HITCHED
A Hearts of Stone Novel
by
Christine Manzari
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published by Christine Manzari
Copyright © 2017 by Christine Manzari
www.christinemanzari.com
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Copyright
Dedication
Birthday Blues...A Beautiful Pain
1. One Too Many
2. Back on Board
3. The Promise
4. The Blockhouse
5. Dairy, Dairy, Quite Contrary
6. Snow Boots for School Books
7. It’s Official
8. Deals with the Devil
9. Couch Cat & Other Crises
10. Crabs & Confessions
11. Girl Gone Wild
12. Gear & Grind
13. All Aboard the Hot Mess Express
14. Close Range
15. As You Wish
16. The Green-Eyed Monster
17. That’s What Friends Are For
18. Pie A La Mode
19. Any Way But Wild
20. Worth Fighting For
21. The Chase
22. It’s Not a Party Without Buzz
23. The Best Man
24. Something I Didn’t Want
25. Knitting with Sausages
26. Naked I Came
27. Perfect Harlow is Not So Perfect
28. Fight for Me
29. Luckily Unlucky
30. The Brawl
31. Roomie Problems
32. New Year, New List
Epilogue 1: A Beautiful Beginning
Epilogue 2: Wedding Bells
Acknowledgements
Hated: First Chapter
Play List
Contact
To my sisters, and best friends, Shelly and Laurie —
Always remember that if you fall, I will pick you up.
After I finish laughing.
I love you.
— HARLOW —
BIRTHDAY BLUES...A BEAUTIFUL PAIN
1. Boom Boom Blues Lounge
2. Drinks with Willow and Marlow
3. Thunder Down Under show
4. Watch the Bellagio fountains
5. Date with Buzz
There were only five things I planned to do on my birthday. An unusually small list for the day, but a list all the same. Some things never changed.
Hailing a cab, I folded the paper of my numbered to-do items and shoved it into my purse. I had exactly one hour before Willow and Marlow’s plane landed and I didn’t want them to have any idea where I was, or who I was seeing. If this took longer than I thought and they arrived at the hotel before I got back, I hoped they wouldn’t give me the fifth degree about where I’d been. I was a shitty liar, and they’d get the truth out of me if they tried hard enough. But chances were, they wouldn’t worry about me. I was the dependable one who made rational decisions. Las Vegas might be Sin City, but there was no reason for them to be concerned about Harlow Ransom, the perfect good girl.
Should they be worried?
They would if they knew the truth. They’d lose their minds if they knew who was in town.
I sat in the back of the cab, twisting the hem of my tiny skirt between my fingers. I tried to convince myself that I had to do this, that I’d regret it if I didn’t take the chance. I was still nervous, though, for too many reasons. I shoved those reasons so far down there was no possible way I’d come to my senses and just turn around like I probably should. A few minutes later, I paid the cabby his fare and then stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of my destination. The harsh Vegas sun glared down on me like the light shining from an interrogator’s lamp, and I winced under its power. I pulled the ticket out of my purse that I’d bought earlier, but my hands were shaking so hard I could barely read the name of the place where the show was taking place.
Boom Boom Blues Lounge. That’s where I needed to go.
Leaving the heavy heat of Vegas behind, I entered the casino and wound my way through the noise. The constant ringing and music of machines that never slept were coupled with the click of chips as they were tossed and wagered. People swarmed everywhere, drawn by one thing...need. The need for pleasure, the need for entertainment, the need for a stroke of good luck. I ignored all of them as I walked by.
When I reached the Boom Boom Blues Lounge, I realized I was just as needy as everyone else.
I took a deep breath, stepped through the entrance, and glanced around. Fancy. And extravagant. The stage, like everything else in Vegas, was over the top. Thick velvet curtains hung across the gleaming wood floor, and the lavish trim work was golden and so ostentatious that the whole thing looked unreal. Like a child’s toy.
I asked the hostess for a table in the back, and she seated me with a curious look in her eyes like she couldn’t imagine why I’d want to sit so far away when there were so many empty spots close to the stage. I tucked myself in at the small table, anticipation crawling under my skin like a disease spreading throughout my body as I waited for the show to start. People filed in, the waitress visited, and soon the room was alive with laughter and chatter while I sat alone, drunk on nerves and expectation.
I waited quietly in the shadows, my fingers wrapped around a fancy drink that I couldn’t bring myself to taste. My palms were sweaty, my blood was pounding fiercely through my heart, and I was the kind of excited where I wasn’t sure if I was going to be sick or pass out. It was possible I might do both.
When the lights finally dimmed, so did my breathing. The curtains pulled back, and it felt as if the skin over my chest had been peeled back as well, leaving my heart exposed.
The spotlight cut through the darkness in a burst of brightness, and there she was.
She stood in the middle of the stage—beautiful and enigmatic. She was like the sun, painful to look at, but hard to ignore. She looked the same, as if time was too weary to try and change her. When she opened her mouth and the first notes of her perfect voice spilled past her lips, I closed my eyes. Memories of my childhood slipped through my mind, patchy and heartbreaking. A beautiful pain.
I had to remind myself that no matter how familiar or exquisite the voice, that part of my life was over. She survived on alcohol, sin, and music now. That’s all she needed. Without them, she’d cease to exist. Because of them, I hadn’t seen her in thirteen years.
My eyes fluttered back open and forced myself to watch the woman on stage. I’d come here because I’d needed closure. I stared at her, determined not to look away. I refused to be fooled by the silky voice or perfect face, remembering all the years she’d given up with me so she could do this. With strangers.
Glancing around the room, I noticed that some people were watching her sing while others continued conversations—the show on stage merely background noise for their expensive drinks. They all might look at her and hear her, but not like I did. And yet, I was the one who didn’t matter to her. She craved their approval, their attention. She sang to the audience like they were a lover she couldn’t let go.
I wasn’t even a blip on her radar.
This was what I’d needed to see.
Pulling my tiny sweater tightly over my chest, I stood up, finally feeling my heart crust over. I turned my back on her as the wounds of the last thirteen years became a dull pain.
Twenty-one years ago today, the woman on stage became my
mother. And when I was eight years old, she threw it all away.
— HARLOW —
1. ONE TOO MANY
July 29, 2016
FATHER DISCOVERS DAUGHTER’S LIES by Harlow Ransom
A young woman joined her sisters for a weekend of debauchery in Las Vegas to celebrate her twenty-first birthday. The woman in question, Harlow Ransom, was the victim of one of the most common dangers to young adults—peer pressure. Her father, Jack Ransom, was under the impression she was celebrating her birthday at her home near the University of Maryland in College Park where she was entering her senior year. He suffered an acute case of “losing his shit” when he discovered his daughter’s deception and her numerous indiscretions in Sin City.
“I had no idea she would be so irresponsible. She should be making plans for her future, not binge-drinking and picking up strangers in bars,” said Mr. Ransom. “I wanted her to get her journalism degree at Berkley where I could keep an eye on her. I don’t know how I let Harlow convince me to allow her to move clear across the country, but that mistake has now been rectified.”
Harlow has verified the rumors that her father has forced her to move back home where he can micromanage all of her decisions. “I’m still conducting a full investigation of everyone I know to find out how he knew about Vegas,” Harlow admitted.
“I don’t know how Harlow deals with it,” said Marlow, one of the sisters who convinced her to go on the wild trip to Vegas. “She’s twenty-one, and still scared to make a decision that isn’t her father’s.”
=========================
“Dad is going to freak out. He’ll kill me if he finds out I’m here. Especially if he finds out I’m here with you two.” I narrowed my eyes at my sisters, otherwise known as MISSbehave and MISSchievous. At least according to my dad. My plane had landed hours ago, but now that I’d survived my trip to the Boom Boom Blues Lounge and I had a little alcohol in my system to dull the pain of seeing my so-called mother, panic was starting to set in.
I was dressed in a short skirt and a low-cut sequined shirt, sitting in a glitzy bar with my sisters, busy imagining the headline and accompanying story that would perfectly describe my demise if my father found out what I’d done. It was one of my quirks, one of the residual effects of my infatuation with journalism—everything became a story to me, even my own life. It was a habit I picked up when I was a kid, something to distract me. Disappointment and neglect were easier to deal with when I stepped back and turned reality into a story where my emotions didn’t have to come into play.
“He can’t kill you if you don’t tell him,” Willow advised. She took a sip out of her martini glass, careful not to mess up her flawlessly glossed lips.
Everything about Willow was always flawless, right down to the impeccable Versace dress she was wearing. Willow’s father was a Wall Street tycoon. I don’t know if tycoon was an actual technical term, but that’s how I always referred to him—Walter the Tycoon. As if he was some sort of deadly storm. Storm or not, Willow was a miniature version of him. Except for the glossy lips. Oh, and the half dozen girly drinks she’d already consumed. Walter Vallencourt wouldn’t be seen near a girly drink unless it was attached to the hand of a beautiful woman. He only drank scotch. I guess that was a Wall Street thing. Or a tycoon thing.
“Seriously. Don’t be so dramatic, Harlow. He’s not going to find out.” Marlow pushed a glass into my hand before stumbling into me, forcing half the liquid to slosh over the sides. I contorted my body to avoid being splashed and nearly fell off my absurdly unstable, I’ll-likely-break-my-damn-neck, heels that she’d coerced me into wearing. “Drink up, baby sister,” she cooed, grabbing me to keep me from falling. Or maybe to keep herself from falling.
“You’re never going to make it through the night at this rate, Marlow.” I held her up until we both found our balance again. “You’re an embarrassment to children of rock star gods everywhere,” I joked.
She waved her delicate hand, dismissing me. “I fully intend to destroy the suite later. Rock star style. Until then, we drink!” She held up her glass enthusiastically, not even bothered when a good bit of the contents slid down her arm.
Marlow’s father was Mason Cage, lead guitarist for Maximum Sarcasm. His music career peaked about eighteen years ago, right around the time his addictions did. He was still filthy rich, though, and by association, so was Marlow. Which was why we were in a fancy bar in Vegas, celebrating my twenty-first birthday in style. It was all her idea, and funded by her father’s credit card.
I looked at the drink she’d given me—a martini glass full of red liquor garnished with a raspberry that appeared to be smoking. “What is this?”
“Fire Breathing Dragon,” she said, giggling. “Try it.”
I popped the berry—which was freezing cold—into my mouth and when I bit down on it, smoked poured out of my nose and mouth. My sisters howled in laughter as I took a sip of the drink, pretending I didn’t look like a glittery version of Puff the Magic Dragon.
I took one last sip and set the drink down on the table in front of me. “He thinks I’m at home, researching internships and working,” I said, returning to the subject of my father. Marlow, Willow, and I were sisters. We didn’t look alike, we didn’t share the same father, and we had nothing in common except for Nicole Mercer, our mother. Oh yeah, we had that other embarrassing tidbit in common—our names all ending in “low.” Our mother thought she was being ridiculously cute in naming us. But then again, she wasn’t the one who had to deal with the fallout at school. She wasn’t the one who had to put up with kids insisting that our names all ended in “low” because that’s what our mother was. They said she was a low-life.
They weren’t wrong. I could admit that now.
Those were the days when my infatuation with journalism began. I’d get bullied, and then to make myself feel better, I’d think up a great imaginative story to go along with it. Some kids have invisible friends to help them cope—I had my stories. Only, unlike other kids, I didn’t grow out of my coping mechanism. I embraced it. Perhaps even depended on it. That was my childhood.
Emotionally detached.
Except for when it came to my sisters. Despite our differences, we were best friends. I guess when you share a mother as worthless as the one we had, bonding was the only thing a heart could do. So, when Marlow demanded we come to Vegas to celebrate my birthday, I couldn’t say no. I didn’t want to.
The problem was my dad. If he found out where I was, I could kiss the University of Maryland goodbye. Especially if he knew I’d been stupid enough to see my mother’s show. He was helping me pay for my apartment, but that was with the understanding that my studies came first. If my grades dropped and I lost my scholarships, it wouldn’t be pretty. I was supposed to be in Maryland—working, saving money, and getting ready to start my senior year. Instead, I was surrounded by gaudy strings of gems in the Chandelier Bar. With my sisters. In Vegas. Drinking.
He would lose his ever-loving mind if he knew.
“Relax, Little Miss Perfect. It’s not like he’s going to find out,” Willow said. “As far as he knows, there are like twenty states between you and him right now.” She took a sip of her drink, and my thoughts drifted as I tried to take comfort in that thought. “You need to stop worrying and enjoy yourself for once.”
“Come on, Harlow,” Marlow purred, leaning a little too heavily on me. “This is your big birthday. Let’s have some fun. Daddy gave me the green light on the American Express,” she sang, waving the no-limit card in front of my face. As if his approval would have mattered to her. That card got more action than a James Bond movie.
Willow looked at her watch. “And we have tickets to Thunder Down Under,” she reminded us.
Marlow set her drink down and clapped her hands. “Naked firemen and lap dances for everyone!”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t think it’s the kind of show that does lap dances.”
“We’ll see about that,” she sang, wi
nking at me and flashing her daddy’s card again.
* * *
I was right. There were no lap dances to be had down under, which seriously ruined Marlow’s plans. But there were plenty of nearly naked men. And flexing muscles. And pelvic thrusting. Lots and lots of pelvic thrusting. Sweet baby Jesus. The pelvic thrusting. Definitely, thunder down under. Especially in my down under. After the show, I wondered if I had time to go back to my room for a little buffin’ of the muffin. It’d be senseless to have all this built-up lust for nothing. If only…
“Dancing!” Marlow yelled, heaving her huge refillable slushie cup into the air. The stupid thing was so big it had a strap for carrying it around.
“Marlow,” I warned. We all knew dancing was not one of my skill sets. Petting my kitty on the other hand…I stifled a laugh at the thought. “Maybe we should go back to the room for a bit. Sober up,” I suggested.
She narrowed her eyes at me. “You brought Buzz, didn’t you?”
“What?” My eyes widened in embarrassment. “No!”
“You did!” She laughed. “I knew you liked that show. You were totally planning to go back to the room and Jill off with your battery operated boyfriend, weren’t you? I can’t believe you brought that thing with you. That’s pathetic, Lolo,” she said, using my childhood nickname. At one time or another, it was one my mom had used for all of us. Eventually, being the youngest sister, it became my inheritance. Even though I was sure it started because my worthless mother couldn’t remember which name went with which daughter when she got drunk, the sound of it coming from my sister was a comfort.
“And I can’t believe you gave that damn thing a name,” she giggled. “That’s not normal.”
Crap. That’s why I didn’t like to drink. I always did something embarrassing. Last time Marlow got me drunk, I told her all about my nightstand drawer full of toys. I never should have told her about Buzz. Or how often I…ah…yeah. I should have kept it a secret.
“Dancing,” she repeated. “Maybe you can find an actual guy to get down and dirty with instead of something that requires batteries.” She pointed the cup across the street toward the MGM Grand. “Hakkasan is the hottest night club in Vegas and Daddy put our names on the list. We can’t let that go to waste.” She raised her eyebrows at me as if I’d suggested that we flush hundred dollar bills down the toilet.
Hitched (Hearts of Stone Book 2) Page 1