Knot a Liar (Knotted Up Book 1) (18 page)
Read Knot a Liar (Knotted Up Book 1) Online
Authors: Rose Ann Bridges
I’ve gone on more interviews in a two-week span more than there are months in a century. Okay, maybe a little less than that. I lie in every one of them, telling them that my imagination was that vividly creative.
Somehow, telling the world I was stupid enough to make such decisions, doesn’t seem smart. Only the handful of people who really know my story, recognizes it as the same one I put on printed paper. There’s one person in particular I hope reads it. I wrote it for them and me, especially the ending. Especially since I’ve discovered I’m not as dauntless as I once thought.
Each call still goes to voicemail. Accidentally, of course. Each time I think I’m ready to swallow my pride, I realize I’d probably die of asphyxiation before it passes my throat.
After several weeks and with the whirlwind surrounding the book dying down, I can finally breathe. My publisher demands a third book with number four following after number three preferably. I don’t give a rat’s ass when that will be completed. In my own time I guess, as apparently I work best under pressure.
So after months of perfected avoidance, I decide to go even further and take a vacation. Without analysing my need to run, I book a trip to Jamaica for two weeks.
Thinking back, what an excellent two weeks that was. I don’t care where else I go throughout the year, but Jamaica made it to my must be place for at least two weeks each year. It was the absolute best vacation of my life. Only one way it could be improved. Only one person could improve it and in that time I made a resolute and unshakeable promise. Demand that the remainder of our marriage be under the same roof and given a real shot.
After five months I decide to put on my big girl panties to seek out and claim what is mine. The search was short, non-existent really, because I know where he is. I heard it through the grapevine- Grace. Either at home, with family or friends or work.
Problem is my jellyfish spine sabotages me from making contact. I quickly discover that thinking about demanding something and actually putting my proverbial tail between my legs and going to Sam are very,
very
different things.
It’s not a matter of whether Sam wants me or not. The incessant phone calls that haven’t waivered over the five months separation and Grace constantly telling me how much Sam wants to talk to me, silences those rebellious thoughts.
Two days pass. Then four.
So I copy Sam’s methods and write a poem expressing my feelings to him.
On day number five, I get fed up with myself and march down to his apartment before I could stop myself.
I’m not one to kiss and tell, but let’s just say we barely got past his doorway before the apologies starts and the clothes put on a magical performance and disappear.
Somehow I’m spending a weekend barely moving from Sam’s bedroom. I get released from voluntary lockdown on Monday morning, only for my car to find its way back to his apartment after work.
Sam and I lie to our friends and family to cover our conjugation. Me, feigning a life threatening illness and Sam, being at death’s door. A few weeks go by and our conditions are yet to improve. I don’t think anyone is catching on, so I’m now guessing we’ll have to live with our conditions for the foreseeable future.
Since the separation wasn’t legally claimed, four months after reconciliation we renewed our vows. Koya and Lydia made sure of it. Made sure that the oversized, over advertised affair was to their liking as they claimed Sam and I ‘got the wedding we wanted, so they are getting theirs’.
The surprise was that since Tracey’s divorce was finalized, Max and Tracey made an impromptu decision to get married the same day as well.
Sam and I pay keen attention this time and mean every word that our lips produces. The vows we make this time, for me, creates that everlasting bond. A bond with a man that while I may not be head over heels for him everyday, I will love him for all times.
I find that falling in love may not be as easy as falling. Whether that be falling through the air for a sky dive, bungee jumping or even from the bed. It’s harder than that. And holds more risks too.
Love is exactly like a bed of roses. Thorns come every which way to prick and pierce the skin of our emotions. The colours dye our hearts to reflect how each person affects the other. The scents fuel our desires to continue each day, bolstering the binding elements of our souls. We take whiffs and sniffs becoming intoxicated, which pumps our adrenaline, keeping us feeling high.
The stalks stay strong holding up each petalled lover. Roots keep us grounded when we second guess things and wish for escape. It will wither away if not watered, nurtured and cared for effectively. When pressed and trampled on, it dies.
At our twenty third month mark of marriage, Sam moves us into our new home. His grandparents’ old home. A home that promises many new beginnings for us as well as there are quite a few firsts I’m certain will greet us in the next few years. Neither Sam nor I wanted to hang onto our apartments as we decide to put everything into a single home and not scatter or squander our efforts or resources elsewhere.
_______________
Sam leans over the couch and puts a feathered kiss on my forehead. “I’m heading over to see Mom. She keeps calling, threatening to come stay here so she won’t miss anything. I’m tempted to say there isn’t enough room. Need anything before I go, Mrs McGowan?”
I smile. “Your mom is acting like Max’s two aren’t enough. I swear those girls are already like the female version of you two. But except your kid out of me, I’m good.”
Kneeling between my legs Sam snuggles up to my oversized belly, places a kiss, then an ear, listening for our baby’s movements. “Don’t listen to her Matthew, we just really want to meet you.”
After a couple of minutes passes, I begin to wonder if Sam has forgotten his intended destination. “Weren’t you leaving?”
“I don’t want to go yet. I don’t want to leave you alone. What if som–”
“Alex is coming over, babe.”
“Alex isn’t your husband.”
“You and Alex really need to bury the hatchet. This feud’s becoming ridiculous.”
“Well tell her to stop calling Matthew a girl! He’s Matthew, not Makayla.”
“We don’t know if it’s a girl, and the betting is out of hand. Don’t think I don’t know about it.”
“Savannah has such a big mouth! Besides, I know what I put there.”
“Babe, wishful thinking doesn’t work.”
“I know. That’s why I had the doctor confirm it.”
“That’s cheating! I’m telling Alex.”
“No, it isn’t and no you’re not.”
“The rules clearly state that none of the betting parties could ask Dr Rosswell or me. We were the only two who knew it is a boy and I’ve only told Lydia and Koya. So you’re telling me that all that top secret operation, your mom, sister and me went through to decorate the nursery was for nothing?!”
“Just how big is Grace’s mouth?”
I glare at him.
“Honey, you’re getting worked up over nothing. We all followed the rules. Tracey asked. Of course Tracey’s going to tell Max. He’s her husband. Max told me and I told dad.”
“Peter is betting too?! Wait, hold up. The doctor can’t give out my information like that, it’s confidential.”
“Well, I was there. I told Dr Rosswell, we were throwing a surprise shower and Tracey asked what colour the cake should be.”
“And she just told you? Hasn’t she learnt anything yet? She should know you can’t be trusted.”
“Probably that’s why she called Koya to her office before saying it’s a boy. We were all eavesdropping, so it didn’t matter.”
“Why was Koya there?”
“She overheard the plan when Max asked Tracey to come over. Koya bet that Dr Rosswell wouldn’t say, but we won that bet.”
“Sam, if my son is
anything
like you, I’m leaving you. Trust me.”
“Well, to be fair though, you are carrying him, Grace is his aunt and Max is his uncle. So, in reality, there’s only so much I can be blamed for and no more.”
My head falls into my hands. “Oh crap! What did we do? He’s going to be so screwed up.”
“Um, Love?”
“Oh! I’m so sorry, Matt. Mommy didn’t mean that bad word. You didn’t hear it either. Sam what are we going to do? Can’t we run way or something?”
“While I’ll always support your decisions, I think it’s too late now. Besides, we don’t know that much about babies so we need Mom and Alex. If we were smarter, we would’ve babysat for Max and Tracey when the girls were babies. Then we would’ve had a chance to escape on our own.”
I groan. “You don’t stand a chance with all this crazy surrounding you, Matt. For that, I’m sorry.”
“Oh you know you love us, doesn’t she, Matthew?”
I nudge his shoulder. “Just go. Pick up a pizza. I’m feeling for a… Hawaiian. Oh, and remind Koya about girl’s night tomorrow.”
“No problem. You want cake too?”
A bobble headed nod was my answer before a chaste kiss lands on my lips.
Sighing, I sit back on the couch and embrace its velvety softness. The warm vanilla aroma arising from the scented candle floats through my nostrils creates that special soothing and lolling effect. My ideal writing environment. Except nothing is being typed. Not a single word. I glare and curse at the cursor instead that chooses to mock my presence. Flashing and dancing on the screen, it keeps taunting me to move it. Except I can’t. So I smile instead.
I close the laptop putting it beside me and instead ruminate on all the things that are going right in my life. I am a creative copywriter. I’ve written four successful novels. I own my own home –well Sam and I do –but it’s not the time to split hairs. I am beautiful and attractive –so beautiful and attractive I gained a doting husband even when I wasn’t looking –but again not the time. With thirteen weeks left in the deadline for the fourth novel, I am yet to write a single line, but there’s no rush. Even though I’m nine days away from giving birth. I’m loved by wonderful families: the one I married into, the one I adopted with my best friends and the one Sam and I will see the results of creating in nine days.
I move to the kitchen for a snack while listening for Sam to leave and Alex to arrive. There’s an unusual amount of euphoria running through my blood.
Aah, I must admit. Maybe karma isn’t that much of a bitch because life does tie up nicely.
Uh-oh.
“Sam! I swear I didn’t pee myself, so this can only mean–”
Sam runs into the room, shouting. “Your water broke?!” Sam rushes to grab the phone on the counter and my hand only to slip and fall in the small puddle at my feet I just stepped out of.
“Sam? Sam, come on get up, we have to go.” I nudge him with my foot but he remains motionless on the floor. “Sam?! Crap! Figures.”
That bitch, Karma.
###
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Rose Ann proclaims herself as an unapologetic book nerd writing about love, heartbreak and stupid decisions. In other words, she says she write about stuff in which she has an extensive knowledge.
Walking away from the corporate world to raise her daughter, Rose Ann rediscovered her love for reading. That love had her thinking of rewrites to her favourite books when something didn’t go as she wanted. Her first novel, The Art of Lying and Getting Caught, opened her up to the world of writing romantic comedies.
Most days you’ll find her either hunched over her laptop or sipping coffee while trying to get through another lecture of ‘Why Barbie is Important to the World’. Sponsored, prepared and presented by her daughter. Rose was a tomboy. A fact her daughter blissfully
ignores
.
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