DECEPTION vol.1: A promise made A promise broken (Turbulent Desire Series)

Copyright © 2014 Ericka Santana

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Deception
by Ericka Santana

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher or author constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from this book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at
[email protected]
Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

FBI Anti-Piracy Warning:

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, in investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Cover Photography and design: Sara Eirew Photographer

Copyediting: Aeroplane Media

Formatting: Polgarus Studio

WARNING:
This book contains sexually explicit material and is intended for adult readers only.

July 5, 2007

Isola Del Giglio

JC

“Why did you have to take her with you, Goddamnit?” I screamed aloud in a house empty but for sad memories.

I took a swig from the last Campari bottle. I had been drinking non-stop for three days. The Roman authorities had informed me of my parents’ untimely deaths three days ago. They were still investigating what caused my parents’ horrific car accident. I hadn’t slept since then, nor had I been sober. The living room, once my mother’s favorite part of the house, was wrecked. The floor was covered with empty bottles, cans, half-smoked weed, cigarettes, and other trash.

Mother, wherever you are now, please hear me out. I’m sorry, Mama, I’m so sorry for blaming you all this time and punishing you when he was the cause of our suffering.

“I loved her—God, You know that—but I never told her how much.”

I can remember when I was about three years old, my father left the island for Rome. We had the house to ourselves for two days. She made those two days the happiest days of my entire life. She built the perfect blanket fort big enough for both of us. We joked, played hide and seek, she gave me a bath for the first time that I could remember. I loved it, her hands washed my hair so carefully, making sure the shampoo wouldn’t run into my eyes. I could not stop staring at her emerald eyes. Mama looked at me with so much love, her lips curled up in a smile that highlighted her beautiful face. She was so young, the most beautiful mother on the island. I was so proud to be her son.

After we took a bath, we lay inside the fort. She had strung up Christmas lights so the inside would gleam like stars. She read me a bedtime story and I fell asleep in her arms.

The next day when I woke up, she wasn’t inside the blanket fort anymore. I took my blanket and went to look for her. First I looked in the kitchen, then the bathroom, then her bedroom, but she was nowhere to be found. I got scared and started to cry out for her desperately.

“Mama, Mama, where are you?” I sobbed, hugging my blanket and pressing it against my chest.

“Jean Carlo, your uncle is taking you with him, he’ll bring you back in a couple of days,” my father said to me.

“Mama! Where is Mama? I want my Mama!” I cried inconsolably.

“Stop crying like a girl, Jean Carlo, she is not yours, she is mine!” my father shouted at me. I was scared of him when he did that; his face made me think of a monster, ready to eat me.

Now the memory returns to haunt me, infuriating me. I shouted aloud to the empty room then crawled to the coffee table, where several lines of cocaine were ready to be snorted in hopes it would ease my pain. One snort wasn’t enough, of course. I could not stop until it was all gone. After three days of trying to numb the pain with alcohol and drugs, I fell asleep on the floor, naked and surrounded by trash, like a vagrant.

When I awoke I had no notion of time. Had it been hours? Or days? I had no idea. I sat on the floor, leaning against the sofa for support, and held my head with both hands. As I fought the waves of nostalgia that came over me, I remembered the accident. Once again, I was overcome with guilt for the time I had wasted, time taking drugs and fucking women—time I could have spent with my mother.

“I am sorry, Mama, for making your last days of your life so miserable,” I said quietly, my voice trembling.

Then I remembered Skylar.

Oh, my God! What have I done?

Flashes came back to me—the things I’d said, the way I’d behaved.

“No!” I shouted.

I pulled myself up from the floor, ignoring the agonizing pain in my head and a sudden burning on my back. I groped for my clothes, but the only thing I found was my pants.

“Where the fuck are my clothes?” I muttered.
Fuck the clothes—I need to go to her!

I pulled my pants on over my nakedness and rushed out in the direction of Sky’s villa as fast as I could, not even feeling the stones on the road against my bare feet. The lacerations on my back were agonizing now, throbbing with each step I took.

When I arrived at Sky’s villa, I pounded on the front door, not caring what her family thought of me, but no one answered.

“Sky, open the door! Please, we need to talk!” I shouted desperately.

I went to the nearest window, opened it and climbed in, only to find that the villa was empty—no people, no luggage, nothing. I panicked, my heart raced in despair as I tried to think how to find her.

Suddenly the loud sound of the ferry horn sounded from the port.

Please, God, let Sky and her family still be on Giglio.

I rushed out of the villa and ran toward the port, hoping to catch the ferry before it left for the mainland.

When I arrived at the harbor, the ferry was gone. I could see it receding in the distance, taking with it my last chance at happiness. I lost all my strength. My knees buckled, and I could no longer hold back the tears. Not even my lacerated back or troubled childhood memories hurt as much as the pain of losing Sky. I knew I had lost her forever, and the thought of never seeing her again was excruciating.

“Sky, you’re my
Cielo
!” I shouted as so many beautiful memories from the past few days came into my mind.

Her contagious laughter, the way she kissed me, her soft porcelain skin, and her beautiful turquoise eyes gleaming at me. The way my name sounded in her voice … Oh, my God, don’t take her away from me, please, I beg you, not her, not my Sky.

“Sky!” I screamed with all my strength, then fell on my knees, devastated and defeated. “God, I deny you and curse you for taking away my Heaven! From this moment on, You do not exist for me!”

June 30, 2007

Sacramento, California

“Tomorrow is going to suck,” I whispered as I stared out my bedroom window onto the patio below. “The big one-eight,” I thought, “and my life couldn’t be
less
exciting.”

I loved my mother, but she had always treated me like a porcelain doll, overprotective to the point of smothering me. I did not understand her need to keep me so sheltered.

Most girls my age go out to the mall, to parties and movies with groups of friends, but I always turned down invitations because I knew what my mother was going to say to me.

“It’s not safe.”

While most girls dreamed about coming of age, I was dreading it, as I did every birthday. I could remember the first time I noticed the fear in my mother’s eyes every time someone would say that I was growing up so fast and that I looked like her more and more. My mother was beautiful, and I took pride in taking after her. You would’ve thought she’d be proud, too. But what I saw in my mother’s eyes when someone mentioned the striking resemblance wasn’t pride. It was horror.

It hurt my heart to see the fear in her beautiful face. Her reaction was always the same—to become more overprotective, of course. She was the best mother in the whole world, really—I knew she would die for me and I for her—I just wished I understood her better.

I didn’t quite understand her fear of me growing up. I often wondered if something bad had happened to her in her younger years. She never talked about the past, about the life she lived prior to having me nor her relationship with my biological father. The few times I asked, she gently told me it was not the time to talk about her past, to be patient. The times I questioned her, I could see the sadness in her eyes for several days, and I’d hated myself for hurting her.

I walked to my dresser and looked at myself in the mirror. It occurred to me that my hair needed a trim. I brushed my long silky tresses into a messy bun. I stared at the mirror, wondering if my life would be different if I didn’t have my mother’s long, honey-colored hair and bright turquoise eyes.

Oh God, why did you make me so much like her if you knew it would make her unhappy?

With a sigh, I slipped into my pajamas and jumped into bed.

“Dear God, please let tomorrow go swiftly and painlessly,” I prayed silently. I snuggled into my duvet, the warm cover cocooning my body, and I gradually drifted off.

In the morning, I awoke to a surprise.

“Oh my gosh!” I exclaimed as I stood in complete shock. “They’re beautiful.” I whispered.

On the corner of my dresser stood the most beautiful bouquet of red and yellow tulips. They were my favorite flowers, but I had never received a full bouquet of them. I jumped out of bed to take a quick smell of the tulips when I noticed a small envelope nestled among the flowers,
Skylar Parker
written on it in my mother’s handwriting.

Skylar,

Eighteen years ago, you came into this world, changing my life forever. I had never felt complete until the moment I held you in my arms. You are and will always be my little miracle. I know I have not been the best mother, although I wish I were. Nevertheless, every day I see the smile on your face, it inspires me to be a better person. I love you so much. All I want is the best for you.

Happy Eighteenth Birthday, Princess!”

Love,

Mom

I stared at the note for a few more seconds, feeling guilty about my thoughts from the night before. My mother just wanted what was best for me.

I slipped the note back into the envelope and placed it on the dresser. “Time for breakfast,” I said to myself as my stomach growled. As I ran back into the bathroom for a quick shower, I turned and smiled at my reflection.
Today might actually be the first birthday I will enjoy!
I turned up the music, and jumped in the shower.

When I got out, I combed my hair into a loose French braid. I put on minimal makeup to avoid my mother’s griping and ran downstairs into the kitchen.

“Princess Sky! Happy birthday, baby girl!” my mom said, pulling me in for an enormous hug.

“Mom, you’re going to squish me, please let go!” I squealed, both embarrassed by her display of affection and pleased by it.

She hugged me tighter for a second and then released me. “Did you like your tulips? I know they’re your favorite …” She beamed as she asked.