so hung-over. We spent the night dancing and getting smashed at a club called White Heat in central London. I woke up with a splitting headache and that feeling in my stomach like I was going to lose everything inside.
“Can someone please shut the drapes? Why are they wide open anyway?” Suzette mumbled beside me from underneath her pure white pillow. I was relieved to at least see that we were back in our hotel suite at The Savoy, and not chained up in some hostel. I couldn’t recall everything that took place the night before, but I did remember Adam standing in front of the windows butt naked and s
houting “You’re welcome London!” Then everything after that was blank and I must have fallen asleep. At least I knew the mystery behind the reason why the sun was blinding us.
“Your boyfriend was showing the city his junk in front of the open window, don’t you remember?” I explained to Suzette. She peeked out from under her pillow, her eyes all squinty, and I could see the look of remembrance on her face as she burst out in a fit of wild giggles. Her laughter was contagious and soon we were both consumed as we recalled some of the events from our wild evening out.
“Where is he anyways?” She sat up shielding her face from the light with her long pale fingers.
Suzette isn’t beautiful, but she is pretty. She was born and raised in Austin, Texas, until her snob of a mother divorced her father and moved her to New York, so she has that country girl demeanor; sweet as cherry pie, but tough as nails if she needed to be. Her short dark brown hair framed her narrow face and her hooked nose. The rest of her was very tall, thin, and lanky; her arms and legs so long that she always looked as though she was made of rubber. I was always teasing her, calling her stretch and tugging on her as if she was one of those Stretch Armstrong dolls.
Right on cue Adam walked through the door, holding a tray with three cups of coffee. “You looking for me?” He smiled as he walked to the shades and pulled them closed, saving us from the torturous afternoon sun. He walked over to the king sized bed that Suzette and I had sat up in with the overstuffed down comforter draped over our laps.
Adam was already so bright and cheery. After the night we had one would think we would be recovering for days, him especially. I had never seen someone throw back so many pints of lager. I remembered him getting into a macho match, with an older English man, to see who could drink the most; I couldn’t remember who won. But there he was right in front of us, freshly showered and looking as cute as ever.
Heavy Hearts Page 1