The Stubborn Love Series: Books 1-5 Contemporary Romance Series

by Wendy Owens

  The paper is taunting me. I tell myself to write something. Place a word on the sheet, and then it won’t seem so impossible. The next word will flow and then another, and before you know it, you’re writing. My own advice doesn’t seem to inspire me.

  A flash of Holden runs through my mind. I think of his smell, the way my flesh feels when he is close to me. I shudder. I’m angry I can’t make myself forget. The day he gave me the laptop is replaying in my mind. The words he spoke. ’I see a woman who is beautiful ...’ My cheeks begin to burn. To have a man like Holden see me like that.

  I laugh quietly to myself. He’d told me he saw a woman who could do anything. Oh, how wrong he had been. Journaling, that’s easy. I place my random and insane thoughts onto pages that only I will see. This, writing a story—words I hope will one day be in front of the world—it feels so much more monumental.

  Maybe that’s the problem. I’m putting too much pressure on the idea behind the story. This is a time for me to learn from my writing. Perhaps I should just approach it like journaling. I feel a pressure in my hand. Looking down I see something that surprises me. My hand seems to have developed a mind of its own. I’m writing. My fingers move the pencil across the page, and words are spilling out onto the paper.

  It was a kiss that first told me my mother didn’t feel connected to me. She took care of me, clothed me, fed me, and made sure I had all the things a little girl needed. All the things except what little girls truly want. A mother who thinks they are the world, that the sun rises and sets on them. A mother who believes they are capable of anything. Instead, I had my mother.

  The words stare up at me. They aren’t Shakespeare, but they’re mine. When I sat down I had no idea what the story would be. I’d imagined myself writing a dystopian tale where the young heroine is about to save the world, if she can only survive long enough. Or maybe a classic piece about Queen Guinevere and King Arthur. No, the first story I’m writing will be my own. This doesn’t upset me. Instead, I think of the things I’ve done, the people in my life, the hurt I’ve endured. Holden was right; how could I think I didn’t have a story to tell? I touch my stomach, then press my pencil back to the paper. I have so much to tell.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Marissa wraps her arms around me and presses her lips firmly to my cheek. “Are you sure you can’t stay?”

  I shake my head. “I wish I could.”

  When I came to Greece and found her, I thought it was a prefect arrangement. I’d rent her room, and we’d stay out of one another’s lives. It ended up being a type of perfect I’d never imagined. I’m so glad she had other plans for our relationship. I’d been there a week when she asked the question that changed everything. After seeing me writing in the garden one afternoon, she’d asked about my scribing in my notebooks.

  I was nervous. I hadn’t told anyone except Kenzie my plans to write a book. The last person I wanted to share this with was a stranger. To let her in, let her know this dream of mine felt embarrassing. With a deep breath, I told her. Immediately, she asked if she could read it. I suppose it’s the natural reaction when someone shares this sort of information.

  I’m still surprised I agreed. Perhaps I was seeking some sort of validation. Words from someone who had nothing invested in me. Things I heard from Kenz, or my mother, or even Holden, would always carry a little doubt with them. The people who care about you sometimes feel obligated to praise. Marissa had devoured the pages. I remember watching her expressions as she read. It was a complete range of emotions; she experienced my fears, my pain, and my joy. All the memories I put into those pages were washing over her. She became me in that instant. The first time my words made her laugh out loud, it was like nothing I’d ever felt before.

  “Now, you’re going to send me the new chapters as you finish them, right?” she asks, pulling me in for another hug.

  “Of course!” I exclaim. I’m not a hugger, but I don’t want to let her go. I’ve been myself with her. A version of me I’m usually too scared to share with people. Her advice and insight have become a source of oxygen for me, and I hate the thought of losing that.

  When I told her of my disapproving mother and how she rarely showed affection, she didn’t attack the woman. She helped me to see that the relationship with mom only had as much power as I chose to give it. It was the same with Jack. I’m in control of my life, and these people only have the power over me I allow them to have.

  What frightens me, though, is here, in the safety and sanctity of Marissa’s world, these principles are easy to accept. Stepping out on my own to face that world is another beast entirely. It scares the hell out of me.

  In ten weeks, she’d seen a self-discovery in me I never thought I’d experience. She became a friend I will treasure for the rest of my life—almost the motherly figure I always wished I’d have.

  “Why don’t you come back after the closing?” she asks me.

  I smile. If I could, I would place her in my pocket and carry her everywhere. The only person I’d ever been able to relate to on this level was Kenzie. She knows my soul, inside and out, but it had taken years to develop that sort of friendship. Marissa, however, was an instant kindred spirit. Of course, her reading my deepest, darkest secrets accelerated our relationship.

  “I would if I could, but I should be home when the baby comes,” I say, hugging her one last time before walking through the sliding doors of the airport, turning to wave one last time.

  An amazing thing happens when you retell your life; at least it did for me. In ten weeks, I got to know a girl who had dreams. Big dreams. She was a girl who would howl at the moon and beat her chest. A girl who knew exactly what she wanted to be and what she wanted out of life. But along the way, she got lost. And, in writing her story, I found her again. She is ready to live life hard and free and to its fullest. I’m ready to be that girl again.

  There is one thing I didn’t tell Marissa. One thing I kept for myself. I’ve started writing the second book. I know the words in it are inspired, and it excites me. The Luckiest. It wasn’t until I’d figured out my own story that I could tell someone else’s. Maybe in a way The Luckiest is also my story. A story of a future I can still hope for.

  When Kenzie called last week to say I had an offer on the condo, I was relieved. It led me to making an actual plan for the first time in a long time. I’m going to close on the condo, find a small affordable studio apartment, buy a laptop, and finish writing The Luckiest. I hope to use my friendships in the publishing industry to get a deal; if not, there’s always self-publishing. I’m going to show my child a different way of life than my mother showed me. I’m going to teach her to dream. I’m going to show her love that gives her the courage to soar. At least that’s my plan.

  I’ve also been giving a lot of thought to Jack. If he wants to be a part of this child’s life, I’ll allow visits, but he has to be a part of our world, not the other way around. There is a distinct difference, and I’m determined not to let him sway me.

  I’ve considered writing to Holden, telling him everything. Marissa thinks I’m crazy if I don’t. She told me she believes for every person there are only a few people in this world are suitable match, and letting one go so easily can later be a source of regret. She might have a point, but I can’t help thinking the way we left things is better for everyone.

  I hand my passport to the older gentleman standing at the counter, a huge smile on my face, and he motions me through the gate. I’m going home.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The fluorescent light above my head is flickering; I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the bleakness of the room. Sitting behind the large conference table, my belly is tucked away, hidden from the world. The receptionist had gushed about how adorable my pooch is when I arrived, and I had to resist the urge to punch her in the face. However, I did manage to derive some pleasure from the situation.

  After going on about how excited my husband and I must be, I was more than h
appy to explain to her there was no father in this picture. That carved the smile right off her face. She showed me to the conference room, then scurried off, and I haven’t seen a trace of her since.

  I’d asked Kenzie to arrange an online closing for me, but apparently the buyer had requested I be present. My agent has assured me this isn’t that strange, and some folks just get scared that online closings could be fraudulent. Though it’s annoying to return home sooner than I’d planned, it’s a small price to pay to relieve myself of the monthly mortgage debt. Besides, I knew I’d have to return soon either way. I have to break the baby news to my parents and, of course, to Jack.

  In Greece, it was easy to think about coming back here and having a heart to heart, but I’ve been back for two days and calling him has been the furthest thing from my mind. Instead, my time has been filled with writing and catching up with Kenzie. I’d even found the courage to let her read what I have so far on The Luckiest. Her enthusiasm has given me the fuel and confidence to push forward with the project.

  A woman clearing her throat as she enters the room interrupts my thoughts. I turn my head to look; she’s young, late twenties perhaps. Her black hair is pulled back into a tight bun, which exposes her high cheekbones. Her pencil skirt leads my eyes down to her black pumps, and I’m impressed at how well she is put together. I pull my sweater closed in front of my body, suddenly feeling slouchy in my appearance.

  “Miss Hart,” the woman says, extending a hand and crossing the room confidently, before I can even shift in my seat. “Nice to finally meet you in person. I’m Madelyn Kinkade.”

  I shake her hand and smile. Instantly I can see why Kenzie had butted heads with her. They are the exact opposite. “Yes, of course, hi.” I shake my head, “I’m so sorry about how odd everything was in my case, I—”

  “Nonsense.” She waves me off before I can finish. “Selling off all your furnishings did present a challenge, but we got it sold, didn’t we?”

  Yeah, she is definitely nasty.

  “Do you have any questions on how this works?” she inquires, taking a seat next to me.

  “I think it’s all pretty straightforward,” I reply, delivering a tight-lipped grin.

  “The only thing a little out of the ordinary is the two week occupancy request, but you said you won’t have a problem meeting that?” she questions me, not looking up from the contract.

  “Nope, my friend already had the rest of my stuff moved into storage for me,” I explain.

  “So Kenzie did know where you were.” My breath catches in my throat. I try to swallow, but I can’t. When Jack’s voice hits my ears, it’s as if all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. I don’t turn my head. I’m not moving. I don’t think I’ve even blinked. I’m not ready for this.

  He walks around, standing across the conference table. I shift my head, and our eyes meet. He looks the same, though I’m not sure what I expected. Did I think he would look different? I wonder. “What are you doing here?” The words slip softly out of my mouth. He is still standing.

  Looking down at me. I wonder if he can tell. Does he know what I’m concealing under this table? I hug the edge even closer, hiding my secret. I’m not ready. I thought I would be, but staring into those eyes, dear God, I’m so far from ready.

  “Really?” he gasps, leaning forward, pressing his hands onto the tabletop. “I haven’t seen you in six months. You won’t return my calls, and the only thing you have to say is ’what are you doing here?’ You owe me some answers, Annabelle.”

  My realtor stands. “Do we have a problem here?”

  “He’s my ex,” I explain in a soft tone. I look to him and answer, “I’ve been staying with a friend in Greece.”

  “Since when do you have a friend in Greece?” He huffs.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but we have a closing to attend to here, so I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” I’m thankful I hired Madelyn.

  Jack glares at her for a moment, then yanking out a seat across from me, he sits down. “I know; I’m the buyer.”

  His words set my head spinning. I feel the baby jerking inside of me, reacting to the sudden jolt of adrenaline rushing through my veins. I do my best not to reveal the struggle going on inside my body. It makes sense now, the buyer requesting an in-person closing. Of course it was Jack. I’m not sure how, though.

  “Excuse me?” I snarl.

  “Oh yeah, sweetie. Didn’t you hear? I passed the bar exam. My dad gave me access to my trust fund as a result, though I will say your little stunt with the wedding money almost made them reconsider. Luckily, I was able to reassure them you’d have no access to these funds.” Jack’s anger is oozing from him, but he’s managing to maintain his composure.

  “You’re buying our old condo?”

  “I needed a place, and it seemed like the only way I was going to get you back in Chicago,” he explains, his tone starting to soften.

  “Miss Hart, are you all right with proceeding?” Madelyn asks.

  I look to Jack; he’s watching me, his stare narrow, and I worry if I remain silent any longer, my secret will somehow be exposed. “Let’s just get this done.”

  My realtor proceeds with an explanation of paperwork and how the closing process will work. A title clerk takes a seat at the end of the table, sliding the necessary docs to Jack. He only takes his eyes off me long enough to sign each page. I look past him, over his shoulder, out a window, but I can feel his eyes on me.

  “So I can take occupancy in two weeks?” he inquires, glancing at Madelyn.

  “That’s what Miss –” she begins before I interrupt her.

  “He can have the place now. My stuff is out.” I slide my keys across the table, and he catches them.

  “Where are you staying?” he presses, leaning in.

  “That’s not any of your business,” I say firmly.

  Madelyn must sense my discomfort. She stands again and shifts around to Jack’s side of the table, extending a hand. He stands and shakes, but she doesn’t let go of him. Instead, she starts to guide him to the door, “Congratulations, Mr. Fletcher, you’re a home owner. This concludes our business together. Now if you’ll excuse us, Miss Hart and I have some other matters to discuss.”

  I don’t dare watch him as he’s escorted from the room. I can only imagine how much this infuriates him. I hear him stammering, trying to find the words that will grant him access to me for a moment. Closing my eyes, I hold my breath and wait, hoping he goes peacefully. And then he’s gone, and Madelyn is back at my side.

  I turn my head and look at her, reaching a hand out and placing it on top of hers. I mouth the words to a silent, “Thank you.”

  “No problem. I deal with men like Mr. Fletcher all the time.” She then offers, “You take as long as you need. I have the room booked for the next forty-five minutes.”

  I sip my water from the plastic cup on the table. Jack was here, in front of me. I had the opportunity to tell him I was carrying his child, but I said nothing. The idea of being strong is so much easier than the practice. Minutes pass, one into the next. I play out the conversation in my mind. This is my life, my child, and he will need to fall in line if he wants even a small part in it. In my mind, it goes perfectly, but I know, in reality, I’m facing a disaster.

  I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting, contemplating what has to be done. The next group has arrived for their closing, so it’s at least been a half-hour. I stand, gather the sales documents and the check that was left in front of me, and I leave. I press a hand into my lower back, shifting from side to side, the ache another gift from my unborn child.

  I wrap my coat around my body. I can only button the top two now. My belly peeks out from the opening, and I let a hand cascade over the top of it. She shifts in response to my touch, and I can’t help but smile. I step outside, walk down the four steps, and set out in the direction of the train.

  “Annabelle?” Jacks voice stops me cold in my tracks. No, it can’t. He left. H
e’s supposed to leave. He can’t be here. I’m not ready. I can’t do this. My mind is racing. I don’t turn around. If I turn around, he’ll see my secret.

  “Are you—” He pauses. I realize he knows. He must have seen. I swallow hard and turn to face him. My eyes are large; the cool breeze is biting at the flesh on my face.

  I press my lips together in a slight grin and grasp my stomach protectively. “You are,” he says on a moan. “Is it ...” I nod.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I didn’t know when I left. I was only a couple weeks at most,” I explain, trying to remember the script I’d worked out in my mind.

  He raises a hand, rubbing his forehead firmly, before bringing it back through his hair. “When did you find out?”

  “A few months ago.” I say it firmly; I must own my decision to keep it a secret.

  “And you didn’t think I’d want to know?”

  Don’t give him power over you. Don’t let him make you the bad guy. “I made the choice to have this baby. And you made your choices.”

  “Damn it, Anna! It was a mistake. How long are you going to make me pay for that?”

  “Don’t raise your voice to me,” I say in a commanding tone that surprises even myself.

  He shakes his head; I’ve thrown him off guard. “I’m sorry, you have to realize what this is like for me. I’ve just wanted a chance to talk to you, and now I find out I’m going to be father.”

  I feel a panic rush over me. I can see him doing it. Putting his will on my life, on our lives, and I need to put a stop to it.

  “We can talk more later—about visitation or something.”