Intertwined Read online

  Intertwined

  Copyright 2015 Jerilee Kaye

  Published by Jerilee Kaye

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for personal enjoyment only. Any other use of the whole or part of this ebook (including but not limited to adaptation, translation, copying, issuing copies, unauthorized lending and rental, broadcasting or making available to the internet, social media, wireless technology and application) is strictly prohibited. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Books

  Connect

  Acknowledgements

  Lots of hugs and kisses and big thanks to the following wonderful people who made this journey an even more memorable experience:

  Angel and Norma, the best parents a person could be blessed with. Without you, I wouldn’t be me and I thank God every day for that.

  Alfredo and Linda, my parents-in-law, thank you for accepting me into your family.

  Yolanda and Bertier, and all my aunts and uncles: thank you for always believing in me.

  Kathie, KC, Karen, Roland, Ronald and Kelly: with you, I am blessed to have not just brothers and sisters, I am also blessed with friends.

  Joe, my oldest friend, my BFF: words are not enough to express how thankful I am for your friendship and loyalty. You’re the reason why every book I write has a fab BFF in it!

  Ralph and Mai: you are not just friends, you are family.

  Roze, Criz, Leña, Claire, Helen, Ella, Debbie, Agie, Jacq and Cathy: friends who took time to walk inside my head. That meant a lot to me.

  MarQ and KeOn, my little angels: you keep me young every day.

  Sam my inspiration, my pillar, the love of my life: I thank God every day that my life is intertwined with yours. Thank you too for the dreamy book cover!

  Morgan Childs: thank you for the wonderful editing job.

  Dariia Sonoga: thank you for your creative eye and inspiration.

  Credits also go to OneinaMillion for the cover shot.

  Kristen Switzer of SwitzerEdits.com, my agent, my editor and my adviser: I wouldn’t be able to pull this off without you. Every author should be blessed with an editor/agent like you!

  And finally, to all Wattpad fans of Intertwined. Thank you for loving Travis and Brianne as much as I do. You guys totally rock!

  Prologue: Tradition

  All families have a tradition. Sometimes it goes all the way back to their ancestors in the eighteenth century. Some families only started one in the twentieth century.

  I don’t know when my family tradition started. But one thing is for sure: This tradition doesn’t make a single bit of sense.

  But one cannot choose the family he or she will belong to. And you cannot choose which family traditions you will end up honoring in your life.

  My family has close ties. While some people can sit together at parties not even knowing they are related, I had to know each and every one of my cousins, aunts, and uncles. We have family reunions about twice a year. In between those reunions, my family engages in gossip about each other. They have the chance to confirm that gossip during the reunions.

  They especially like the women in our family who are approaching their thirties. It’s the finish line for them.

  According to my family tradition, we have a curse. If one of our women is not married before she turns thirty-one, she is doomed to be single for life.

  I thought this was complete bull. But I’ve got Aunt Rosalie, who sits at family reunions alone. She had her heart broken when she was thirty. The guy left her at the altar. Ten years later, she’s still single with no hopes of ever marching down the aisle.

  We also have Aunt Mildy. Full of love, this one. So full of love, she passed from lover to lover and none of them ever wanted to put a ring on her finger. Now, rumor has it, she’s the mistress of a rich Sultan, who comes to see her once every two months. She lives a luxurious life, though. But she’s still a mistress in the eyes of her family.

  There was also Theresa; she was one of my older cousins. Pretty and successful. But it was her choice to be single. She’s a lesbian and has no desire to be married to a man. So I guess that was not really the workings of a curse.

  One of our older aunts got married at thirty-two, giving the women in our family hope that the curse was just the lore our ancestors passed down to ensure the elders would always have grandchildren to dote on. But a week after she got married, her husband died. And she has remained a widow since then.

  There are many stories of aunts and cousins who disregarded the tradition. I don’t know whether it was just coincidence, but somehow they are in the family’s Hall of Shame—the unwritten list of women in our family who had tragedy or bad luck fall upon them because they disregarded the family’s deadline of thirty-one.

  And so ever since I was young, I have been a hopeless romantic. I read all sorts of fairy tales and love stories, hoping someday one of those love stories would come true for me. That my knight in shining armor would come to rescue me, sweep me off my feet, and rush me to the altar. I intend to marry at the age of thirty, at least one year earlier so I’m sure I’m saved.

  Apart from the fear of living my life alone, childless, or husband-less, I refuse to be the subject of my family’s conversation and gossip at the reunion table. I hate it whenever the table is all abuzz and then suddenly falls silent when Aunt Rosalie or Aunt Mildy join in, and every single person at the table picks a different topic to talk about off the top of their heads.

  By hook or by crook, I vowed: I would be married before the deadline! It would be a plus if my prince were handsome and capable of giving me the life I deserved. But I guess compared to the chitchat and the impending curse that would be bestowed upon me, I would much rather marry an ogre.

  I have years to complete my quest. Two decades to plan my “forever” is a lot of time.

  Chapter One

  The Other Member of the Family

  My parents are going to kill me! My best friend Cindy asked me to come with her to some kid’s party. I didn’t want to go, but she sort of begged me. I told my parents I was just going to hang out with some kids from school. Since I’ve always been a good, responsible kid, they said yes the first time I asked.

  “But be home before eleven, okay?” my mom reminded me.

  “I’m sure I won’t be long,” I said to her. And I had every intention of keeping that promise.

  Little did I know that Cindy had plans of her own. When we got there, she drank almost every glass of alcohol that was shoved into her hands. She danced to her heart’s desire and flirted with the older guys.

  I was babysitting her. We were only fifteen and I was pretty certain we shouldn’t be even be partying at all; least of all, dri
nking.

  I was aching to leave. But I couldn’t abandon my best friend in a sea full of sharks looking for fresh meat. I kept glancing at the clock. It was past midnight and Cindy had no intention of going home just yet.

  “My parents are going to kill me!” I said to her. “And you’ve already had too much to drink.”

  “Chill out, Miss Prudy!” she said to me with a giggle. “We’ll go home soon. Give me a few more minutes.”

  Yeah, right! Her minutes became hours. When the clock struck three, I mustered all my courage to call Cindy’s brother.

  Thirty minutes later, he was dropping me off in front of my house.

  “Thanks for looking out for her,” Josh said. “You’re a good friend.”

  I nodded and then went to my front porch. Nervously, I opened the door. The whole house was quiet. Everybody was sleeping. I had never broken my parents’ rules before. That’s why they trusted me so much. My older brother was a responsible kid, too. Now I really hated Cindy for putting me through this.

  I removed my shoes and tiptoed to the stairs. I didn’t want to wake anybody up. I could deal with my parents the next morning. But I didn’t want to be caught red-handed. Moreover, I didn’t want them to think that Cindy wasn’t a good influence on me.

  Our house had four bedrooms. My brother’s room was the first one when you reached the top of the stairs, opposite the guest bedroom. Mine was across my parents’ further down the hall.

  The corridor was dark so I walked carefully toward my room.

  Just then, I heard a clicking of locks and the twisting of a doorknob. It took me a moment to realize that it was coming from my parents’ bedroom.

  Shit! I’m doomed for sure!

  It could be my mom, I thought, on her way to get milk or water from the kitchen.

  I froze, thinking of reasons why I would be standing in the middle of the corridor at three in the morning when I promised her I would be home by eleven.

  All of a sudden, I felt the door to my right open. It was the guestroom. Then I felt something wrap around my waist forcefully. Something clasped against my mouth before I could manage a scream. Then I was leaning against a hard wall and something hard and heavy was pressing against me.

  I took deep breaths and found the courage to open my eyes. I saw a tall, slender figure leaning against me. I could make out the contours of his devilishly handsome face.

  Instantly, I glared at him. He saw this even though the room was dark. I heard him chuckle softly.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Travis?” my mom asked on the other side of the door. “Are you okay?”

  He had winked at me before he replied. “Yes. Everything is fine.”

  “Is Brianne home already?” she asked.

  Travis raised a brow and smiled at me mischievously. I reached up for his hand and struggled to remove it from my mouth but damn! He was strong. His eyes were dancing, and I knew he could say whatever he wanted to my mother and I would be helpless to stop him. If I spoke up, my mother would ask what I was doing in his room at three in the morning.

  “Yes,” he said. “I think she got in before midnight,” he lied.

  I glared at him. I didn’t lie to my parents and he knew that.

  “Oh, good. I didn’t hear her come in,” my mother said. “Okay. Goodnight, Travis.”

  “Goodnight.” Travis’s eyes never left mine.

  I heard my mother’s footsteps on the stairs. When we were sure she was out of earshot, I pushed Travis away from me.

  “I don’t lie to my mom!” I hissed at him.

  He chuckled humorlessly. “You didn’t,” he said. “What are you? Deaf? I was the one who lied. So don’t worry. You’re still going to heaven.” He put his hands together as if he were praying.

  “I hate you!” I hissed. I pushed him again, and this time, he caught my hands in his.

  He raised a brow at me. “Funny you say that, because you can’t seem to stop touching me!”

  I struggled to pull my hands away from his, but he held them tighter. “Let go, Travis!”

  We heard footsteps coming from the stairs, indicating that my mother was going back to her room.

  I stopped struggling. I kept my mouth shut and held my breath.

  Travis pulled me closer to him. Suddenly, I felt his hot breath against my neck. I froze.

  What the fuck is he doing?

  I felt him run the tip of his nose against the base of my neck, sending shivers down my spine and making my knees go weak. Good thing he was holding my hands—otherwise, I think I would have fallen to the floor.

  But I realized I knew exactly what Travis was doing. He was daring me to make a sound. He was daring me to fight him, curse at him, and hit him. But he knew I wouldn’t dare. Damn!

  I bit my lip to keep from making a noise. My mother was walking in the corridor. Then I heard her stop by my bedroom and turn the knob.

  I felt panic grip me. She would see that I was not yet in my room! She would know that Travis lied. But after a few seconds, she was still turning the knob. My door was locked, even though I didn’t remember locking it.

  I felt Travis’s smile as he buried his face in my hair. He must have done it. He must have locked my room. And thank God he did!

  Finally, my mother went inside her room. As soon as I heard her door close, I pushed Travis away from me.

  He was laughing.

  “Damn you!” I cursed at him.

  “You should have felt how shaken you were!” he said.

  I got hold of my messenger bag and started hitting him with it. He shielded his face against it, but he still didn’t stop laughing.

  “For somebody who hates me so much, you sure tremble a lot against my touch, sweetheart,” he said.

  I gave him one last hit and then I headed toward his door.

  “Bad idea,” he said.

  I turned to him. “What, you moron?”

  “I don’t know what’s worse. You coming home at three in the morning, or you going out of my bedroom at four. I would rethink going out that door if I were you.”

  “For somebody who hates me so much, you sure find ways to trap me in your bedroom!”

  “I don’t hate you, Brianne.” I could see the gleam in his devilish eyes. Then he took a step closer to me. “In fact, I think you’re hot…and…”

  I glared at him and then I took my bag and hit him with it again. He didn’t bother to shield himself.

  “I hate you!” I said to him.

  “I know,” he said, laughing hard. Then he managed to take hold of my hands to stop me from hitting him. He stared down at my still-angry face. “You smell good, by the way.”

  I gave him one hard push. “And you stink!”

  “Liar!” he chuckled. He was right, actually. Travis smelled like fresh soap and aftershave. He showered at least three times a day and he never went to bed without taking one. I would know because it seemed like I’d been sharing a bathroom with him for the last four years. He pointed to the bathroom on the right side of his room. “I locked your bedroom door. So the bathroom is the only way you can go in. Unless…you’d rather sleep here with me.” He winked.

  I wrinkled my nose in disgust. Then I went through the bathroom.

  “You owe me, princess!” he called out, but I shut the door without a backward glance.

  That, ladies and gentlemen, was Travis James Cross! Like a son to my parents. Best friend to my brother. And Dennis the Menace to me!

  ***

  I hated Travis. I really did. I cursed the day four years earlier when my brother had brought him home like some stray dog. In fact, a stray dog would have been a hundred times better.

  My brother had a good heart—truly an angel in disguise. How he could be best friends with Travis was beyond my understanding. Travis was really…the devil incarnate!

  When we were younger, his pranks included pulling my hair, stealing my lunch, and reading my diary. But this year, I decided to take the high ro
ad and just ignore him, tune him out. I guess he found more creative ways of making my life hell. Lately, he’d been putting me into uncomfortable situations. He flirted with me, not because he thought I was attractive, but because he knew I blushed the brightest shade of red whenever he touched me or threw a sexual joke my way.

  After he and my brother had become best buds, he stayed in the guest bedroom at least three times a week for four years. And my parents just adored him—they felt the family was incomplete when Travis was not around.

  One time, when I wanted to insult him and irritate him, I asked, “Why do you stay here all the time? Don’t you have a house of your own?”

  He smirked. “Of course, I do. Depends on which state or country you are referring to,” he said in an arrogant tone.

  My brother slightly shook his head and shot me a look that almost said, Don’t go down that lane. You won’t win.

  I didn’t get what my brother meant at the time. But one day, I saw a limo park in our driveway. I stared at it in awe. Then the driver got out and opened the passenger door. Travis stepped out of it.

  The driver spoke in Spanish. The only words I understood from him were Master Travis.

  Master Travis? What is happening to the world?

  Travis saw me watching him and his driver with my mouth wide open. His eyes gleamed, and I didn’t miss the cocky look he pasted on his face as he approached me.

  Then he leaned forward and whispered to my ear. “Try not to look too amazed, sweetheart. It’s called a limousine. Limo for short.” Then he pushed my chin up to close my mouth. With a low chuckle, he went inside my house.

  When Travis turned sixteen, I never saw the limo again. But a sleek red Porsche, or a white Bentley, or a yellow Corvette, or an orange Maserati would always be parked in front of my house, indicating his presence.

  Okay, so Travis was not just rich. He was super rich! But I wondered why he spent more time in my house than he did in his many, many estates?

  And why did he torture me a lot?

  Since Travis told my mother I came home at eleven, I had to wake up early the next day to make sure I showed up for breakfast; although in truth, I’d only had about three hours of sleep.