Heavy Hearts

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. Grandmoth
er 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 moth
er’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!